Over those three days, Rokuya roamed every corner of Mount Fujikasane like a tireless spectral harvester.
"You can't even draw your sword? Are those hands just for scrubbing yourself in the bath? Disqualified. Get off the mountain!"
"Three people running from one demon? Were you planning to tire it to death? Disqualified. Go squat over there!"
"Crying? Can tears cut off a demon's head? Keep crying and I'll cut you first! Disqualified. Wait for the Kakushi Corps to collect your corpses... no, collect you!"
With each of Rokuya's cold, merciless verdicts, the Gratitude Points on his retina shot upward like a rocket.
The rescued swordsmen often started out angry and resentful. But after experiencing the terror of being on the brink of death, then facing Rokuya's absolute strength that could crush everything and his icy, oppressive presence, all their pride and resentment ultimately turned into shame at their own weakness and immense gratitude toward this man for forcibly saving their lives.
Seven days later.
The light of dawn finally pierced Mount Fujikasane's thick curtain of night. The wisteria gave off an enchanting glow in the morning light, announcing the end of this brutal selection.
At the foot of the mountain, in the clearing outside the wisteria grove.
At this time in previous years, only a handful of survivors would make it down the mountain-a dozen or so at most, three to five at least. Every one of them would be covered in blood, like a fiend that had crawled out of hell.
Today, however, the scene was bizarre in the extreme.
Nearly forty swordsmen stood packed into the clearing! Apart from the dozen or so successful candidates who had genuinely survived seven days on their own strength, including Sabito, Makomo, Giyu, Shinobu Kocho, Sanemi Shinazugawa, and Kyojuro Rengoku, the