From the day the Hand Demon was slain, Rokuya made good on his promise-he would kill every last demon on this mountain.
Over the next few days, Mount Fujikasane became Rokuya's personal hunting ground. The candidates discovered, to their despair, that they could not find even a single demon. Wherever the slightest trace of a demon's foul stench appeared, that silver-haired boy, like a god of slaughter from hell, would charge over at a speed that defied reason and deliver a single slash.
Just one slash.
With the absurd enhancement of the [Single-Target Critical Strike Rule], not a single small-fry demon on Mount Fujikasane could withstand one basic attack from Rokuya.
"Lord Rokuya! There are tracks from one... no, two demons up ahead!" Murata limped forward, his cheeks flushed with excitement, as though discovering signs of the enemy were some extraordinary honor.
"Stay back. Don't get in the way." Without looking back, Rokuya became a streak of silver lightning and shot into the woods.
Less than ten seconds later, two short screams rang out in the woods, followed by the soft rustle of demons crumbling to ash.
Crisp system notifications flooded Rokuya's mind.
[Ding! Saved swordsman A. Host gained Gratitude Points +80!] [Ding! Saved swordsman B. Host gained Gratitude Points +90!] [Ding! The host has demonstrated an absolute sense of security. Gratitude Points from the surrounding group continue to accumulate... +10, +10, +10...]
Outwardly, Rokuya maintained his cold, unapproachable demeanor, his gaze so icy he looked ready to kill, but deep down, he was already overjoyed.
Four thousand two hundred, four thousand three hundred and fifty... soon. Almost there!
While pretending to wipe his blade with cold indifference, he summoned a dark blue screen onto his retina that only he could see.
In the weapons section of the system shop, the [Shadow Battle Axe] floated silently, radiating a dim, dark purple glow. The price displayed beneath it read: 5,000 Gratitude Points.
In this real world without inscriptions or red and blue buffs, a completed piece of top-tier gear was practically a higher-dimensional assault. The physical attack, cooldown reduction, and maximum health bonuses provided by the Shadow Battle Axe would be enough to take Rokuya's base physical capabilities another terrifying step higher. Most importantly, its passive, "Sunder," increased physical penetration-an absolute god-tier defense-breaking skill for cutting through the harder-than-diamond necks of the Twelve Kizuki and even the Upper Ranks in the future.
Once I get my hands on the Shadow Battle Axe, even if a Lower Rank shows up, I'll be able to casually take its head off with one slash and kick it around like a ball, Rokuya snorted inwardly.
The seven days passed in the blink of an eye.
When the dawn of the seventh day pierced the gloom that shrouded Mount Fujikasane year-round and spilled over the dreamlike sea of wisteria halfway up the mountain, this year's Final Selection reached the most outrageous conclusion in history.
In the light of dawn, Rokuya let out a long yawn and casually stuck his katana, its edge already curled from all the cutting, into the soil.
Behind him stood a dense crowd of more than forty people. Apart from the very few candidates unlucky enough to have been eaten at the beginning, every single one of the others had survived. Their clothes were ragged, but none had fatal injuries. Now, all of them gazed at the boy stretching before them as though he were their savior.
Kanae Kocho stood quietly beside Rokuya. Seven days of intense running about had not left the resilient girl looking too bedraggled. She carefully wiped the dust from the side of Rokuya's face with a handkerchief.
"Rokuya, it's over." Kanae's voice remained as gentle as water, but her eyes now held an undisguisable admiration and attachment.
"Yeah, it's over. I'm starving. There wasn't even any edible game on this lousy mountain." Rokuya rubbed his empty stomach, which obligingly let out a thunderous rumble.
Kanae could not help bursting into a giggle. She lightly covered her lips, her eyes curving into pretty crescents. "Once we're down the mountain, I'll treat you to tempura. You can eat as much as you like."
"You said it. Don't go worrying about your wallet later."
As the two spoke, two small figures carrying paper lanterns slowly approached from the far end of the wisteria sea.
The twin girls of the Ubuyashiki Clan looked at the great mass of surviving candidates before them. A rare flicker of astonishment crossed their small faces, which had been as expressionless as exquisite dolls.
In previous years, even five survivors counted as a bumper crop for the Final Selection. Sometimes, everyone died. Yet today... according to the Kakushi Corps' overnight reports, the demons on this mountain seemed to have been wiped out so thoroughly that not even a severed hand could be found.
"Congratulations on returning safely, everyone."
The white-haired girl quickly regained her composure, her voice cool and ethereal, without the slightest inflection.
"First, we will issue your uniforms. Next, we will take your measurements and engrave your ranks," the black-haired girl continued. "There are ten ranks in total. At present, you are all at the lowest rank, Mizunoto."
Murata and the others listened attentively from the back, but Rokuya merely picked at his ear impatiently.
"Then you will select the tamahagane used to forge your Nichirin Blades. Your Nichirin Blades will be completed in ten to fifteen days."
As the white-haired girl finished speaking, the cloth covering a long table in the middle of the wisteria sea was lifted away. Several dozen dull-colored pieces of ore of various sizes lay on the table. They were crimson red iron sand and scarlet crimson ore, which had absorbed endless sunlight.
"Please come forward and choose your tamahagane by instinct."
The candidates exchanged glances, none daring to step forward first. Someone called out, "Lord Rokuya! After you!"
Then, dozens of people stepped aside in unison to open a path and bowed in greeting. The scene looked exactly like a welcoming ceremony for a mob boss.
Rokuya rolled his eyes. Without declining, he strode up to the table.
Rokuya extended his right hand, and a silver-blue magical light flickered almost imperceptibly at his fingertips. He began picking up the pieces of ore one by one, using pure muscular strength to gauge their density and weight.
"This one's too light... too many impurities in this one... this one's as brittle as a biscuit..."
He picked through them as though choosing watermelons at a market. Finally, his gaze settled on a fist-sized piece of black raw ore in the farthest corner of the table, its color so deep it seemed capable of swallowing light.
Rokuya reached out and picked it up, and his wrist actually dipped slightly.
"This one." Rokuya tossed the ore to the white-haired girl.
The girl caught it, a flicker of surprise passing through her eyes. This ore was extremely dense and exceptionally difficult to forge. She asked softly, "May I ask what style of Nichirin Blade you would like? A standard katana, or a slightly lighter tachi?"
Rokuya folded his arms and looked down at the girl, his tone brooking no argument. "I don't want any of those spindly little toys. Tell the smiths in the Swordsmith Village to make me a large cleaver. The blade needs to be at least a palm wide, with a thick spine and plenty of weight. No fancy curves. Just use the proportions of a door plank. The heavier, the better. The harder, the better. Understood?"
At these words, the surrounding candidates all sucked in a breath.
Forget swinging a blade of those dimensions-an ordinary person would struggle just to lift it. For slaying demons, an excessively heavy blade would severely slow the swing, making it a fatal burden for Breathing Style swordsmen who emphasized speed and technique.
But when they remembered the terrifying brute strength Rokuya had displayed by shattering a rock with a single kick on the mountain, everyone silently shut their mouths again. This man truly could not be judged by common sense.
The girl froze for a moment, then bowed slightly. "We will relay your requirements faithfully to the swordsmith."
Before you continue