Just as the ice cone was about to strike, the Demon reacted instinctively, springing aside and dodging cleanly. The frozen spikes tore into the earth with sharp puff sounds, leaving deep holes where it had stood.
Instead of lunging at Yukishiro, the Demon crouched low, sniffing eagerly at the blood-stained soil clutched in its hands. A blissful expression crossed its face as it raised the dirt to its mouth. Unable to suppress its hunger, it crammed the soil between its teeth and chewed greedily.
Moments later its expression twisted. Realizing the taste was wrong, it spat the dirt back out, then shoved in another handful. Again and again it tried, but each time the flavor soured on its tongue. At last it spat everything onto the ground and turned its gaze sharply toward Yukishiro, eyes glinting with cold hunger.
"Damn… I wanted to use my blood to distract it, but instead I've only made it crave me more."
The demon lowered itself, step by step, stalking forward.
Yukishiro glanced up the slope. "Why hasn't the trainer intervened yet? Is he really going to wait until I'm about to die? How much longer is this test supposed to last?"
That brief distraction cost him. The Demon slammed both feet into the dirt, cracking the ground beneath it, and launched itself forward at terrifying speed. Its movements were sharper, wilder, bloodlust sharpening its strength.
Yukishiro barely raised his stick in time, chest aching where he had already been kicked. Each breath felt heavy, strained. Still, no trainer appeared.
"Am I performing poorly? Or… is this Demon itself part of the test?"
Two paths stretched in his mind: escape or fight.
At first, fighting didn't necessarily mean a direct clash. He could evade, counter lightly, delay.
That would buy time for the trainer to step in. But if this Demon wasn't planted here—if it had wandered in by chance—then no help would come. Delay meant death.
He clenched his teeth. "No illusions. No trainers. No rescue. It's just me and this thing. I either fight for my life or I die here."
The Demon slunk into the brush, vanishing into the weeds. Rustling came from one direction, then another, keeping him turning, tense.
A sudden shadow burst out behind him. Before he could dodge, claws slammed him to the ground.
The demon's jaw yawned wide, aiming straight for his throat.
Yukishiro jammed the stick crosswise, bracing it against its arms and snapping jaws. He heaved upward with all his strength, then drove his boot into its stomach. The impact gave him space. The creature wailed, staggering, and he shoved it back, scrambling upright.
"Broken Rain!"
Ice shattered from his strike, sharp cones streaking through the air. The demon darted aside, weaving, closing the gap faster and faster. Its claws slashed, forcing him back step by step.
The cold aura around Yukishiro wavered, thinning with every breath. Fatigue dragged on his limbs.
The Demon sensed it. With renewed frenzy, it circled and darted, forcing him to waste energy. Each attack came quicker, sharper, each feint meant to sap his spirit and body.
By now both bore wounds. Yukishiro's chest bled heavily; his bandages hung loose, torn and filthy. Blood mixed with dirt across his body. His face was Demonly pale, sweat pouring down. Breathing seared his lungs with fire.
The Demon fared little better—its body bore frozen cuts, and a jagged hole still gaped at its waist, rimmed with frost. But unlike him, it did not tire. Its strength would last until his ended.
They both knew it. That's why the Demon abandoned headlong attacks and instead stalked, harassed, forced him to bleed strength drop by drop.
Then—his foot slipped on a stone. He toppled backward.
The demon seized its chance instantly. It darted and leapt, landing above him, mouth yawning wide for his throat.
Yukishiro's lips curled faintly. "Bait taken."
"Swift Ice Spike!"
He thrust upward with his stick. Frost surged down its shaft, sharpening the point into a jagged spear. His entire body twisted with the stab, the strike carrying the strength of waist, shoulders, and arms together.
The improvised technique pierced through the demon's throat.
It shrieked, flailing wildly, body twisting in agony. Yukishiro slammed against the ground under its weight, refusing to let go, straining until the stick tore free.
But frost betrayed him. The weapon froze fast to the creature's neck. When he heaved, it flung away—stick and all—before crashing into a tree and tumbling into the bushes.
Rustling followed. The Demon staggered out, clutching the stick lodged in its throat, gurgling as icy blood bubbled up from within.
Yukishiro pushed himself upright, nearly vomiting from dizziness. Pain clawed at his chest and head.
"No time. My body's finished. I only have strength for one last strike. I have to make it count—cripple it long enough to escape."