Tsuguko?
What on earth was that?
Natsunishi's eyes were clear and innocent as he looked at Dojima, then at Sashiko.
Yukiziri Sashiko reacted quickly.
A "Tsuguko," also known as a "Successor," was an elite member of the Demon Slayer Corps recognized by the Nine Hashira and designated to inherit their mantle. While receiving direct guidance from the Hashira, they also took on far more dangerous demon-slaying missions in the future.
Kuguruma-kun wasn't technically a Tsuguko of any of the Hashira, but his current situation—training under the Storm Hashira—wasn't much different from being one.
The young girl had no intention of correcting Dojima's misunderstanding. Instead, mimicking his tone, she bowed slightly toward Natsunishi.
"Sashiko also awaits your orders, Tsuguko-sama."
Natsunishi: ...
I feel like this title is just a roundabout way of messing with my seniority...
Once the mission was over, he'd have to go back and ask that "cheap" senior brother of his exactly what this "Inherited Son" gag was all about.
The group split up according to Natsunishi's arrangements.
Natsunishi headed toward the area with the highest density of people, while giving Sashiko a random direction that appeared to have no "red-named" monsters. As for Dojima, he was sent off toward a location where there was only a single minor mob with a "Power Level of 62."
Kazuma Dojima was the first to step into a workshop containing weaving looms.
Just as the Storm Hashira's Tsuguko had said, several unconscious civilians were indeed lying haphazardly in the corner of the workshop. He crouched down, carefully searching for the demon that "should exist" nearby.
Since the other's prediction regarding the civilians had come true, it stood to reason that his claim about a demon "weaker than himself" possessing a Blood Demon Art involving "dividing flesh" and "multiple wills" wasn't just aimless talk.
Where was it...
In the shadows of the ceiling? In the gaps between the people? Or some forgotten corner...
Found it!
He discovered a tumor-like lump—or rather, a tumor-like demon—crawling on one of the civilians. It was currently writhing, sucking the person's blood like a leech.
Without a moment's hesitation, Dojima took his starting stance.
Flame Breathing
First Form: Unknowing Fire
Draw!
While it fell far short of the extreme god-speed of Thunder Breathing, it was the fastest lunging sword form in the repertoire of Flame Breathing. The swordsman's body dragged a trail of afterimages, piercing through the tumorous demon with a burst of sparks.
A hit!
He sheathed his blade and looked back.
Dojima's brow furrowed. He found that the demon had not fallen as he expected. Instead, it was frantically fleeing deeper into the factory.
I missed the neck?
Dojima frowned, recalling the slightly strange sensation of that strike. However, he didn't dwell on it, leaning down to try and wake the civilians. Compared to chasing a demon, saving people was the top priority.
He did a quick head count. He couldn't carry them all out alone; would he have to force them awake? Except for the one person who had just died from blood loss, the others had no obvious wounds and should be able to move on their own.
"Hey, wake up."
He patted their faces, but several civilians showed no reaction. Dojima vaguely felt something was wrong.
Slap!
A crisp slap to the face.
"Get up!"
Even with reddened and swollen cheeks, the unconscious people kept their eyes tightly shut.
"Their breathing is steady, but they're unconscious. Is it some kind of drug or a Blood Demon Art..."
Click.
A sound came from behind him.
Dojima turned instantly, his Nichirin Sword held horizontally in front of him as he stared toward the source of the noise.
It wasn't a demon. It was a Demon Slayer.
But a look of gravity appeared on Dojima's face. The newcomer wasn't Natsunishi or Sashiko, whom he had just parted from, but a stranger. Even more unsettling was that this person's eyes were rolled back, showing only whites. He was mumbling under his breath, dragging his Nichirin Sword as he approached with a strange, stiff gait.
"Name and rank," Dojima questioned coldly.
The other person still didn't respond, continuing to drag the blade closer. The tip of the Nichirin Sword scraped against the floor, making a harsh clattering sound.
"You there, stop!" Dojima gripped his sword tight, his gaze darkening. "Final warning: state your name and rank!"
The swordsman didn't speak, but his sprint suddenly accelerated.
As expected, he's being controlled by a Blood Demon Art?
Faint white mist drifted from between his teeth as the Flame Breathing began to circulate. Dojima took the initiative!
The Nichirin Sword, carrying a scorching aura, turned into several streaks of crimson light, directly enveloping the opponent.
Clang! Clang-clang!
Sparks like those from a blacksmith's hammer erupted repeatedly in the darkness. The controlled swordsman actually drew his own blade to block. However, perhaps due to a lack of skill or because his movements were sluggish under control, after only six exchanges of slashes, the Nichirin Sword in his hand was sent flying by Dojima's strike.
The crimson light, now unobstructed, slammed heavily into him.
Wrists, knees, shoulders...
Crack.
Even using the back of the blade, the destruction displayed under the swordsman's exquisite technique and strength was extraordinary. The dull thuds of breaking bones and dislocations were clearly audible.
The swordsman lost his support and slumped powerlessly to the ground. Dojima glanced back. As expected, though the man was struggling, he could no longer get up to pose a threat. He'd have to endure some physical pain and wait for the mission to end to receive treatment.
It was also at this moment that he finally heard clearly the slurred, incoherent mumbling the man had been repeating.
"Strong... demon... don't... quick... Hashira... run..."
He's not completely controlled?
Dojima kicked away the other's Nichirin Sword and crouched down to shake his shoulder. "Hey, are you still conscious? What are you trying to say?"
The swordsman's eyes were still clouded. His mouth still formed difficult-to-understand words. But Dojima could vaguely sense an urgency mixed with despair and pain. He was trying to convey a message.
Dammit, what kind of Blood Demon Art is this!
Frowning, he quickly checked the man's body, and his gaze instantly sharpened. Embedded in the back of the man's neck was a writhing piece of germinal flesh!
What is this disgusting thing?
The moment he saw the flesh, the strange object suddenly elongated, shooting straight for his head. Dojima lunged to the side to dodge, followed by a flash of his blade. The flesh was severed into several segments. It struggled on the ground for a moment before falling still.
The controlled swordsman began to twitch violently without warning. Just as Dojima retreated a few steps to observe, the swordsman spoke up anxiously.
"Newcomer! Quick! Run!"
Though his body was limp and weak, the panic and urgency in his tone couldn't be hidden. "The demon here... is ridiculously strong! It's not afraid of slashes! Quick, get a Hashira for backup!"
Realizing the man had regained his senses, Dojima quickly went over to help him up. "Hey, can you move? What kind of strength does that demon have!"
The swordsman was about to speak, but his peripheral vision caught the pitch-black entrance of the workshop. His body began to tremble.
A disgusting sound, like coarse paper rubbing against a latrine wall, echoed in the darkness. And it was getting closer.
"Guhahaha, this kid has been drained dry by my little darling. I'm afraid he won't be able to crawl up for at least ten days or half a month."
The tumor-like minor demon that had fled earlier crawled back in from outside.
Cold sweat condensed on Dojima's forehead, dripping onto the dusty floor. He wasn't afraid of that tumor monster. He was afraid of the massive creature following behind it, its silhouette gradually emerging under the dim moonlight.
It was a deformed body covered in slimy, moist tissue—a grotesque frame where tumorous growths constantly pulsed and proliferated. Though one could barely tell it was humanoid, it was already far removed from the concept of a "human" image. The massive shadow almost filled the doorway, and a sickening, rotten stench wafted toward him.
"What, are your legs weak from fear?"
"But even if you're afraid, I won't let you leave..."
"After all, I haven't planted my seed in your body yet."
As the Tumor Demon spoke, it reached out. It grabbed the small tumor demon in front of it and, ignoring the creature's struggles, pressed it into its own body.
Yes, pressed it in. Like pressing a piece of soft mud into a swamp. Dojima could even see the writhing process as they fused together bit by bit.
Very quickly, a face that looked seventy to eighty percent like that small tumor demon emerged from a mass of tumors on the creature's shoulder blade. It seemed to struggle to separate itself from the body, only to be pressed back inside as if it were nothing.
"Guhahaha, sorry, my clones have been a bit too lively lately. But don't worry. I won't let them disturb the two of us."
A deformed smile that could be called "friendly" squeezed onto the demon's face made of lumpy tumors. The sight made Dojima's stomach churn.
However, he remained stony-faced, gripping his Nichirin Sword tightly. He didn't dare show any opening. Every cell in his body was telling him that the demon before him likely possessed strength far beyond his own.