Yukishiro was so distraught that even tears refused to fall. In her heart,he cursed Shinobu Kocho and the Demon Slayer Corps again and again.
Yet, despite his complaints, a dangerous curiosity stirred. "What kind of organization demands a test that can so easily cost a life? If even an examination is this lethal, maybe the Corps truly has something that can help me find my sister."
"Fine then. Since you want me to see, I'll see enough. This isn't the first time I've encountered a Demon. Imiya Kigan, I will step on the corpses of your kind until I reach you."
To avoid staining the brand-new haori, Yukishiro threw it into the bushes. He seized a branch as thick as her wrist, snapped it in half with force, and left herself with a jagged, spear-like end. It would have to serve as a weapon.
"Ugly freak," she barked, lifting the crude weapon. "Come on. Show me your strength."
The Demon understood her provocation. It opened its mouth wide, a guttural howl ripping out—"Ha!"—before springing forward on all fours. Its speed was astonishing, its leaps feral. Upright posture had long been abandoned; it was a beast now. The hind legs propelled it forward, while the clawed forelimbs sought only to tear.
"Cold wave."
Exhaling a sharp breath, Yukishiro released a surge of cold air. Without a blade, this chilling aura was his only shield—his perception stretched outward on the frost. He had already learned one thing in the first clash: the Demon hated the cold.
A foul stench blew toward her as the creature lunged. He swung the stick in both hands, aiming squarely at its chest.
But the Demon, still mid-air, slapped the stick aside with one hand and clawed for her face with the other.
Yukishiro dropped back, sliding low, scraping the dirt beneath its belly, and rolling into the open space beyond.
The Demon's feet touched earth, and it shrieked. The cold burned its flesh. Scrambling, it raced for the trunk of a nearby tree and clawed itself sideways along the bark. Nails dug in so deep that it clung horizontally, its grip unshaken.
Yukishiro's eyes narrowed. "Its strength is monstrous. With my body as it is now, brute force won't win this fight."
Two failed attempts enraged the Demon. Cold gnawed at its skin, and with a furious cry, it kicked from the tree and shot toward him again.
Yukishiro read the direction and stepped aside. As its limbs left the ground, he swung, striking its back with the sharpened stick.
But he had misjudged. The Demon twisted mid-air, its waist bending in a grotesque rotation. Its legs spun counterclockwise, and in an instant, both feet were aimed directly at Yukishiro's chest.
She saw the shift but had no time. The distance was too close. The moment she attacked, it had already twisted; even retreat would bring injury.
"If I fail here, every step after will turn against me. Better to take the strike and hit back than to falter."
He steadied himself. "Its kick is rushed. It won't carry full strength. If I can land my own strike, we'll trade losses. Risky, but breathing techniques will toughen my body enough to endure."
Yukishiro inhaled deeply and shouted, "ice storm!"
A blast of cold burst outward. Snowflakes spiraled through the air, and her stick froze solid in her grip, coated with jagged ice. He lifted both hands and brought the weapon down with a chopping arc toward the Demon's back.
Instinct warred inside the monster. Even as a demon, the human drive to avoid pain lingered. But hunger, fury, and bloodlust won. With a shriek, it rammed both feet into Yukishiro's chest at the same moment her icy strike bit into its back.
The impact was brutal. Air blasted from her lungs as her ribs groaned. He flew backward, smashed through bushes, and tumbled down a slope. His body slammed against the roots of a great tree before she rolled to a halt.
Dizziness swept over her. Her stomach lurched. Something clogged her throat until she coughed out a mouthful of blood, leaving her breath suddenly freer.
She lay still, panting, then dragged herself upright, chest aching with every breath. "That kick… powerful. But my bones aren't broken. I can still fight."
Clutching roots for balance, he hauled herself back up the slope.
The Demon crouched, clawing at the ice stuck to its back. The wound wasn't deep—it was only a sharpened branch—but frost spread across it, biting down into flesh.
That was the secret of Drifting Snow. The wound itself was nothing, but the ice lodged in it spread cold from within, hampering movement and slowing regeneration. On a joint, it could have crippled the creature.
Still, Yukishiro had taken the worse injury.
Yet the Demon no longer looked certain. Prey usually fled. This one fought, struck back, bled but did not yield. Rage and unease twisted together.
Its eyes gleamed with hunger. Saliva dripped from its gaping mouth, and it loosed an eerie "wuwu," shifting restlessly, claws digging into earth.
Yukishiro narrowed her eyes. "So hungry you've lost your mind, have you? Then let's use that."
he tugged at the bandage on her right hand and let blood drip deliberately onto the ground.
The Demon froze, nostrils flaring. Then it convulsed with craving, eyes blazing. With a feral howl, it lunged—not at her, but at the fresh pool of blood in the dirt.
It crashed down, scooped up bloody soil with both hands, and shoved it greedily into its mouth.
Yukishiro endured the pain in her chest, circled behind it, and drew in a sharp breath.
"Broken Rain!"
His stick swung down. Ice splintered from the air, forming sharp, transparent cones that whirled with wind and snow, driving straight into the demon's back.