Facing the pincer attack of two demons, Marcus Lee felt his heart sink, yet his expression betrayed nothing.
The swordsmanship the original owner of his body had trained for years had been fully absorbed, then sharpened further through real combat.
Sword Technique: Entry Level
The cold, emotionless electronic voice echoed in his ears once again, a sound he had not heard in some time.
Marcus had no attention to spare for it now.
A rise in swordsmanship level was good news, but it did not mean a qualitative leap in strength. Under relentless pressure, he was already barely holding on, his breathing ragged.
The wound on his body had torn open again. Blood seeped through his clothes, staining them dark red. Sweat rolled down his forehead as his stamina began to falter.
At this moment, Marcus felt like he was walking a tightrope. One misstep, and what awaited him would be utter ruin.
A distant sound drifted through the forest.
Marcus tightened his grip on the Nichirin blade, his expression changing slightly.
Damn it.
No way. Had another demon really been drawn here?
Against two, he could barely defend himself. If three or four came at once, the thought alone nearly stole his breath.
His focus slipped for an instant.
The long-haired demon's claws tore toward him. Marcus reacted a split second too late, managing only a desperate sidestep.
A shallow but vicious gash opened across his face. Blood flowed down his cheek and reached the corner of his mouth.
The burning pain on the right side of his face snapped him fully awake.
The long-haired demon did not press the attack. Instead, it slowly licked the blood from its claws, its expression twisted with grotesque delight.
Then came a scream.
A terrified, human scream.
Both Marcus and the two demons turned toward the sound.
"What the hell? Why is there something like that here?"
A teenage boy stumbled into view, terror written all over his face. He fell hard to the ground, his Nichirin blade already discarded somewhere behind him.
A swordsman who had not mastered Water Breathing had wandered in.
This was worse.
Marcus felt his scalp go numb.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the forest, slow and oppressive, drawing closer with each step.
Then it appeared.
A massive figure, like a walking hill. More than a dozen thick arms grew from its shoulders, layered and overlapping. Its skin was a sickly blue-black, veins bulging beneath the surface.
Marcus swallowed hard, cold sweat soaking his back.
The Hand Demon.
You have got to be kidding me.
He had not even fully grasped a breathing technique. Did he really have any chance at all against this thing?
Fear spread through his chest.
When there was nowhere left to retreat, even ordinary people could summon extraordinary courage. But when the difference in strength was this overwhelming, fear was only natural.
This demon was not like the others that had eaten only two or three humans.
The Hand Demon had devoured at least forty.
One of its arms alone was thicker than Marcus's thigh. Several arms wrapped protectively around its neck, making a clean decapitation nearly impossible.
"No little foxes here? How boring."
The crushing weight of its gaze seemed to fall on Marcus.
In that instant, his mind went blank. Even breathing felt like a foreign concept.
Something moved within the shadows.
One of the demon's arms was holding something.
Under the pale moonlight, Marcus's pupils shrank violently.
It was half a body.
The upper torso of an unlucky swordsman. Blood dripped from places Marcus did not want to look at.
Nausea surged, but Marcus forced himself to inhale deeply, his eyes darting toward the surroundings.
The long-haired demon and the other one had gone stiff, clear fear showing in their eyes.
This is bad.
After the briefest hesitation, Marcus turned and ran.
He simply did not have the courage to fight this monster. Charging in with his blade would mean certain death.
Running meant a slim chance.
This was a gamble.
He was not a former Hashira's disciple. He did not wear one of those fox masks.
The Hand Demon's hatred was directed at Sakonji Urokodaki. There was no reason it had to fixate on him.
Maybe it would not chase him to the bitter end.
"You are here for the Final Selection, right?" the Hand Demon's voice boomed. "Tell me, what year is it now? Are there any brats wearing fox masks?"
Five or six arms suddenly stretched outward, lengthening unnaturally. It had noticed Marcus fleeing, but it was in no hurry, savoring the hunt like a cat with a trapped mouse.
Here, it was invincible.
So many swordsmen had come for the selection over the years. Which one of them had been its match?
There had been one boy with flesh-colored hair who was strong, yes, but so what?
He still could not cut off its neck.
"Answer me. Maybe I will let you live a few more days."
"That's my prey!"
The long-haired demon snarled in protest.
The next moment, countless arms slammed down on it.
"Get lost, you trash!"
As for Marcus, he had noticed the stretching arms the instant they moved.
Scarlet patterns bloomed in his pupils.
The Hand Demon's blood art was not that fast.
With these eyes, Marcus halted abruptly, spun on his heel, and slashed out with his Nichirin blade.
"What?"
The Hand Demon, still in the middle of punishing the other demons, snapped its head toward him.
It had not expected that a swordsman who turned and ran at the sight of it would actually possess this level of skill.
Not on par with Urokodaki's disciples, perhaps, but among the candidates for the Final Selection, he was above average.
Marcus locked eyes with the Hand Demon across the forest.
After a moment, he sheathed his blade without a word and ran again.
"Interesting. Very interesting. No fox brat, then you will do to pass the time."
The Hand Demon watched Marcus's retreating figure, unhurried and amused.
After all, it was only the third day.
A game of cat and mouse had just begun.