Night fell. Inside an abandoned temple dojo, heavy swishes rang out one after another as Nameless Hunter swung a rusty great Long Sword a full size taller than himself.
Every slash kicked up clouds of dust. His movements had brute force to spare, but were nowhere near refined or fluid.
"Tch, Nameless Hundred Faces!"
A scoff came from the shadows on the roof. Akaza sat cross-legged on the upturned eaves, his crimson-and-blue tattoos gleaming coldly in the moonlight.
"Lord Muzan gave you such a perfect skeleton, yet your swordsmanship still looks like a three-year-old waving a fire poker. Forget the Sapphire Star-you aren't even as good as an ordinary Demon Slayer Corps swordsman!" His scarlet eyes looked down with amused interest.
Nameless Hunter paused mid-swing. The wind pressure from the enormous blade scattered the dust before him.
"Lord Akaza! Look closely. This is a Long Sword, not a sword! The essence of Yoriichi Tsugikuni's swordsmanship belonged to him. It wasn't hidden in his bones. I can train on my own. I don't need to imitate him completely!"
He drove the heavy blade deep into the masonry beneath his feet with a dull thud, sending stone fragments flying.
"Good evening, Lord Akaza. What brings you here?"
Akaza leaped down, appearing only a few steps from Nameless Hunter.
He looked Nameless Hunter up and down, his disdain giving way to a flicker of surprise. The pale, withered, stick-thin body was gone. Now Nameless Hunter's bones were thick and clearly defined, his muscles bulging all over and stretching his tattered clothes taut, as though his body had been cast from steel. Yoriichi Tsugikuni's once-vague outline had become distinct again in this shell, though it remained covered by a hideous demonic visage.
"Oh? You've grown quite a backbone. A few days apart, and you've