Giyu Tomioka walked deeper into Fujikasane Mountain, his expression hidden beneath the fox-mask but his heart far from calm.
He still couldn't understand how Yoriichi san knew so much about the dangers lurking here—but if this was the place where the demon that killed Sabito prowled, then he would not hesitate.
Even now, he could not forget the names of the children.
Rabbit… Makomo… Sabito…
Each syllable weighed heavily on him.
For years, Giyu had kept up correspondence with his teacher, Urokodaki Sakonji. And though the old man never admitted it directly, Giyu could feel the sorrow in every letter: not a single one of his disciples had survived Final Selection. The blame, Urokodaki believed, must lie with his own teachings.
But Tomioka knew otherwise. He had long suspected there was something wrong with Fujikasane Mountain itself.
Perhaps, he once thought, the only way to ease his master's doubt was to find an exceptionally gifted youth who could survive Selection. But after speaking with Yoriichi san, another possibility opened before him—one that pointed to something far darker.
A sudden tremor cut through his thoughts. The ground itself quivered, tree trunks snapped, and branches scattered as if some colossal creature was forcing its way through the forest.
Tomioka froze, his instincts sharp.
This is the Selection Mountain… the demons here are supposed to be weak, half-starved, unable to escape the wisteria barrier. Why does it feel like something enormous is moving here?
The answer came with a roar of displaced air.
Two massive hands, fingers tipped with dark red claws, swept toward him. He leapt back just in time, sword flashing from its sheath.
From the trees lumbered a monstrous figure, its skin a sickly green, its body crawling with countless arms. The Hand Demon.
The creature's yellow eyes, patterned with black crosses, locked onto the fox mask hiding Tomioka's face. They narrowed to slits.
"Well, well… a little fox," it hissed, voice dripping with malice.
"I never thought I'd see one of Urokodaki's brats outside of Final Selection. Tell me, boy—what year of the Meiji era is it now?"
Tomioka ignored the question, his grip tightening on his blade.
"…Were you captured by Urokodaki sensei?"
The name ignited a frenzy. The demon's expression twisted, and it clawed at its own flesh in a fit of hatred.
"Don't speak that name to me!" it shrieked, tearing its own arms open.
"He trapped me here! He caged me like an animal for over forty years!"
The self-mutilation stopped abruptly. The Hand Demon grinned, lips curling into a crescent.
"But I've found my amusement," it said, voice low and cruel.
"Hiding… waiting… devouring the little swordsmen who come to prove themselves. And the sweetest part of it all—eating every last one of Urokodaki's precious disciples."
Tomioka Giyū's breathing grew heavy beneath the mask.
The Hand Demon, however, only laughed more harshly, his voice echoing grotesquely in the night:
"Let me think… among all the brats of Urokodaki I've devoured, two little ones left the deepest impression.
One had that strange flesh-colored hair, and the other was a tiny girl in a kimono with flower patterns.
Hah! You disciples of Urokodaki are too easy to recognize—each one hiding behind those silly fox masks carved to ward off calamity.
Every time I ripped apart one of those masked fools, I thought to myself: how ironic! Urokodaki carved those masks to ward off disaster, yet they only led his children straight to disaster—hahaha!"
Giyū's breathing turned ragged, his shoulders rising and falling. The demon, sensing it, laughed all the harder:
"Yes! That's the rage I crave!
I told that little girl the mask itself brought disaster to her kin. She was furious, just like you are now!
She was quick on her feet, that one. But I hate fast prey. To stop her from running, I tore off her arms and legs—then savored her slowly."
He slapped his bloated belly with a wet, meaty sound.
"Come then, join them! I can't wait to see Urokodaki's face when he realizes yet another of his precious disciples has vanished—"
The Hand Demon suddenly froze.
His countless arms quivered. His many eyes widened with terror.
The youth before him had drawn his Nichirin Blade.
Upon the blade, engraved clearly, were the words: "Evil Demon Slayer."
"That engraving… only the Hashira would dare carve such words! You—! A pillar? Here, on Mount Fujikasane?!"
The Hand Demon whimpered, then swelled his arms grotesquely downward, splitting into writhing legs to scramble away.
But Giyū was faster.
He recalled his master's words: "Water must be calm and steady." From those teachings, Giyū had forged his own unique technique—
Water Breathing: Eleventh Form — Nagi.
Normally, this technique nullified an opponent's Blood Demon Art by creating a still "field" around the user.
But this time, Giyū expanded the field and rushed forward within it.
The Hand Demon's writhing limbs withered and collapsed, leaving his hulking body to crash helplessly to the ground.
He clawed desperately at his throat with his last remaining arm.
Giyū tore away his mask.
His face, usually serene, was twisted with a rage deeper than anything he had shown before.
Hayashi's words echoed in his mind:
"Water may be calm and steady—but it can also surge as a torrent, raging without restraint."
Something awakened within him.
Raising his blade high, his wrath fused with his breathing.
A roaring wave rose around him.
Water Breathing: Twelfth Form — Torrent!
The crashing surge swept forward, carrying the blade down upon the demon's neck.
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