"Everyone, you've done well."
"You were even better than I expected. Across all the Final Selection sites, it's been a long time since so many swordsmen passed at once."
"You should feel proud of your resilience and your strength."
Morning light pierced the thinning night fog. The scent of wisteria drifted faintly through the lingering stink of blood and smoke, soft and clean in a way that felt almost unreal after seven days of killing.
In front of the remaining nine swordsmen stood the officiant in shrine robes, the same priest who had sent them into the mountain. His long, pale hair fell like moonlight, and his light silver eyes looked calm enough to make the whole world feel quieter.
Shinori Yasumori.
He faced them at the lakeside torii, where the barrier of wisteria still stood like an invisible wall.
"So from this moment on, you are members of the organization."
"The Demon Slayer swordsmen are divided into eleven ranks."
"Besides the Pillars, the other ranks are Kinoe, Kinoto, Hinoe, Hinoto, Tsuchinoe, Tsuchinoto, Kanoe, Kanoto, Mizunoe, Mizunoto."
"And all of you are now at the very first rank, Mizunoto, meaning you are newly inducted members."
Natsuo's eyes drifted across the survivors.
Nine.
Less than half of what they started with.
Honestly, if he had not stepped into that earlier chaotic battle and cut down several stronger demons in quick succession, the number alive right now would probably be even smaller.
Yet the priest spoke like nine survivors was something rare enough to celebrate.
So what was normal, then?
Five? Three? Two?
If the casualty rate was this high, how many fresh swordsmen could the Corps even replenish in a year?
And if this were some brutal promotion trial meant to select future elites, it would at least make sense.
The classic logic of this world.
If you don't have the resolve to die, then stop here.
But this selection was not turning them into the top rank.
It was simply letting them join as brand new recruits.
A job change.
A starting line.
That made the whole thing feel even stranger, like something about the system was warped, or like a trap was buried under the "tradition" and "honor."
Natsuo's thoughts ran fast, but his face stayed mostly blank.
He glanced over the others' status displays again.
Compared to seven days ago, every survivor had changed.
Stats were higher. Breathing levels had climbed, even if only a little.
Their posture, too.
Shoulders no longer hunched as much.
Hands no longer shook as badly when they gripped a blade.
Whatever else this selection was, it did what it was designed to do.
It forced growth.
Or it buried you.
Still, there was one word the priest had said that caught Natsuo's interest far more than any rank system.
Pillars.
He leaned slightly toward the girl beside him.
"Seiko," he murmured, nudging her with his elbow, "are Pillars strong?"
"And compared to what that demon mentioned before, the Twelve Kizuki, how do they stack up?"
Seiko frowned slightly, thinking hard.
"I don't really know anything about the Twelve Kizuki," she admitted quietly. "But my mentor talked about the Pillars."
"They're the strongest Demon Slayer swordsmen."
So the top of their side.
Their peak combat power.
Natsuo's interest sharpened immediately.
If there was a top tier on the human side, then the enemy's top tier had to exist too.
The game always did that.
A ladder.
A wall.
A final boss at the end.
Shinori did not react to the whispers among the new recruits. His voice remained steady, the same formal cadence as before.
"Next, uniforms will be prepared for you. We'll measure your sizes and embroider your rank onto the fabric."
"And this as well."
"These are your personal Kasugai Crows. From now on, they will be your partners for relaying information and delivering assignments."
A flurry of wings beat overhead.
Several black crows descended smoothly, landing on shoulders, perching on arms, hopping to balance themselves like they belonged there.
"Also," Shinori added, his gaze shifting toward one particularly handsy swordsman, "they are intelligent. They each have their own mind."
"Do not tease them."
The swordsman laughed awkwardly and pulled his hand away from the bird's head.
Too late.
The crow snapped down and pecked his forehead several times with righteous anger.
"Rude person! Rude person!"
Natsuo tilted his head as a crow landed on his shoulder.
It stared at him with bright, sharp eyes.
Then it shouted proudly, as if introducing itself to the world.
"My name is White! My name is White! Caw! Nice to meet you!"
White.
The bird was completely black.
Natsuo stared for a beat.
Then he looked at the status display.
White, Power Level 1.
Natsuo's expression turned even flatter.
So the pet was not exactly combat ready.
Still, he gave it a minimal response.
"Yeah."
White fluffed its feathers, satisfied, as if that single syllable was all it needed.
Once everyone had received a crow, Shinori continued.
"The final matter is this."
"Today, each of you will personally choose the steel that suits you."
"After ten to fifteen days, your personal Nichirin Blade will be forged."
At his signal, several masked attendants stepped forward.
The Hidden.
The Corps' support unit.
They carried a large chest together and set it down with care.
When the lid opened, more than ten chunks of raw ore lay inside, each different in size and shape.
Even without touching it, Natsuo felt something faint in the air, a warm, clean sensation like sunlight that had been trapped inside stone.
"The steel that will cut demons and protect your lives," Shinori said. "Choose for yourselves."
What surprised the priest was what happened next.
Nobody moved.
For a moment, the nine survivors simply stood there.
Then, one after another, their gazes drifted past the chest.
Past Shinori.
And toward the back of the group.
Toward Natsuo.
Some of them even shifted unconsciously, creating a path as if making room for him to walk forward first.
Shinori's eyes narrowed slightly in thought.
So it's that boy.
The one who entered first.
The one whose presence seemed to have weight in the others' hearts now.
Natsuo did not hesitate.
With White perched on his shoulder like an overly loud decoration, he strode straight to the chest.
So this was the weapon selection event.
A gacha moment.
A ritual with a reward at the end.
Natsuo had gambled in enough games to know how this worked.
He glanced sideways at one of the Hidden.
"Hey," he asked, "are these stones different materials? Like, mined from different places?"
The Hidden blinked, thrown off by the casual tone and the fact that this kid somehow knew who he was.
Still, he answered, trying to keep it formal.
"Each piece of ore has its own spirit. You must sense its personality, then resonate with it"
Natsuo cut in, direct as ever.
"No, I mean the material itself."
The Hidden hesitated.
"Well, maybe? I think they're all about the same. They're from the same batch of ore steel, after all."
Natsuo understood instantly.
So the differences were probably flavor text.
An immersion mechanic.
A ceremony.
He reached in and grabbed the largest, most complete chunk without even pretending to meditate.
"I'll take this one."
After that, the others finally snapped out of their pause and began choosing their own.
One by one, hands moved.
Ore shifted.
The selection ended.
Shinori raised his voice again, preparing to close the ceremony.
"Then, in a few days, your uniforms and Nichirin Blades will be delivered"
"Examiner, I have a question."
Natsuo interrupted him mid sentence.
Several of the other new swordsmen visibly flinched.
In this era, cutting off a senior like that was rude enough to earn punishment.
And he had not used any polite honorific either.
Even Seiko let out a small, resigned sigh.
Of course he would do that.
Shinori looked at Natsuo, silent for a moment, then asked with controlled patience.
"Do you have dissatisfaction with the Nichirin Blades forged in the Swordsmith Village?"
"If you have a preference for a weapon you are accustomed to using, I can consider reporting it to the master."
In the Corps, not everyone used a standard blade.
But people who had the right to demand specialized weapons, and the skill to wield them, were usually higher level combatants.
A brand new recruit asking for a custom weapon was rare.
Frankly, Shinori had never dealt with it before.
"Do you need a longer blade," he asked, "or a weapon like a spear or a lance?"
"Be aware that custom forging may take more time."
Natsuo lifted the sword he was currently holding.
It was a blade he had picked up earlier.
The wrapping still had dried blood on it.
"No problem," he said casually. "Main weapons drop everywhere."
Shinori stared.
Seiko stared too.
The other recruits looked even more confused.
Natsuo continued, totally serious.
"Can I customize a secondary weapon instead?"
Shinori exhaled quietly, half sigh, half acceptance.
Now he understood why the other children kept giving this boy those looks.
This kid was impossible to read.
"Since you insist," he said, "speak."
Natsuo barely thought before launching into it.
"A katana is cool, sure, but its practical durability isn't great. Chipping happens fast."
"I want a secondary weapon that isn't a katana."
"Like a bladed gauntlet or something. A fist weapon."
"One that can slash and also strike, and protects the hands at the same time. You get what I mean?"
"If that's too hard, just make heavy reinforced gloves. I'll still finish demons with the Nichirin Blade when I need to."
To make sure the priest understood, Natsuo even gestured with his hands, mimicking the motion of punching, hooking, and then snapping a short cutting arc.
"Make them thick," he added. "Heavier is fine. I'm used to it."
"And if your smiths can make a super discharge axe or a Gauss gatling, that's fine too. I've played shooters and hunting games."
Shinori's expression went blank for a second.
Seiko's lips trembled like she wanted to laugh but knew she should not.
The other recruits looked like they were listening to an alien describe tools from another world.
Shinori rubbed his forehead.
Everything he said after fist weapon was nonsense to him.
Still, the core request was clear enough.
This boy wanted something that let him fight up close without relying entirely on a blade.
And based on what Shinori had witnessed in the mountain, that was not an empty fantasy.
He really did fight like someone who could kill with his hands.
"I will report your request to the master," Shinori said at last.
In his heart, he added a quiet vow.
Next time a new recruit asked for something this troublesome, I'm refusing.
He looked at Natsuo's expectant eyes and felt his resolve weaken.
Just this once.
Only once.
(End of Chapter)
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