After parting ways with Shinobu Kocho, Yukishiro walked alone toward the top of the mountain.
The trail beneath his feet looked as though no one had used it for a long time. Weeds had swallowed up most of the path, their tall blades brushing against his legs as he forced his way forward.
The woods around him were damp, heavy with the smell of moss and decaying leaves, and the air clung to his skin like a wet cloth. Already weakened, Yukishiro could barely walk a short distance before panting heavily, sweat dripping down his temples and soaking through the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest and arms.
The bandages, meant to protect, instead turned into a torment.
They absorbed his sweat, and the salty moisture seeped into his half-healed wounds, making them burn and itch at once. Every step sent a jolt of pain through his body, until finally he could no longer bear it.
Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Yukishiro tore off his haori and let it hang loosely over his shoulder.
His torso, still wrapped in layer after layer of cloth, was left exposed to the oppressive mountain air. He exhaled deeply and began to regulate his breathing, trying to circulate air through his body to cool his burning skin.
He didn't know how long he walked—time stretched endlessly in the thick, suffocating forest—but at last the narrow trail gave way to a small clearing. It looked almost like a rest stop made for travelers: a stone table and benches stood in the middle, their surfaces cracked and mossy with age. Beyond that, the real mountain road stretched upward, paved with neat bluestone slabs.
Yukishiro lowered himself heavily onto the stone bench, his gaze falling on the bluestone path. Only then did he realize something was wrong. Shinobu had deliberately guided him onto a side trail instead of pointing him toward this direct, well-kept path.
Had she meant to do that? Or had it been a chance?
Yukishiro's lips curled in irritation. "What a stupid woman," he cursed inwardly.
He leaned against the cold stone table and tilted his head back to stare at the canopy above.
Thick branches blotted out most of the sunlight, leaving only faint streams of light to filter through.
Against his will, Shinobu's face rose in his memory—the faint smile on her lips, her calm, unshakable eyes leaning so close to his own earlier. Just thinking of it made his heartbeat falter for a moment.
A Hashira, and yet she acts with such shameless familiarity…
Yukishiro clenched his fists.
From his readings, he knew well what the Hashira represented. They were the nine swordsmen who stood at the very peak of the Demon Slayer Corps, the strongest of the strong. Shinobu Kocho was counted among them as the Insect Hashira.
Yet unlike the others, her strength was not earned through brute force. In fact, she was the weakest among the nine. Her arms lacked the strength to sever a demon's neck, so she relied on a different method altogether: a poison extracted from wisteria flowers, capable of killing only weaker demons.
To Yukishiro, her title felt borrowed, an inheritance passed down from her late sister Kanae Kocho, the previous Insect Hashira.
Without that bloodline, without that connection, she never would have stood among the nine.
With a sharp exhale, he pushed the thought aside. Rest. That was all he needed now. Then he would continue on his way to the summit. It was already late in the afternoon. If he failed to reach the trainer before nightfall, he would have no choice but to sleep in the wilderness—and that was an idea he did not welcome.
Just then, a rustle disturbed the bushes nearby.
Yukishiro's instincts snapped taut. He stood, turning sharply toward the sound.
From the brush leapt a gray rabbit, landing lightly before bounding away into the trees.
He let out a slow breath. A rabbit. Nothing more.
Yet in the same instant, a cold shiver crawled up from the pit of his stomach. It was as though the forest itself had exhaled on his neck.
His heart clenched.
The rabbit… had been running away.
Something was here. Something worse.
Yukishiro's breath grew shallow. He didn't move, but his every nerve screamed that unseen eyes were fixed on him.
He had been targeted.
He closed his eyes briefly, steadying his condition. Then, with deliberate care, he inhaled.
"Cold Wave."
Frost-laced air poured from his lips. The woods were already dense with moisture, and his breath instantly turned it into glittering shards of ice that drifted around him like snowflakes. Each expansion of his lungs spread the chill farther, sharpening his perception, extending his awareness outward.
The hidden presence flinched. Its cover blown, it abandoned stealth. From the branches of a nearby tree, a blur dropped, lunging toward him with inhuman speed.
The moment it hit the cold air, Yukishiro had already sensed its trajectory. He leapt back, twice, bounding up the stone steps toward the bluestone path, creating distance.
He did not counterattack. Not yet.
First, he had to see what it was.
The creature landed on the stone table with a heavy thud. Snow-white frost clung to its body, coating it in pale shards like a monkey covered in ice. It let out a guttural sound, scratching at its arms as though the cold burned its skin.
Yukishiro narrowed his eyes. Arms. Legs. Clothes—though ragged and bloodstained.
"A man? No… not quite."
Before he could finish the thought, the creature raised its head.
It snarled.
And Yukishiro froze.
Its skin was tinged green, its jaw stretched wide to reveal long fangs. Its eyes gleamed with animal hunger, and gray fur, matted with old blood, clung to its mouth and chin.
This was no beast.
This was a demon.
Yukishiro's knees nearly buckled. A living demon—right here, on the trainer's mountain.
His thoughts scattered, then spun wildly back into place. Why here? Why now? Did Shinobu know? Was this what she meant when she said she could only escort him so far?
Was this… a test?
Yes, it had to be. That was the only explanation. Otherwise, how could a demon wander freely in a place governed by a trainer?
Yukishiro's breathing steadied. He forced his panic down and analyzed the situation.
Fight, or run.
If he fled down the mountain, he risked humiliation—perhaps outright elimination. If he ran upward, the demon would only chase him, draining his stamina until he collapsed. With his injuries, he couldn't last long.
That left only one path. Fight.
If this was truly a test, then the trainer would not allow him to die here. That much he clung to, though it felt like a desperate gamble.
Decision made, he inhaled deeply and reached for his waist, drawing as though a sword were already in his hand—
But his hand grasped only air.
Nothing.
No hilt. No scabbard. Not even a broken stick.
His eyes widened. The realization slammed into him like a thunderbolt.
No weapon. No blade. No knife.
"Damn it!"
Yukishiro's lips twisted in fury. "That stingy, stupid woman! At least give me a knife! Is this supposed to be a test—or did you just send me here to be the demon's next meal?!"