A few days later.
Natsuo returned once again to the deep mountain where his mentor, Kazami Koyoshi, lived.
"Kazami san, I'm back!"
From far away, he could already see the small wooden house and the old man watering the vegetable patch. Natsuo raised his hand and shouted loudly, as if he were worried the other side might not hear him.
While traveling these past few days, he had still practiced his breathing and sword forms whenever he found a gap. But level four was still a long way off.
If he could run a couple more of those "high quality dungeons" like Final Selection, it would be perfect.
He would just farm demons and grind skill proficiency.
As for achievement points, he had saved one more point on the road, but to reach level four, he still needed at least six points.
And if he dumped points in all at once, the conversion efficiency would not be maximized. It would feel like a loss.
It was a petty complaint, but it mattered.
Games were like that.
Optimization was a habit.
He was still calculating the best use of points when he noticed the old man in the distance suddenly set down the bucket and yoke.
Then he started heading toward him.
At first it was merely a brisk walk.
Then it sped up.
Faster and faster.
The hem of his robe snapped and fluttered in the wind like a banner.
With the breathing effects turned on, it did not look like an elderly man jogging at all.
It looked like an aged beast surfing on an invisible gale, tearing across the field with relentless momentum.
That speed.
That presence.
That pressure.
Even without the system giving him a clear number, Natsuo could tell.
Kazami's Wind Breathing was easily above level five.
"Long time no see, Kazami san"
Thud.
Kazami Koyoshi pulled Natsuo into a tight embrace, so sudden and so forceful that it made Natsuo's ribs ache.
"Good. You're back, you brat."
Natsuo froze.
Huh?
What was this?
Some hidden affection event he had accidentally triggered?
Before leaving, this "cheap mentor" had always worn a stern face and scolded him for sloppy breathing and soft sword work. He never praised him. He never even sounded warm.
Yet now he was openly trembling, holding him like he was afraid to let go.
For a moment, Natsuo simply stood there, caught off guard by something that did not fit the usual pattern.
Then, for once, he did not choose to skip the scene.
This game was too real.
The exhaustion from travel.
The lingering rush of battle.
The faint, delayed fear from surviving nights where one mistake meant death.
And now, this.
The heavy warmth coming from an old man's arms.
It was not something a small line of text like "Fatigued" or "Recovered" could describe.
In a daze, Natsuo remembered a long ago New Year's holiday.
Coming home from far away with a bag on his shoulder.
Pushing open the door.
Seeing his father standing in the warm light inside.
Back then, his father had done the same thing.
He had said nothing important, but he had wrapped him in a quiet hug, then patted his back with a rough hand as if that alone was enough to say, you're safe, you're here, you made it.
The warmth was the same.
"Old, I mean, Kazami san," Natsuo said softly, his voice gentler than he realized, "I passed the selection. I'm back."
He patted the old man's back, feeling the slight curve of his shoulders beneath the fabric.
Why was his nose stinging?
Annoying.
Stupid game.
Even the writers knew where to hit.
That night, for once, Natsuo did not train, did not grind, did not stare at his status screen.
He slept.
He slept like someone who had finally stopped running.
When he woke the next day, the sun was already high.
He yawned lazily and wandered into the training hall, feeling light and clean.
His fatigue was gone. The negative effects were gone. Even his mind felt clearer.
He sat down across from Kazami and ate the oden the old man had prepared.
Warm broth. Soft radish. Fish cake. A simple meal that somehow felt richer than anything he had eaten in the mountain.
Once again, he did not skip.
Instead, while eating, he excitedly talked about what he had seen and done.
He told the story like an enthusiastic player recounting a raid.
He talked about demon stats, weird behaviors, "mechanics," and "balance problems."
He talked about leveling, proficiency, and drops.
He talked about that demon with the rusting ability that destroyed weapons.
He talked about how he saved a group of swordsmen, and how Seiko had improved too.
He talked so quickly that Kazami's brows twitched, and his expression shifted between confusion, anger, and a reluctant sort of pride.
"What do you mean, 'numbers are too high'?" Kazami muttered, gripping his chopsticks too hard. "Are you saying demons are physically stronger than humans? Yes, of course they are. That's why you don't trade blows like an idiot."
"What is 'special skill'?" he snapped a moment later. "You mean their strange abilities? Those exist, yes."
Then, the moment Natsuo mentioned the rust demon and the broken blades, Kazami's face sharpened.
"You ran into a demon that uses Blood Demon Arts?"
His voice dropped.
Even the air in the room seemed to tighten.
"No wonder your sword was replaced. You really suffered, Natsuo."
Then he heard about Total Concentration.
Kazami stared at him like he was looking at a monster that had crawled out of his own training yard.
"You've even grasped Total Concentration already. That fast?"
Natsuo nodded while chewing.
He also mentioned, casually, that he had wondered if the Corps' master might secretly be an "evil plotter" type.
Kazami nearly choked on his broth.
"Impossible. Absolutely impossible."
He slammed the bowl down a little harder than necessary.
"Whether it was the previous master or the current one, the head of the Ubuyashiki family is gentle and brave. Do not speak nonsense."
Then Natsuo mentioned he had fought alongside other candidates, and a girl too.
Kazami's eyes narrowed.
"You saved other swordsmen? And there was a girl?"
Natsuo, still mid bite, blinked.
Kazami leaned forward, suspiciously intense.
"Explain in detail."
Natsuo stared.
So this was the part that caught his interest?
He decided not to tease him too much and simply described Seiko's behavior, her breathing, how she had improved, and how she wanted to eat udon after surviving.
Kazami coughed and sat back, pretending it was nothing.
"Hmph. Good."
After the meal, Kazami finally straightened, his tone shifting from casual to serious.
"It's hard to believe," he said, "that you've only trained a year, and you're already a proper swordsman."
"That's impressive."
"And because you're no longer just a child under my roof, there are things you should know."
Natsuo's eyes lit up.
This sounded like an information unlock.
Lore dump.
New quest markers.
Kazami spoke slowly, choosing his words like a man who had watched too many young swordsmen die because they did not know enough.
"There are many kinds of demons."
"Most are ordinary demons. Some become stronger simply by eating more humans."
Natsuo nodded.
That lined up with what he had seen.
The majority were simple.
Charge, claw, bite, regenerate.
Strong in the body, empty in technique.
"However," Kazami continued, "the truly dangerous ones are those who possess special abilities called Blood Demon Arts."
"That demon you met during Final Selection, the one that rusted blades, is one of them."
Natsuo's attention sharpened immediately.
Mechanics monsters.
Kazami's voice remained steady.
"Each Blood Demon Art is unique. Their individual strength is usually high among demons, and because the ability is unknown until you see it, they are extremely dangerous."
Then he began listing examples from his own experience and from stories he trusted.
A demon that could "blink" by stomping the ground, moving so suddenly it looked like teleportation.
A demon that could unleash flames through its gaze, fire that clung and refused to go out.
A demon that could hypnotize people into hallucinations, turning their own senses against them.
"Even if your swordsmanship is strong," Kazami said, "if you do not understand their ability, you can still fall into their trap."
Natsuo understood.
The rust demon was the perfect example.
Touch it wrong, and your weapon was destroyed.
Most swordsmen would become helpless the moment their Nichirin Blade was ruined.
But Kazami's tone shifted again, firmer now.
"Still, do not misunderstand."
"No matter how dangerous their Blood Demon Art is, the demon is still flesh."
"You can still kill them."
"Decapitation with a Nichirin Blade will end them."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Natsuo, when you begin taking missions on your own, watch their eyes."
"Especially demons with numbers in their eyes."
"Twelve Kizuki."
The name carried weight in the way Kazami said it, like a warning carved into stone.
"If you see one, you must have your Kasugai Crow request help immediately."
"Ask for higher ranking swordsmen."
"If necessary, ask for a Pillar."
"Do not try to defeat them alone. That is not an opponent you can handle right now."
He continued, each instruction precise.
"Request reinforcements."
"Stall them."
"Circle them."
"If you can, force them back until sunrise."
"And if you cannot"
His eyes did not waver.
"Retreat."
"Even abandoning the mission and escaping is acceptable."
Natsuo stared.
That was not something he expected to hear from a strict mentor who had always spoken about discipline and blade control.
This was not pride.
This was survival.
Natsuo scratched his cheek.
"So the demon faction doesn't have four top bosses. It has twelve."
"That's like the twelve zodiac temples."
"It's Twelve Kizuki," Kazami corrected sharply, then exhaled as if reminding himself not to get angry at every stupid metaphor. "There are six Upper Ranks and six Lower Ranks."
"Each of them is far stronger than ordinary demons, and each possesses a Blood Demon Art."
"They are the closest guard of the Demon King, Muzan Kibutsuji."
The final name landed like the title of a hidden final boss.
Naturally, Natsuo's curiosity surged.
"How strong is the Demon King?" he asked immediately. "Could he solo his own twelve elite guards?"
Kazami's mouth tightened.
"I don't know."
Natsuo blinked.
Not even a rumor?
Kazami's answer came slowly, heavy with the truth behind it.
"All demons are created with his blood."
"He is their origin."
"He is not weak."
Then, even more bluntly, he added.
"I'm telling you right now. Do not think about seeking him out."
"That is death."
"He is not an enemy you or I can defeat."
"And"
Kazami's eyes darkened slightly.
"For over a hundred years, there has been no reliable information on his location."
No coordinates.
No map marker.
No "go here" quest step.
So the final boss was hidden in the crowd of millions, or the developers had not fully built the endgame yet.
Either way, it made Natsuo feel one thing more than fear.
Anticipation.
Challenge was the point.
Beating the designer's wall was the fun.
Natsuo leaned forward.
"Fine. Not the Demon King."
"Just the Twelve Kizuki."
"Kazami san, if you met one, what are your odds?"
He wanted a baseline.
A measuring stick.
Something to anchor the power scale.
Kazami hesitated.
Then he decided not to lie to him.
"The Lower Ranks change often," he said. "They are not invincible."
"If I were at my peak, and fought with everything I had, I might be able to defeat Lower Rank Three or Four."
Natsuo's eyes widened.
"So you've seen one?"
Kazami snorted, offended.
"No."
"But I have seen swordsmen who killed demons on that level."
"And I refuse to believe I'm worse than them."
Natsuo silently labeled him.
Proud old man.
Still, it told Natsuo enough.
Lower Ranks were already monsters.
And Kazami was not some ordinary rural trainer.
He had presence, experience, and strong breathing.
If even he could only claim a chance against Lower Three or Four, then Upper Ranks were going to be absurd.
Natsuo asked the obvious next question.
"Then what about the Upper Ranks?"
Kazami went silent.
Long enough that Natsuo's amusement faded into something more cautious.
Finally, Kazami spoke.
"I don't know."
Natsuo frowned.
"How can you not know?"
Kazami's voice was quiet, almost grim.
"Because in the last century, no one has returned alive after encountering an Upper Rank."
Natsuo's expression stiffened.
No survivors meant no reports.
No reports meant no data.
No data meant unknown mechanics.
Unknown abilities.
Unknown speed.
Unknown thresholds.
That was the kind of enemy that wiped squads without leaving even a single person to explain why.
Natsuo tried another angle.
"What about Pillars?"
"Aren't there nine Pillars? Wouldn't they know something?"
In every story, the top human faction fought the top enemy faction.
That was how narratives worked.
Kazami glanced at him.
Then he shook his head again.
"I meant the Pillars."
Natsuo stared.
Kazami continued, each word like a blunt strike.
"The Pillars are almost never at full strength."
"Part of it is because the Corps struggles to produce talent."
"But the most important reason is this."
"Upper Rank demons have killed many Pillars."
He looked directly at Natsuo.
"When you face an Upper Rank, even a Pillar may not survive."
Natsuo froze.
Even the top tier could die.
So the gap was not small.
It was a cliff.
And if the top tier could die, then what did that make a new recruit?
A beginner.
A level one character standing in an endgame zone.
Natsuo swallowed.
Then, very quietly, he said.
"So they really are endgame bosses."
Kazami's gaze softened just a little.
"That is why I'm warning you."
"Do not play with fire, brat."
(End of Chapter)
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