The Demon-Slaying System—just as the name implied—granted rewards whenever a demon was slain. The stronger the demon, the greater the reward. Occasionally, it would even drop rare and valuable items at random.
For the past two days, the old man hadn't stayed home to supervise his training. He seemed busy in the back mountain, heading out each day with a hammer and chisel in hand.
Aoyama knew exactly what that meant.
Urokodaki was carving a boulder—preparing a test for him. One day, he would be required to split that rock in order to qualify for the Final Selection of the Demon Slayer Corps.
But Aoyama wasn't in a hurry.
Not at all.
Since he was here, he might as well take things as they came. If he could lie down, he would never choose to stand. With the old man out, every moment of laziness he could steal was a victory.
He lay stretched out atop a large rock in front of the house, basking in the warm sunlight. Before long, drowsiness crept in.
There was one thing he still hadn't figured out.
What point in time was he in?
Was this before Tomioka Giyu trained here… or after?
At the very least, he had to be Kamado Tanjiro's senior disciple, right?
Better yet—yes, Tanjiro's senior disciple. He could tease Tanjiro a little, hold Nezuko's small hand, and happily go around slaying demons.
Now that would be the life.
Nezuko… Nezuko… Nezuko…
Murmuring her name in his heart, Aoyama slowly drifted off to sleep.
Caw—Caw—
Two sharp cries shattered the silence.
Aoyama's eyes snapped open. Without hesitation, he flicked a pebble between his fingers and hurled it toward the sound.
Thud.
The crow was struck cleanly and fell unconscious to the ground.
He sat up and picked up the bird, noticing a letter tied to its leg. Unfolding it, he read the contents carefully—and joy burst across his face.
Wish fulfilled.
The letter was from Tomioka Giyu. It said that Tanjiro would soon be arriving here with Nezuko.
Which meant—
He really was Tanjiro's senior disciple.
The fantasy he'd just been dreaming about was about to become reality.
Clutching the letter in one hand and the stunned crow in the other, he dashed toward the back mountain.
"Old man—old man! Pfft—cough, cough—Urokodaki-sensei! A letter's here! Tanjiro and Nezuko are coming!"
Seeing Aoyama sprinting toward him, Sakonji Urokodaki dropped the hammer and chisel in his hands.
He took the letter and read it in silence. After a moment, he asked, "You're quite familiar with these two siblings?"
"Familiar! Very familiar—well, not exactly familiar. I'm just excited that new people are coming!" Aoyama laughed awkwardly, smoothly patching over the words he had almost let slip.
Urokodaki didn't press further. Behind the tengu mask, his expression grew solemn.
Another pair of pitiful siblings. Another family destroyed by demons.
Then his gaze shifted sharply to Aoyama.
"You should be training on the mountain. How did you receive a crow message?"
The question left Aoyama momentarily speechless.
Was he supposed to admit he hadn't gone up the mountain at all?
Absolutely not.
"Urokodaki-sensei, I calculated with my fingers earlier and sensed that a letter would arrive today. So I stayed home to ensure you received it immediately! Heh heh."
An awkward yet polite smile could solve almost anything.
Urokodaki wasn't foolish. It was obvious the boy had been slacking off again.
Without another word, he drew the Nichirin Blade at his waist and slashed straight at Aoyama.
Aoyama reacted instantly.
Total Concentration. Water Breathing.
"Third Form: Flowing Dance!"
Drawing his wooden sword, he moved like flowing water, gracefully evading Urokodaki's strike. The Third Form relied on fluid footwork—dodging while setting up effective counterattacks.
Watching Aoyama execute the technique so skillfully, Urokodaki felt a surge of satisfaction.
As expected of the one he had chosen.
To reach this level in such a short time—he was undeniably gifted.
Steel and wood clashed in a blur of motion—
Clang!
The sound rang sharply before the air fell still.
Aoyama's wooden blade held firm against Urokodaki's real sword.
It hadn't shattered.
A faint current of air flowed along the wooden edge, protecting it.
Urokodaki faltered for a split second in surprise.
Aoyama seized the opportunity.
"Total Concentration! Water Breathing—First Form: Water Surface Slash!"
Urokodaki sensed danger instantly and dropped low.
A few strands of hair drifted to the ground.
Had he been a moment slower, it wouldn't have been hair falling—it would have been his head.
Aoyama landed lightly, his serious expression dissolving into a bright grin.
"Haha, Urokodaki-sensei, you're amazing! You actually dodged that!"
For once, Urokodaki was speechless.
If he weren't "amazing," his head might have just been removed by a wooden sword.
"Let's… go back," he finally managed, forcing the words out.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Aoyama.
This boy was a monster.
He could wield a wooden sword with the sharpness of real steel.
Perhaps it wasn't wise to spar with him so casually anymore.
"The airflow on your wooden sword just now… that was—"
"Airflow? What airflow? There was airflow on my sword?" Aoyama blinked innocently, eyes wide with feigned confusion.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Urokodaki closed his mouth.
He would pretend he hadn't asked.
Without another word, Aoyama stepped lightly—appearing behind Urokodaki as if carried by the wind.