If he did not grip the Nichirin blade tightly with his calloused hands, Marcus Lee feared he would not even be able to hold onto his weapon.
Blood-red Sharingan bloomed in the darkness. Three pitch-black tomoe hovered in a triangular pattern within his pupils, carrying an eerie beauty and an unquestionable sense of authority.
In that instant, it felt as though everything was laid bare before his eyes.
He could see it all.
"Left, or right?"
"No. Straight down the middle."
Marcus reacted instantly.
The second demon would charge directly at him, using strength far beyond that of a human to slam him to the ground in a brutal assault.
Compared to its remaining traces of human form, it resembled a wild beast far more.
Marcus lowered his body slightly, shifting his center of gravity.
Ten meters.
Five meters.
The distance between man and demon closed rapidly. The nauseating stench of rot drifted into his nose.
When their gazes met, the demon's movement faltered for a split second. A pressure that seemed to originate from the soul itself caused its inhuman heart to tremble.
The faintly blue blade slashed downward at an angle. The swing was far from perfect, riddled with unnecessary motion, yet it carried Marcus's absolute resolve.
Still, his body had already reached its limit.
The strike lacked the strength to sever the demon's neck. The Nichirin blade shuddered violently, nearly slipping from his grasp as it lodged deep into the demon's muscle.
Veins bulged along Marcus's arms and neck. Blood surged faster through his body as he dragged in huge gulps of air.
"How is this possible… no, this can't be happening!"
The demon's neck twisted at an unnatural angle, its crimson eyes bulging wide.
Was it really going to die here?
What a joke.
Marcus had no breath left for words. His mind held only a single thought.
Not enough strength.
More.
Just a little more.
His muscles felt like sponges squeezed dry, yet if he forced them hard enough, there was always something left to wring out.
A low ringing filled his ears. Whether from exhaustion or hunger, his vision darkened at the edges.
His wounds burned. Even his throat felt raw.
The blade slid downward inch by inch. He could hear it scraping against bone.
"Die."
The fragile balance shattered.
The Nichirin blade finally cut through the demon's neck. Marcus collapsed forward with the momentum, hitting the ground and lying there, unable to rise.
His body felt like an aging machine, alarms blaring from every part.
Waves of dizziness crashed over him. At some point, the blade slipped from his hand.
This is bad. Very bad.
A faint glow appeared on the horizon. The world seemed to quiet, the hidden gazes in the darkness retreating, the undisguised malice slowly fading away.
The third day arrived in silence.
The first rays of morning sunlight pierced through thick clouds. With the tension gone, Marcus's eyelids grew unbearably heavy, and he drifted into sleep without realizing it.
For demons, sunlight was fatal.
So Marcus did not need to worry about danger during the day.
If it were possible, he hoped the next time he opened his eyes, he would be lying in his bed at home.
…
He did not know how much time passed before consciousness slowly returned.
When Marcus opened his eyes, his vision was blurred and his hearing dull. He tried to sit up, only to find his arms heavy as lead.
His throat felt parched, as though smoke might rise from it. A burning sensation spread through his chest and stomach.
In gaming terms, he was suffering from hunger and fatigue debuffs.
"Is it noon… or afternoon?"
A dull ache throbbed at his forehead. Marcus felt an urge to smash his head with the sword hilt.
What filled him with despair was the realization that this was only the third day.
If he had a choice, he would have abandoned this selection immediately.
He lay there blankly for an unknown length of time before forcing himself to sit up.
A quick check of his wounds showed they were mostly superficial. The bleeding had stopped.
Even so, his condition was terrible.
The original owner of this body had been an ordinary man with no self-awareness of his limits.
He had come to this selection completely unprepared.
He had only four or five rice balls tucked in his clothes, now crushed and misshapen from earlier battles.
Seven days, with only a handful of rice balls. How was that supposed to be enough?
His wounds needed proper care as well. He had to preserve as much strength as possible before night fell.
Problems piled up one after another.
Worst of all was the existence of the Hand Demon.
That level of demon was far beyond anything Marcus could handle right now.
No breathing techniques. Only a crippled version of the Sharingan.
What could he possibly use to fight the Hand Demon?
If he encountered it, he would die.
Marcus drew in a deep breath, his throat aching faintly.
Using his sword for support, he stood with difficulty and took a few slow steps to let his body adjust.
According to the original memories, there was a small stream nearby, likely formed from accumulated rainwater.
Reaching the narrow stream, barely wide enough to step across, Marcus cupped the relatively clear water in his hands and splashed it onto his dirty face. The cold shock cleared his mind instantly.
He gathered leaves and branches nearby, then took out his fire-starting tools. Tearing off a small piece of tinder, he scraped flint against steel again and again. Sparks flew, and soon the tinder caught, releasing thin white smoke.
Marcus blew gently, coaxing the flame to grow.
Once the fire was ready, he tore another strip from his clothes. Using the stream water, he washed large leaves, cloth, and stones.
Large leaves could serve as containers. They could not be placed directly on the fire, so he heated stones until they were scorching hot and dropped them into the water instead.
He worked clumsily, then suddenly recalled the scene of Kanao during her selection.
The protagonist, Tanjiro, had been a complete mess, while the girl's clothes were barely dirty.
He had not thought much of it back then. Now, he felt genuine admiration.
Enduring the pain, Marcus dipped clean cloth into hot water and carefully wiped his wounds again and again.
Then came drinking water.
Then eating.
He conserved every moment, using it to recover.
As darkness deepened and the mountain wind grew colder, Marcus sat by the fire with an unsettling sense of being watched.
"Just wait a little longer…"
Expressionless, he picked up the dried cloth by the fire and awkwardly wrapped his wounds.
He muttered softly, as if speaking to the demons lurking in the shadows.
"Meat! I smell meat!"
"I got here first! Get lost!"
Two unrestrained, quarrelling voices echoed through the forest, crushing Marcus's heart with their weight.