The cloying sweetness of wisteria mingled with the mountain's cold, damp mist and washed over his face.
Yaha stood at the entrance to Mount Fujikasane, tilting his head as he surveyed the boys and girls taking the selection alongside him.
Most of their legs were trembling.
A few had blue lips and could barely hold on to their Nichirin Blades.
The announcement officially opening the selection echoed through the wisteria grove, marking the start of seven days of survival.
The crowd began streaming into the mountain.
Sabito walked over to Yaha with his Nichirin Blade resting on his shoulder. His mouth opened slightly, as though he wanted to say something.
Yaha glanced at him.
Sabito's grip on the hilt of the Nichirin Blade at his waist had turned his knuckles white, and his lips pressed into a rigid line. He clearly intended to team up with Yaha.
Makomo came over too, her eyes shining beneath her mask as she looked at Yaha.
"Yaha, let's go together, all three of us. We can watch each other's backs."
Yaha pulled his hands out of his pockets.
Then he raised his right foot and, without any flourish, kicked Sabito squarely in the backside.
Sabito stumbled three steps forward and nearly pitched headfirst into the bushes beside the path.
"Don't follow me. You'll get in the way."
With that, Yaha tucked both hands back into his pockets, turned, and headed deeper into the mountain forest.
His gait was as casual as if he were strolling through his own backyard.
"What did you say?" Sabito sprang up, pointing at Yaha's retreating back, his face flushed red. "Tomioka Ye Yu, say that again, you bastard!"
Yaha didn't even turn his head. He pulled his right hand from his pocket and waved.
"Find somewhere to hunker down and don't wander off. It's just the Final Selection. Nobody's going to die."
His voice drifted farther away as his pace quickened, and within a few strides, the thick night mist swallowed his silhouette.
Sabito stood rooted to the spot, his chest heaving several times, his knuckles cracking around the sword hilt.
Makomo tugged at his sleeve.
"Sabito, forget about him. Let's go."
"That bastard is always like this." Sabito clenched his teeth, secured his sword at his waist, and strode off in another direction. "Come on, Makomo. The two of us are enough."
Their figures soon vanished beyond the other side of the wisteria trellises.
Yaha stood behind an old cedar fifty meters away and turned his head to look.
Sabito and Makomo were heading north. That area had plenty of low-level demons, but nothing that could kill them.
What about Giyu?
Yaha scanned the now largely dispersed crowd at the entrance and caught sight of Giyu's back at its edge.
Alone, sword in hand, he headed into the dense woods to the east.
Yaha looked away.
There weren't many demons on the eastern mountain path either. Giyu was more than capable of handling two or three low-level ones.
What Yaha needed to do now was find the enormous creature hiding deep within the mountain before the Hand Demon caught the scent of Urokodaki's disciples on Sabito and Makomo.
Then cut it to pieces.
Yaha quickened his pace and melted into Mount Fujikasane's dense darkness.
The eastern mountain path.
Giyu had been walking alone for about fifteen minutes.
His surroundings were far too quiet. There was only the faint crackle of dry twigs beneath his feet and the occasional strange cry of an unidentified bird in the distance.
He drew his Nichirin Blade an inch, then slid it back.
He drew it another inch, then slid it back again.
His palms were slick with sweat.
He had trained on Mount Sagiri for two full years, slashed at wooden stakes countless times, and sparred with Sabito in over a hundred bouts.
But those had all been living humans, companions who would never actually kill him.
Tonight was different.
Tonight, the things on this mountain wanted to eat him.
A gust blew from deep within the woods, carrying a faint stench of decay.
Giyu slowed his steps.
He raised his sword and slowly turned, scanning the shadows of the trees around him.
The dense canopy broke the moonlight into fragments, casting mottled patches of light across the ground.
Those patches were moving.
Giyu's breathing quickened for a beat.
The patches of light weren't moving. The things behind the trees were.
"Heh heh heh, you smell so good."
The first demon emerged from the bushes on his left, its body hunched, its mouth stretched into a grin that reached its ears.
"Ooh, the scent of rare blood. I haven't smelled that in ages."
The second peered halfway out from behind a tree directly ahead. Its tongue extended a full foot, draping over its chin.
Giyu took a step back.
"Don't even think about running."
A third voice came from behind him.
Giyu spun around. A gray-skinned demon with limbs as long and thin as a spider's crouched on a branch less than three meters behind him, staring at him with its head tilted.
Three.
Surrounded on three sides.
Giyu drew his sword swiftly, its blade reflecting the cold white moonlight as it traced an arc through the darkness.
But his hands were shaking.
Badly.
The sword tip traced tiny, trembling patterns in the air. He couldn't even steady the opening stance of Water Breathing.
The demon on the left lunged first, its claws sweeping straight toward his face on a rush of foul air.
Giyu swung to block. Steel struck claws, sending sparks flying, and the tremendous impact drove him sliding two steps backward.
His heel caught a root, and he stumbled.
The long-tongued demon in front seized its chance and darted forward. Giyu twisted aside, but its tongue scraped across his shoulder, leaving a burning scratch.
The Spider Demon behind him moved too. A long, thin arm reached out of the darkness, five fingers hooking toward the back of his neck like iron claws.
Giyu twisted and dove forward, barely protecting his vital spots, but its fingertips raked three bloody lines across his shoulder blade.
He hit the ground, rolled once, and got back to his feet, retreating to the base of a thick old tree.
With his back against the trunk, at least he was safe from behind.
The three demons spread out in a fan, boxing him in completely.
Giyu gripped his sword and gasped for breath.
His mouth tasted of rust-the blood seeping from where he had bitten the inside of his lip.
The demons were laughing.
Their shrill, piercing laughter sounded several times louder in the silent mountain forest.
Giyu stared into their eyes.
Red, yellow, with vertical slits for pupils, each reflecting his image.
That reflection was tiny, as tiny as a mouse cornered by a cat.
His mind began to go blank.
The edges of his vision blurred, and the scene at its center narrowed more and more.
He knew what this was. It had been the same on that snowy night two years ago.
The instant a demon burst into his home, his body had memorized this feeling.
His limbs turned cold, his breathing broke into fits and starts, and his brain refused to work.
Fear.
Pure, inborn fear, etched into his bones.
"Hee hee hee, scared stupid, little brat?"
The demon on the left licked the blood from its claws and narrowed its eyes.
"Don't be scared. It'll be over soon. It won't hurt too much."
All three demons moved at once.
Giyu raised his sword, straining his wrists, but the blade stopped halfway up.
His body wouldn't obey.
Two years of training failed him completely in that instant. Something deeper had overridden his muscle memory.
It was the memory of that snowy night two years ago, of collapsing onto the cold tatami and watching a demon's claws pierce his older sister's shoulder.
It was the memory of watching his younger brother pinned beneath a roof beam while he lacked even the strength to clench his fists.
His sword fell.
It hadn't been knocked from his hand. His fingers had loosened on their own.
With his back pressed against the trunk, Giyu slowly slid to the ground.
A demon's claws reached toward him.
Close. So close he could see the scraps of rotten flesh lodged between its fingers.
Giyu closed his eyes.
Then, from the deepest depths of that darkness and fear, a voice surfaced.
Not a scream, not a sob.
It was an utterly languid voice, with a drawn-out cadence that begged for a punch.
"You're much stronger than you think."
"You're just too stupid to see it."
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