There was several ways to become stronger.
First: Drinking human blood. Humans were weak, and even though some could wield breathing techniques, the vast majority of them were so weak that a regular demon could easily take them down.
However, that first method was flawed. The more casualties, the more attention from the demon slayer corps. And though most humans were weak, hashira were far too dangerous.
So this is definitely out of the equation
The second was obviously training.
Most demons were too short-sighted to train. But as immortal beings, they could try new ideas, train without exhaustion, and more importantly, without time limit. That was perhaps their greatest trait, yet it was left unexploited by most.
I had done that for the past month, and I already reached a realm of strength that most demons, even those who greedily ate humans, had not. I was far from being enough to kill a lower moon, but it was still decent growth in one single month.
The third was treasure hunting.
The Nichirin blade gave me 10 points of dexterity alone.
The bandages that I had gotten from the bandit camp leader gave me 5, and also gave off an eerie bloody scent.
If I could accumulate them...then it was not much worse than becoming stronger at a fundamental level.
Blood-Soaked Brotherhood Bandages [Uncommon]
Description: Strips of rough-spun cloth, permanently stained in a deep, rusty crimson colour. They were taken from a fallen bandit chief whose loyalty inspired a fleeting, desperate courage in his men. The colour stems from blood of fallen enemies.
Effects: +5 Dexterity.
Minor Fear Ailment: Enemies who look at the wearer have a chance to be afflicted with [Minor Fear], reducing their physical attributes and willpower by a moderate amount.
White Crow School Nichirin [Rare]
Description: A masterfully forged nichirin blade that has taken on a pristine, snow-white hue. The tsuka is wrapped in black silk, and the kanji for "Crow" (鴉) is etched near the habaki. It once belonged to a disciplined demon slayer of the Crow Breathing style, and the blade still seems to thirst for the precise motions of its techniques.
Effects: +10 Dexterity
The only issue was that unlike my body, my items could break. My blade could snap upon impact. My bandages could be shredded and cut. Even if I took great care of them, there was no denying that surviving the passage of time was a challenge in itself.
But in the short term, it was undoubtedly useful.
Also, I could always blackmail a blacksmith to restore my blade. A tailor to sew my bandages back.
Speaking of treasures, I had heard an interesting story from the bandit chief I had killed. A plan to attack a convoy that possessed immense wealth.
'While wealth does not really entice me, it can solve a lot of issues', I thought, 'Perhaps I can open up a dojo in a rural town and train my swordsmanship there'
Wealth was one thing.
Treasures were another.
And unless it was defended by a demon slayer, that wealth would become mine.
I spent the two nights before the ambush in motionless observation. The chosen ambush site was perfect: a narrow stretch of an old mountain road, flanked by steep, scree-covered slopes and a dense thicket of pine. Taking old roads was a risky gamble from the convoy's perspective. Bandits were unlikely to appear, and it wasted time. But if they disappeared, then tracking the criminals was close to impossible.
The bandits from the camp he had slaughtered had planned to trigger a rockslide. A blunt, effective tool.
I had a sharper one.
As dusk fell on the third day, I took position not on the slope, but within the thicket itself, my bandages blending with the deep shadows, my central eye the only point of faint light. The convoy arrived as predicted: three covered wagons, their wooden wheels groaning under heavy loads, flanked by a dozen guards on foot.
They moved with a tense, watchful rhythm, hands near sword hilts, eyes scanning the darkening tree line. Their fear was a palpable scent in the cool air.
'Too few guards for a truly precious cargo', I thought inwardly, 'Should I abort? This is suspicious'
After the assassination of Genji, I planned to leave. Although this location was far, it was still in the same region. I would hate to run into a Hashira at that point.
I waited until the lead wagon was directly below my position. The bandits' crude plan had merit, but it lacked finesse. I would not bury the treasure; I would claim it.
"Breath of the Crow: First Form, Sharp Feather Draw."
I did not speak the words, but my body executed them.
I launched from the thicket not with a whistle, but with the silent tear of a blade through canvas.
My new nichirin sword, a pale streak in the twilight, cleared its sheath. I descended upon the lead guard, a man with the bearing of a retired soldier, in a single, upward arc. His head tilted back, a line of red appearing across his throat before he could even shout.
Chaos erupted. Shouts, the ring of steel being drawn.
I landed in the center of the road, my central eye sweeping the scene. Twelve guards. Four drivers. Three wagons
"Third Form: Shifting Flock Barrage."
I became a vortex of pale blades. My movements were not the chaotic dance of Genji, but a calculated, expanding lattice of cuts.
My sword traced lines across sword arms, thighs, and shoulders. The air filled with cries of pain and the clatter of falling weapons.
My mastery of the crow breathing technique was shaky, 'beginner' level of proficiency according to the system, but with my attributes, regular guards could not do much.
[Lv. 5 Guard]
[Lv. 4 Guard]
[Lv. 2 Civilian (Driver)]
Below level ten, not even worth any experience.
In less than a minute, the guards were on the ground, bleeding and broken. The drivers cowered by their wagons, paralyzed. The silence that followed was broken only by moans and the crackle of a fallen torch.
I approached the middle wagon, the sturdiest of the three. With a single swipe, I cut the canvas cover away. No gold. No jewels. Instead, stacked wooden boxes, their sides stamped with a symbol I recognized from my faded memories: a stylized flower.
The Wisteria crest.
Poison. To demons.
A cargo meant for the Demon Slayer Corps. Not wealth, but a weapon. My eye pulsed with cold interest. This was a different kind of treasure. Leverage. Knowledge.
"You", I said, my voice a low rasp. The nearest driver, a wiry old man, flinched, "The destination. Speak."
"K-Kakunodate town", he stammered, "For the slayer outpost there! Please, don't—"
A new scent hit me then, cutting through the blood and fear. It was a pungent, animalistic musk, laced with the same underlying curse that flowed in my own veins. Demon.
My head snapped to the left. At the edge of the thicket, where the road curved, a figure emerged. It was massive, easily seven feet tall, with lumpy, grayish skin like unfinished clay. His muscles were unnaturally developed.
'His strength must be in the high sixties at the very least', I observed, 'Definitely higher than mine'
[Gutsu – Lv. 41 Demon (Tsuchinoto Equivalent)]
A high-level demon. In fact, the first demon I had encountered since I reincarnated. It must be said that my carnage in the bandit camp was isolated. Probably a territory that was not claimed by any demon.
But judging from the presence of this Gutsu here...
"Mine", the demon growled, its voice like grinding stones. It pointed a thick, clawed finger at the convoy, then at me, "My hunting ground. My food. You… thief."
A territorial demon. One who had likely been stalking this road or living in these mountains, picking off travelers and waiting for a feast like this.
I tilted my head, a smile tugging at my bandaged mouth.
"Your hunting ground? I see no sign. No marker. No strength to enforce the claim", I gestured with my white blade at the fallen men, "I will let you have them if you want to"
With Gutsu here, he was the perfect scapegoat for both Genji's disappearance and the massacre I just committed.
Gutsu roared, a sound of pure, stupid rage. It charged, not with technique, but with overwhelming force, its footsteps cracking the hard-packed earth.
It swung a fist the size of a boulder, aiming to pulp me against a wagon.
"Second Form: Murder's Fleet-Step."
I became the rustle of feathers. I was not where the fist landed, the wagon exploding into splinters.
Looking behind me, where the fist had landed, I whistled: "Now that's some terrifying strength"
But raw strength was not enough against me.
I appeared at its flank, my blade licking out in a precise "Sharp Feather Draw" across the back of its knee. The flesh parted, sizzling against the nichirin steel, but the cut was shallow. Its vitality, like its strength, was immense.
"How many did you kill? Tens? Hundreds?"
It turned, slower, its three eyes blazing.
"Stop running! Fight!"
"You mistake movement for flight", I said, my central eye glowing brightly, tracing the lines of power in its shoulders, the shift of its weight, "Your pattern is simple. Nothing like those demon slayers"
It charged again. This time, I did not fully evade.
I wanted to see how strong the Crow Breathing forms were. This was a useful specimen. If I wanted to become a Lower Moon, I could either wait for a spot to be emptied, or empty it myself.
I used "Fourth Form: Omen's Illusive Guard"
As its claw swept down, I met it not with a block, but with a precise, darting deflection from my blade, redirecting the force just enough to slide past my head. The instant its arm was extended, my other hand plunged into his chest, taking out his heart down.
Gutsu bellowed in pain and surprise, its arm going momentarily slack. I wrenched my hand free, dark blood spraying. His body retreating two steps before staring in horror.
"That's...", he muttered, "You cyclop! Did you just use a demon slayer's trick-"
Before his sentence could finish, his view turned upside down. As his head touched the ground, he realized that the headless body that had entered his vision was...his.
[You have slain a Lv. 41 Demon (Tsuchinoto Equivalent)]
[EXP gained: 205]
[Level Up!]
[Level Up!]
[You are now Lv. 40]