The rest of the seven days passed in a blur of blood and dust.
They fought as a unit, but not a team. Tsuruji was the core. The unmoving center. He fought with cold, brutal efficiency. His black blade, now almost always edged in crimson, cut down demon after demon. He never spoke during a fight. He only acted.
Hayate was the wild storm around him. He took on the fast ones, the aggressive ones. He enjoyed the hunt. He learned to watch Tsuruji, to see where the cold blade would create an opening. He didn't do it out of friendship. He did it because it was the best way to kill more demons.
Ren was the voice in the shadows. He hung back, his sharp ears listening for danger. He would call out warnings, mutter probabilities, and sometimes, when the fight was right, he would unleash a single, precise sonic attack from his Sound Breathing that would stun a demon at the perfect moment. He did it not out of courage, but because his calculations told him it was the only way to ensure his own survival with these two.
They didn't talk about their pasts. They didn't share food or stories. They were three weapons, sharpening themselves against the horrors of the mountain.
On the fifth night, a demon with many eyes trapped them in a web of illusions. It showed Hayate the pack of wild dogs that raised him, dead and bleeding. It showed Ren a library burning, all the knowledge he loved turning to ash. It showed Tsuruji his family's compound, whole and happy, his mother calling him for dinner.
Hayate roared in fury, slashing at the air. Ren froze, his mind overwhelmed by the tragedy.
Tsuruji just stood there. He looked at the illusion of his smiling mother. His face showed nothing. No pain. No longing. Nothing.
"The dead are gone," he said, his voice flat. "This is a lie."
He walked straight through the smiling image, his blade finding the real demon hiding behind it. The illusion broke like glass.
On the morning of the seventh day, the sun finally rose over a quiet mountain. The three of them stood at the edge of the forest, looking out at the wisteria-covered estate.
They were dirty. Their clothes were torn. Hayate had a deep gash on his arm. Ren had dark circles under his eyes. Tsuruji was pale, the cost of using his blood so many times showing only in his slight paleness.
They walked out of the forest together. Only a handful of other recruits came out. Many had not made it.
The man with the crow was waiting.
"You have survived," he said. "You are now Demon Slayers."
Crows flew down, one landing on each of their shoulders. Tsuruji's crow was sleek and black, like his sword.
"Your first missions will come soon. Go and rest."
The other survivors were talking, some crying with relief.
Tsuruji, Hayate, and Ren stood apart from them.
Hayate looked at Tsuruji. "Where you go, I go."
Ren pushed up his glasses. "Statistically, our combined effectiveness is forty-eight percent higher when working as a unit. It is the logical choice."
Tsuruji looked at them. His new crow shifted on his shoulder. He felt the weight of his black blade.
He didn't need friends. He needed soldiers. And these two were capable.
He gave a single, short nod.
"Fine."