Yukishiro endured the searing pain tearing through his body. With YuMitsuri's support, he forced his battered legs to move quickly down the mountain. His voice, though weak, carried urgency as he told the others to stop searching and head immediately toward the mountainside.
Though no one fully understood, the sheer dread etched across Yukishiro's face silenced their doubts. This was the same young man who had faced three Demons alone without wavering—yet now, he looked pale and shaken, almost terrified. If he was unsettled, it could only mean something unimaginably dreadful lurked nearby.
Without hesitation, the survivors gathered around him, drawing strength from his presence as they followed.
Kimura bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He hated leaving Eimi behind, hated even more the gnawing thought that she was already gone. Yet what choice did he have? If he stayed, he'd only be throwing his life away against a horror that even Yukishiro dreaded. With clenched fists, he swallowed his grief and kept running with the group.
Behind them, the lake stirred.
At first, a ripple, then a fountain—a great column of water rose from its heart, shaped like a human silhouette.
When it reached its peak, the water cascaded back into the lake, leaving only a single figure standing motionless upon the surface.
A low, unsettling rustling came next. The sound was like hundreds of fish thrashing together, yet far too loud, too synchronized. The entire lake began to churn as if boiling. From beneath the figure's feet, strands of black spread outward, unfurling across the water's surface and creeping onto the shore.
They weren't roots.
They weren't tentacles.
They were hair.
The jagged scratches Yukishiro had seen on the stones had not been claw marks. They had been carved by strands of impossibly sharp, living hair.
The figure moved forward.
Ripples carried it steadily across the lake. Moonlight revealed long, tangled black hair that shrouded its entire form, glistening like wet silk and dripping steadily onto the rocks. As it walked, each step left a trail of damp, dark footprints. Hair spilled out from under its feet, crawling along the earth like a mass of snakes, slithering toward the direction Yukishiro's group had fled.
And then—
"The moon is round, the lake is clear…"
A clear, lilting children's song drifted from behind them.
Yukishiro froze mid-step. His blood ran colder than ice.
Everyone else stumbled to a halt as well, their faces paling. The melody was hauntingly sweet, the voice innocent—yet it rang hollow and wrong, echoing in a way that chilled the marrow.
"Did you… did you hear that?" one contestant whispered, pointing into the darkness. His voice shook. "A woman's voice—she's singing."
At first, he thought it was hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But when he met the others' expressions, wide-eyed and stricken, he knew he wasn't imagining things.
No one answered him. They quickened their pace instead, pushing through the woods as if chased by the song itself.
Still, doubt lingered. "Could it be… a signal? Maybe the ones who went ahead are trying to reach us?"
No one wanted to voice the obvious. Fujikasane Mountain was small enough to stumble across each other by chance. And besides… who among the survivors, after seven nights of death and despair, could sing such a cheerful tune? More importantly, only one girl—Eimi—had been in that team. This voice was not hers.
Which meant—there was only one answer.
It was the Demon.
By the time the thought took root, they reached the mountainside clearing where Kimura's team had once rested.
Beyond it lay the protective forest of wisteria blossoms. For a moment, the survivors felt a shred of safety.
They stood with their backs to the wisteria, blades drawn, eyes fixed on the woods.
The voice drifted closer. What should have been a song now sounded like a spell, winding its way into their bones.
Their scalps tingled, and cold sweat trickled down their backs.
Yukishiro stood at the front, Nichirin Blade trembling slightly in his weakened grip. Beside him were Mitsuri and Akino, shielding Yuka, who could barely stand.
"Listen carefully," Yukishiro said, his voice hoarse but steady. "This one… is stronger than every Demon we've faced so far—combined. If you cannot win, then survive. Forget the assessment. Save your life."
The weight of his words silenced everyone. The fire in his eyes told them he meant it.
Dawn was less than half an hour away.
The singing grew louder. Rustling accompanied it—the same eerie sound of hair dragging through undergrowth.
Then, abruptly, silence.
"Here it comes," Yukishiro muttered.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. Long, loose hair hung down to the ground, swallowing its entire body. The strands shimmered under moonlight like oiled silk, coiling restlessly as if alive.
"What… what is that?" one contestant stammered. His voice cracked in terror.
The answer was obvious.
What else could haunt this mountain but a Demon?
"Careful!" Yukishiro shouted suddenly.
Too late.
A scream tore through the clearing. One of the contestants was yanked off his feet, dragged screaming by his ankle. Black strands coiled around him like serpents, pulling him into the open. Before anyone could react, a tidal wave of hair surged upward, engulfing him entirely.
His cries grew muffled, then faded. Silence followed.
The group froze in horror.
Kimura's heart plummeted. Eimi… she was gone. The truth was undeniable. He thought back to when they first climbed the mountain: thirty or forty participants. Now, only eight remained.
On the right, three survivors trembled, clutching their blades but retreating step by step. Their courage was breaking.
On the left, Yukishiro and his companions stood firm despite their injuries. Even on the brink of collapse, their eyes burned with unyielding resolve.
Kimura's chest tightened. Compared to them, what was he? He thought of his failures, of Eimi, of her inadequacy. She wasn't meant for the Demon Slayer Corps.
"I give up," he said hollowly. His eyes met Yukishiro's for a fleeting second. "Take care of yourselves."
Without waiting for a reply, Kimura turned and leapt toward the wisteria forest. The sweet fragrance enveloped him, and for the first time in seven days, a smile touched his lips.
Relief—followed by tears.
The nightmare of Fujikasane Mountain would scar him forever.
"We've given up too. Be careful."
The other three broke as well, fleeing down toward the safety of the blossoms.
In a heartbeat, the eight had become only four.
Yukishiro glanced at Mitsuri, Akino, and Yuka. "You should go as well. You've done enough. No one will blame you."
Akino's jaw tightened. "And you? In your condition, you think you can fight?"
Yukishiro pulled the weighted bracelet from his wrist, then untied the weighted bands strapped to his legs.
Metal thudded heavily against the earth. Ten… twenty kilograms, at least. The others gasped.
They had known he was strong. But this—this wasn't even his full strength?
"I'm not like you," Yukishiro said quietly. "I have no way out. I either die here… or I pass."
With his left wrist shattered, he bound the useless limb tightly against his waist. He would not allow it to hinder him.
"I'm not leaving," Mitsuri said suddenly. Her voice was firm, her eyes resolute. For the first time, she showed her true conviction. The Demon Slayer Corps was the only place she believed she belonged. She would not abandon it now.
Akino exchanged a glance with Yuka, who nodded faintly despite her injuries. "We've already come this far," Akino said calmly. "Dawn is minutes away. To give up now would be disgraceful."
Yukishiro's gaze softened. "Very well. But stay alert. I… no longer have the strength to protect you."
"Don't worry about us," Mitsuri replied.
Drawing a ragged breath, Yukishiro steadied his blade.
His lungs burned, every breath like knives, yet he forced himself to act. With a swing, shards of ice erupted from his blade, embedding into the ground around them. The frigid air connected them into a circle of jagged spikes.
Their final bastion. The circle of ice stood before the wisteria forest, the last barrier against the strongest Demon in Fujikasane Mountain.
And the hair in the darkness crept closer still.