The death of the powerful Hand Demon served as an overwhelming deterrent to the other demons lurking on the mountain. No matter how deeply they craved human flesh, they still understood one simple truth—this was not prey they could afford to provoke.
Besides, there were plenty of other "meals" scattered across the mountain. There was no need to risk breaking their teeth on a piece of bone that was clearly too hard to chew.
And so, for the first time in a while, Soma and the others were granted a rare moment of quiet.
Soma fetched some clean water and found a relatively secluded spot, allowing Makomo to step aside and wash up and change her clothes.
While she was occupied, he turned his attention inward, focusing on the status panel within his mind.
...
Race: Demon
Lifespan: Infinite
Abilities: Immortality (Complete), Rapid Regeneration, Enhanced Physique
Weaknesses: None
State: Perfect
Blood Demon Art: Devour (Perfectly acquires the talents, abilities, and Blood Demon Arts of consumed targets)
Swordsmanship: Hiten Mitsurugi Style
Breathing Technique: Sun Breathing
Physique: 3.5 + 0.5 (An average adult = 1)
Agility: 3.4 + 0.5 (An average adult = 1)
Strength: 3.3 + 0.5 (An average adult = 1)
Mental Strength: 5.7 + 0.5 (An average adult = 1)
...
The death of the Hand Demon had increased all his attributes by approximately 0.5. While that was a noticeable boost, it was roughly equivalent to killing five ordinary demons. Considering the danger involved in facing the Hand Demon, the return felt… somewhat underwhelming.
Soma had initially assumed that the Hand Demon possessed a Blood Demon Art, but it turned out that it did not.
Still, it wasn't without its benefits.
After devouring it, he had inherited its abilities.
And those abilities were… undeniably powerful.
His gaze drifted toward the direction where Makomo had gone to wash up. Girls tended to take their time with such things; she likely wouldn't return anytime soon.
With that thought, he casually removed his upper garment, revealing a well-built torso.
Kanao, standing nearby, tilted her head slightly in confusion as she watched him strip off his shirt. Tanjiro, too, looked puzzled by his actions.
Then—
Right before their eyes—
Soma raised his blade and struck his own neck.
Clang!
The sound was like steel striking stone.
His neck was hard—though not quite to the same degree as the Hand Demon's. The blade left behind a shallow cut, a thin line of blood appearing briefly… only to vanish almost instantly as the wound healed.
"About half as durable as the Hand Demon's, I'd say… but it feels like it can be trained further."
He murmured softly to himself.
This was one of the Hand Demon's most distinctive abilities—and now, it belonged to him.
The other…
Was its tendril-like appendages.
He closed his eyes slightly, focusing his awareness on his back.
And then—
To Tanjiro's sheer horror—
The flesh along Soma's back began to writhe and expand. Muscles twisted and split as something forced its way outward, growing rapidly until—
Eight arms emerged.
They were newly formed, and clearly not yet under full control. Some clenched into fists, others flailed wildly—one even smacked against his own side.
But as Soma focused, the chaos gradually subsided, the movements becoming more deliberate, more controlled.
He stepped toward Tanjiro, who instinctively stiffened. One of the newly formed arms shot out and snatched the axe from Tanjiro's grasp, while the others began experimenting—swinging, slashing, thrusting.
He walked over to a nearby tree and snapped off several branches. Each arm moved independently, some chopping, some stabbing, some testing different angles and motions.
A thought crossed his mind—
In the future, he could wield multiple weapons at once. A long sword, a heavy axe, a spiked club…
If all eight arms attacked simultaneously, each wielding a different weapon, few opponents would be able to handle it.
Even someone like Akaza might find themselves overwhelmed—at least for a moment.
"…Feels a bit like an eight-armed Asura."
Soma glanced back at the arms extending from his back, clearly satisfied with this newfound ability.
Then he noticed Tanjiro's expression—frozen in fear.
Soma smiled warmly, as if nothing unusual had happened.
"I didn't scare you, did I?"
"N-no…"
Tanjiro instinctively took a small step back, lowering his head slightly as a thin sheen of cold sweat formed on his forehead.
Soma smiled faintly. With a single thought, the eight arms on his back withdrew into his body, disappearing as though they had never existed.
Tap… tap… tap…
Just as he finished, Makomo returned, having finished washing up. The fox mask with its closed, smiling expression was held loosely in her hand, and her hair was still damp, clinging lightly to her shoulders.
The moment she stepped out, her gaze landed on him.
A tall figure, bare from the waist up, standing by the fire.
His dark eyes were fixed on her.
Makomo's gaze instinctively drifted across his well-defined muscles before she suddenly realized what she was looking at. A faint blush spread across her cheeks, and she quickly turned her head away.
"Why are you—"
"Ah… my clothes were too dirty. I was about to change."
He said it casually, smiling as he reached into his pack and pulled out a fresh shirt, slipping it on without a hint of embarrassment.
Only after he had finished dressing did Makomo dare to turn back. The faint redness still lingered on her face, and perhaps out of habit—or to hide it—she raised the fox mask and placed it back over her face.
Soma picked up a few branches and tossed them into the campfire, feeding the flames until they burned brighter.
"I didn't expect you to be that strong… to even cut through something as hard as that demon's neck."
Makomo sat near the fire, looking at him. Her clear, beautiful eyes were filled with curiosity, as though she were seeing him for the first time.
The more she observed him, the less she felt she understood him.
Compared to herself—someone who literally wore a mask—she couldn't help but feel that he was the one truly hiding behind one.
"Is that so?" Soma smiled lightly, then gestured toward the flask hanging at her waist. "So… can I finally have a drink?"
Makomo hesitated for a brief moment before handing it over.
Taking the flask, he lifted it to his lips and drank deeply.
"You seem to like alcohol quite a bit."
Makomo pulled her clothes tighter around herself and edged closer to the fire. Even so, the chill of Mount Fujikasane's peak still seeped into her bones. In contrast, Soma had only just put on a thin layer after standing bare-chested, yet he seemed completely unaffected by the cold. His physique was clearly far stronger than it appeared.
"It's alright." Soma took another sip, savoring the warmth of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. Then he glanced at her.
"You're not hurt, are you?"
"I'm fine."
Makomo gave the same answer he had earlier, though in truth, the blow she had taken from the Hand Demon's tendril still left a burning ache across her back. Even now, the pain lingered faintly—but it had already eased considerably.
After checking on her, Soma turned his gaze toward Tanjiro.
"And you, Tanjiro?"
"I—I'm mostly fine now."
Tanjiro answered quickly, lowering his head. Perhaps the sight of those eight arms sprouting from Soma's back earlier still lingered in his mind, leaving him unable to fully recover from the shock.
"That's good."
Soma took another drink, then reached into his pack and pulled out some rice balls, placing them near the fire to warm.
Once they were heated, he handed them out.
Three humans and one demon sat around the fire, quietly eating. The flickering flames cast shifting light across their faces.
Kanao's eyes remained fixed solely on her "uncle," but the others were clearly lost in their own thoughts.
And so, an unusual silence settled over them, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire.
Perhaps because dawn was approaching, even the demons that had been hunting across the mountain seemed to retreat. The entire summit grew quieter, as though the night itself were beginning to fade.
Crackle… pop…
The sound of burning wood broke through the stillness.
Makomo seemed to snap out of her thoughts. Though her face was hidden behind the mask, her eyes were slightly red—she had likely been thinking of something painful.
"…Can I have some of that sake too?"
Soma glanced at her reddened eyes and silently passed the flask back.
She took it without hesitation and raised it to her lips, taking a large gulp.
But she clearly wasn't used to drinking. After only a few swallows, she broke into a fit of coughing, her body trembling as she struggled to catch her breath.
Once she recovered, she lifted the flask again and drank.
Tanjiro instinctively raised his head, wanting to stop her—but seeing that Soma made no move to intervene, he quietly swallowed his words.
After a few more gulps, Makomo began coughing again, even more violently than before.
Perhaps her tolerance was simply too low—after only a few drinks, the girl was already growing unsteady, her gaze unfocused and hazy.
"I thought… you'd try to stop me."
She tilted her head back and took another gulp, then looked up at Soma, her eyes shimmering with a drunken softness.
"Why would I stop you?"
Soma watched her as she sank deeper into intoxication, his voice calm, almost gentle.
"Sometimes, getting drunk—truly drunk—and letting everything unpleasant fade into a haze isn't such a bad thing. If you can forget all that pain, even just for one night… then when you wake up tomorrow, the world might feel a little brighter."
He paused slightly, his gaze lingering on her.
"Maybe by morning… the pain will be gone."
Makomo lifted the flask again and drank, each swallow pulling her further into that blurred, dreamlike state.
And as the alcohol took hold, the quiet, composed girl she usually was began to unravel, her lips moving ceaselessly as she murmured fragments of her past.
She spoke of the days she spent with her fellow disciples—those fleeting, happy moments that now felt impossibly distant.
She spoke of a boy named Sabito, and the promise they had once made together—to protect the teacher they both cherished so deeply.
She spoke of the time she hunted demons alongside Furukawa Hiroshi, even admitting, in her muddled state, that she had known of his feelings for her… and yet had never found the courage to respond before he was cruelly taken by a demon.
Then came the memories of loss.
Of her fellow disciples, gone one by one.
Of their beloved teacher, Urokodaki, left behind—forced to watch as each of his students disappeared, never to return.
And as the words spilled out, her voice began to tremble.
Before long, she was crying.
Even though the Hand Demon—the one responsible for so much of that pain—had been slain, the sorrow it left behind had never truly faded.
The alcohol burned as it went down, growing bitter with every sip.
Watching her now—completely lost in drunkenness, laughing one moment and crying the next, her arms waving wildly—Soma couldn't help but feel a faint trace of regret for letting her drink so much.
Beside him, Tanjiro inhaled quietly. Through his keen sense of smell, he could pick up on the storm of emotions within her—the weight of grief, the pressure she had carried for so long. Glancing at Soma, he began to understand why no one had tried to stop her.
Perhaps… this was something she needed.
If she kept everything buried inside, one day it would break her.
As Makomo grew more and more unsteady, Soma opened his pack and pulled out a thicker piece of clothing, spreading it beside the fire. Then, he gently guided the girl—who was swaying between laughter and tears—over to sit down.
Reaching out, he carefully removed the fox mask from her face.
Beneath it, her delicate features were streaked with tears, her cheeks damp and flushed.
He looked at her and smiled softly.
"You've cried yourself into quite a mess."
"Have I…?"
In her dazed state, she lifted a hand and touched her face, feeling the dampness beneath her fingers.
"Not completely gone yet," Soma murmured, almost to himself. "Still worried demons might come, are you?"
Her hazy eyes blinked open slightly.
"Don't worry. Leave everything to me. You've already had quite a bit to drink… just rest now."
She stared at him for a moment, her blurred gaze lingering on his face—on the quiet warmth in his expression. Then she lowered her head and spoke softly, almost like a child asking for one last indulgence.
"…One more sip."
Soma didn't refuse. He handed her the flask.
Makomo took it and drank deeply again. This time, perhaps because she had already grown accustomed to the burn, she no longer coughed as she had at the beginning.
Makomo had never been much of a drinker to begin with, and after that last, heavy swallow, her body finally gave in. Her vision blurred, and her small frame went limp as she collapsed forward.
Soma reached out and caught her by the waist, steadying her as her arms flailed weakly in the air. He listened as she muttered incoherently, her words tumbling out in disjointed fragments.
"You're really… hard to understand… but somehow… you feel… really gentle… really kind…"
Her voice softened as she buried her head against his chest, mumbling those words—only for her expression to suddenly twist as she retched, vomiting up the undigested contents of her stomach.
Soma glanced down at the scene and let out a quiet, helpless sigh.
Taking the towel Tanjiro handed him, he carefully wiped the mess from the corners of her mouth. Then he guided her over to the spot he had prepared earlier, easing her down onto the makeshift bedding and covering her with the thicker clothing.
"Get some proper rest," he said softly, looking at her as her eyes slowly closed. "By tomorrow… it'll all feel like it's passed."
He shook his head faintly, then began cleaning the mess on his own clothes before turning to Tanjiro, who had been watching silently.
"You should get some rest too."
Tanjiro blinked, then nodded. He pulled out a thicker piece of clothing from his pack, spread it on a relatively dry, soft patch of ground near the fire, and lay down fully clothed.
Soma stepped away to change into clean clothes in a more secluded spot. When he returned, he saw that Kanao was still sitting there, quietly waiting for him.
He smiled and walked over, gently patting her head.
"You should sleep too."
Kanao looked up at him, her pinkish-purple eyes calm and clear as she spoke in a soft voice.
"I want Uncle to hold me while I sleep."
He let out a small chuckle.
"Ha, still like a child."
He tapped her lightly on the head, then sat down near Makomo and patted his thigh.
Kanao moved over without hesitation, leaning into his arms as she settled against him. She tilted her head up slightly, her eyes meeting his.
"Good night, Uncle."
"Good night, Kanao."
His voice was quiet as he watched her eyelids slowly drift shut, her long lashes trembling for a moment before finally growing still.
Reaching into his pack, he took out a thicker piece of clothing and draped it gently over her.
Then he added a few more logs to the fire, feeding the flames until they burned brighter against the night.
After that, he simply sat there in silence, holding Kanao lightly in his arms, his gaze fixed on the dancing firelight.
Time passed quietly—
Until the sound of hurried footsteps broke the stillness.
Soma lifted his head slightly and looked toward the approaching figure. Raising a finger to his lips, he made a soft shh gesture.
A black-haired boy with striking blue eyes, a magatama pendant hanging at his chest, came to a stop as he took in the scene before him, clearly startled.
Soma pointed toward an empty spot near the fire.
After a brief hesitation, the boy—Kaigaku—tightened his grip on his Nichirin Swordbefore moving over and sitting down by the fire.
Soma tossed another piece of wood into the flames, making them flare brighter.
"Rest easy," he said quietly, his tone calm and reassuring. "I'll keep watch. No demons will come."
Kaigaku, however, did not trust him.
Clutching his sword, he half-closed his blue eyes and sat there in silence, only pretending to sleep while remaining on guard.
..
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