The walk to the headquarters took seven days. Tsuruji moved with a steady, unchanging pace. He slept under trees. He ate dry rations. He did not see the beauty of the land. His mind was on the path ahead.
Finally, he saw it. A massive estate nestled at the foot of a mountain. Wisteria flowers, purple and heavy, hung everywhere. Their sweet smell filled the air. Demons hated wisteria. This place was safe.
He passed through the main gate. The courtyard was full of people. Dozens of other young men and women. Some looked confident, their hands on their swords. Others looked scared, their eyes wide.
Tsuruji felt nothing. He was just another stone in the river.
A man in a demon slayer uniform stood on a platform. He had a crow on his shoulder.
"Welcome," the man said. "You are here for the Final Selection. It is simple. Survive seven days and nights on the mountain behind this estate."
He pointed to a dark, forested mountain. The air around it looked cold.
"Demons are trapped there. Captured by the wisteria that grows here. They cannot leave. They are hungry. They will try to eat you."
Some of the recruits gasped.
"Kill them, or survive until the seventh dawn. If you do, you will be a member of the Demon Slayer Corps. Your sword will be officially registered. Now, go."
There were no more words. The crowd began to move toward the mountain path. Some ran ahead, eager to fight. Others hesitated, fear holding them back.
Tsuruji started walking. His pace was the same as it had been on the road. Steady. Unchanging.
He entered the forest. The sunlight faded, blocked by thick leaves. The air grew cold. The sweet smell of wisteria was gone, replaced by the smell of damp earth and rot.
He had not walked for ten minutes when he heard a rustle in the bushes to his left. A low growl.
A demon crawled out. It was misshapen, with long arms and a wide, drooling mouth.
"Fresh meat!" it gurgled, and lunged.
Tsuruji didn't move. He didn't even reach for his sword.
He let the demon get close. He could smell its foul breath.
Then, his left hand shot out. It was not a punch. It was a blade-hand, fingers stiff. He drove his hand straight into the demon's throat.
The demon choked, its lunge stopping dead. Its eyes bulged in surprise.
With his right hand, Tsuruji slowly drew his black Nichirin blade. He didn't need a fancy technique for this one.
The demon clawed at his arm, but it was already weakening.
Tsuruji looked into its eyes, his own face a blank mask.
He swung the black sword. The demon's head fell to the forest floor. Its body began to crumble to dust.
He wiped his blade clean on a leaf. He sheathed it.
He started walking again, deeper into the dark woods. The first one was done. Many more were waiting.