When Tōga reeled in his fishing rod for the third and final time, ending his long bout of angling, the extended training campaign also reached its first milestone.
By now, each young dog yōkai under his command had at least twenty kills of lowly monsters to their name.
The mid-level demons in the surrounding lands had either been slain one by one by Shirayuki—becoming stepping stones for the Dog Clan's continued rise—or else had fled in terror upon realizing someone was orchestrating events from the shadows.
As for the remaining rabble of lesser demons, no matter how many more they slew, their corpses offered little in the way of meaningful battle experience.
A light breeze stirred. The mountain winds drifted along the riverbank, where the last of the snowmelt met the first blossoms of spring, carrying with it a cool freshness.
Tōga stood silently at the riverside. His fingertips traced the ancient scabbard of the Fang Blade at his waist, while his golden eyes, sharp as cold starlight, swept over the twenty scarred yet burning-bright dog yōkai before him.
Among them stood Kujaku. The tips of her crimson hair were matted with dried blood, resembling tiny blossoms of red plum that quivered in the wind.
She no longer radiated the innocent, curious air of a newborn yōkai who had only just taken human form.
Battle had tempered her. Her eyes now held a steadiness and maturity—strength distilled from the crucible of life and death.
Seiten's armor, meanwhile, was shattered, and across his chest lingered blackened claw marks.
They were scars from when a hidden mid-rank demon, disguised among the rabble, suddenly ambushed Kujaku. In that crucial moment, Seiten had no time to react with anything else—he had simply thrown himself in the way.
He had nearly died from it. Since that day, Kujaku's gaze toward him had softened with something more than mere camaraderie.
Among the others, two more stood out.
One was massive, with fiery red hair and eyes to match. On the charge, he was like a raging beast, fighting with reckless fury as though his own life meant nothing. When calm, however, he seemed dull-witted and simple, almost comically earnest. His name was Gyuenmaru.
The other was lean, wiry, with blue hair and dark eyes. He was the picture of calm calculation, always aiming for the enemy's weak point, his strikes swift and lethal. He was Shunraiga.
Thus the twenty were divided, four squads of five, each led by one of these four.
"You've slain many lesser yōkai these past days. The techniques I've passed down—Sankon Tessō and Steel Fist—you've managed to grasp, more or less."
Sankon Tessō required little explanation; they were the claw techniques that replaced swords for many lower-ranking demons.
Steel Fist, on the other hand, could be likened to Tsunade's famed strikes in Naruto [Chakra Enhanced Strength]—a technique Tōga had adapted, channeling yōki into the body, to multiply its strength in an instant. With it, even the weakest dog demon could shatter stone or split mountains, and withstand crushing blows.
Among them, Gyuenmaru was the most naturally suited to Steel Fist. His immense physique and feral fighting style allowed him to draw out its destructive power to the fullest.
Next came Kujaku and Seiten, and finally Shunraiga.
For Sankon Tessō, the order was reversed.
The rest, however, lagged far behind. In both technique and application, they fell short of the standard Tōga demanded.
"But…"
Tōga's voice suddenly shifted, cold and severe.
With the flick of his fingers, five golden arcs of light shot forth like lightning, grazing past the ears of the four leaders and severing stray locks of their hair.
The deadly wind that accompanied it was like the scythe of death itself, slicing apart the arrogance that had begun to take root in their hearts from slaughtering rabble.
"You are still weak. Even you, Seiten—when faced with a mere rabble band led by one mid-rank demon—you nearly perished?!"
Raising his hand, Tōga unleashed his yōki. A tempest roared to life, engulfing the entire riverside in its furious winds.
The storm howled, gravel and sand whipped into the air, the river churned into waves.
"And if you were facing the Leopard Cat Tribe, you'd all be slaughtered to the last!"
"You are the most pitiful group of dog demons I have ever trained!"
At once, twenty figures were crushed down to their knees beneath the overwhelming force. The river erupted into towering spray, reflecting the strained, red-faced visages of the struggling soldiers.
Beneath an ancient pine, Shirayuki leaned in the shade. Her pale armor gleamed in the fractured light of the waves, cold and beautiful.
Watching Tōga's brutal method of drilling them, she could not help but show a wry expression at his final words.
'This is literally your first formal unit…'
'And truth be told, their strength already surpasses the small squads within the clan. Against a Leopard Cat squad of equal number, they'd crush them utterly.'
'If this kind of training were spread across the whole clan, our strength would multiply. Then Father could finally rest easier, and his recovery would not weigh on him so heavily.'
'Yes… from now on, Father should treat Tōga more kindly, not so harshly. After all, he is… he is…'
She lowered her head, fingers idly playing with her hair. Her thoughts drifted, unconsciously settling on wedding matters, and a blush bloomed across her face—like peach blossoms in spring, radiant and alluring.
The object of her thoughts, Tōga, surveyed his troops. Their earlier pride had been shattered, yet beneath their stubborn eyes still burned a fierce unwillingness to yield.
He nodded inwardly, relieved.
This was his first time shaping a unit, and he had been uncertain how far to push them.
After all, in his previous life, he had never been some great general or warlord. He had far more experience being commanded than commanding—and certainly no skill in leadership.
After all, managing a 2,000-member online chat group hardly qualified as proper experience in handling soldiers.
"Arise."
Tōga lowered his hand. His yōki, vast as a net, receded from their bodies.
His deep, resonant voice—like steel splitting stone—echoed across the riverside.
As the twenty rose unsteadily to their feet, he spoke again.
"I will choose the four best among you, and from them establish my first personal army—the Heavenly Host: Azure Fang Army."
His words struck them like thunder. Envy and yearning flared in the eyes of the twenty, their gazes fixed on the four who stood at the fore.
Kujaku and the others could hardly contain their joy. To follow such a powerful leader, who shared his teachings without reservation, was fortune beyond measure.
At least, on the battlefield, they could slay more Leopard Cats, protect more clansmen—and if they died, it would be worth it.
"Kujaku. Seiten. Gyuenmaru. Shunraiga. You four are the first chosen for the Azure Fang Army. But do not think this means your place here is secure."
Tōga's gaze, sharp as blades, swept across their taut faces.
"The Heavenly Host will be my personal guard—our clan's highest fighting force. It will embody our supreme authority, supreme honor, and supreme strength!"
"You will defend our heartlands, face the greatest of enemies, and bleed in the most hellish battles. Countless trials await you."
"Once you accept missions as the Heavenly Host, only two fates remain: death in service of the clan—or triumphant return."
His voice was harsh, yet beneath it lay a flicker of expectation.
"And the name Azure Fang—taken from the sky above and the fangs of our clan—I entrust to you. Bear the title of the Heavenly Host. Lead the Dog Clan. Rise above all others!"
The atmosphere grew suffocating, as though a storm was about to break.
Each of Tōga's words fell like a hammer upon their hearts, forcing them to confront the weight of the name "Heavenly Host: Azure Fang Army".
But at the same time, their blood burned hotter than ever before.