Mount Sagiri Mist, deep in the dark woods.
Sanemi Shinazugawa carried a green Nichirin Blade, cursing under his breath as he swayed and walked with an air of utter indifference.
With his face covered in frightening scars and that manic expression of unbridled rage, he looked exactly like a bandit leader just released from some remote mountain village.
Masachika Kumeno next to this white-haired madman.
Obanai Iguro walked at the very front.
The white snake -Kaburamaru around its neck seemed to hate the smell here too, burying its head deep into its owner's black and white striped haori.
This oddly assembled trio swept through the forest like slicing through melons and vegetables, eliminating dozens of bizarre and grotesque demons.
I'm currently in a state of extreme overconfidence, even feeling like there's no one I can beat tonight.
Just as the three were preparing to climb over the small hill to find the next unlucky guy and, incidentally, compare who killed more small fry tonight...
A rustling sound suddenly came from the dark corner ahead.
The three men instantly became alert, gripping their sword hilts tightly, their muscles tensing, assuming a fighting stance.
A cold, murderous intent flashed in Obanai's heterochromatic eyes.
Sanemi grinned, revealing a cruel and maniacal laugh, preparing for a fierce and exhilarating battle.
However.
When the source of the commotion was fully exposed to the faint moonlight, the trio's devastating killing intent was instantly revealed.
A withered, thin old ghost with a huge, disgusting tumor on its head was huddled under the roots of a dead tree, shivering in fear.
The old man was as thin as a rake, his hands, like chicken claws, clutching his head tightly; he looked utterly pitiful.
"Eek! How scary! How scary! Don't kill me! Don't kill me!!"
The old ghost let out a bloodcurdling scream like a pig being slaughtered.
That cowardly and despicable appearance was even more repulsive than the most lowly wandering ghosts at the foot of the mountain.
A cold wind swept through the woods, swirling up a few fallen leaves.
The atmosphere was so awkward that you wanted to dig a three-bedroom apartment out of the ground with your toes.
Sanemi's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, his mouth gaped open, and his jaw almost dropped to the ground. He felt that his intelligence had been insulted like never before.
I made such a big fuss, struck such a cool sword-drawing pose, and was so excited thinking I was going to run into some tough opponent and have a good fight, and this is what I get?
This thing can be called a ghost?
Isn't this just some old geezer who came into the woods to scam people and beg for money?!?!
Obanai's face darkened, her heterochromatic eyes filled with utter speechlessness; even her desire to make a sarcastic remark was forced back by the comical scene.
The old ghost didn't feel the knife coming down for a while. He secretly peeked at the three fierce-looking swordsmen through his fingers and screamed again in fright.
The withered old man used both hands and feet, scrambling and crawling deeper into the bushes.
In his haste to run, he even flung off his tattered straw sandal, which landed squarely on Sanemi's instep.
Sanemi looked down at the rotten straw sandal that reeked of foot odor, and the veins on his forehead bulged instantly.
Masachika frowned, staring intently at the old man's hunched and lewd back. His intuition, honed from years of walking the line between life and death, was now frantically alarming deep within his mind.
Something's not right.
Something is very wrong.
The battlefield for this level of final showdown, which could penetrate deep into this mountainside and avoid the search network of so many Demon Slayer Corps members below, could absolutely not be some kind of trash that breaks at the slightest touch.
This is most likely some kind of bait used for fishing, or it may be hiding some extremely vicious series of traps.
Without hesitation, Masachika reached for his waist, pulled out a signal gun, and prepared to call down the pillar-level bigwigs on the mountaintop for support.
Suddenly, a strong hand gripped Masachika's wrist.
Sanemi's face was so dark it looked like it could drip water, his eyes were full of irritability and extreme disdain, and his mouth twitched wildly.
"Are you out of your mind or were you kicked by a donkey?"
"You actually need to call Zhu to deal with this half-buried, limp piece of trash?"
Sanemi's voice became extremely shrill with anger.
"I just slew so many mutated monsters and didn't even call for help, and now I have to fire a signal flare just to kill some old Delia trying to scam me?"
"If this gets out, will I still be able to stay in the Demon Slayer Corps?!"
"Nobody's going to take this old man's head from me today. I feel like I'm dirtying my eyes just looking at him!"
Masachika was sweating profusely, desperately trying to break free from Sanemi's grasp.
"Sanemi, calm down! This demon's appearance is too out of place, be careful, it might be a trap!"
Before he finished speaking, Sanemi suddenly exerted force with his feet, and the hard mud ground instantly shattered, creating a shallow pit full of cracks.
He unleashed a raging green hurricane, charging forward like a mad bull.
"Wind Breathing - First Form - Dust Whirlwind - Slash!"
The green blade, accompanied by a piercing whistle that tore through the air, drew a perfect, deadly arc in mid-air.
It swiftly and accurately swept past the old ghost who was still tumbling and crawling on the ground.
"Pfft--!"
A barely audible sound.
Before the old ghost could even let out a scream, its enormous head, topped with a large fleshy tumor, rolled onto the muddy ground covered with fallen leaves.
Sanemi knelt on one knee to cushion the impact, flicking his wrist to wipe away the barely perceptible trace of blood from the tip of his knife.
"What utterly pathetic trash. I thought they were hiding some kind of desperate comeback trick, but they've completely wasted my time."
Sanemi turned his head triumphantly and looked at Masachika, who was still holding the signal gun in a stiff posture.
"See, Masachika!! You're even more cowardly than a mouse!!"
Obanai was about to speak up and make a sarcastic remark.
They even pick on the most low-class, least skillful players to steal kills, which is just lowering the overall prestige of the team.
But,
Before Obanai speak, the bizarre scene unfolding before her eyes caused the usually composed serpent swordsman's pupils to suddenly contract to their maximum.