Cold Cry felt like crying, but no tears came. In his heart, he cursed Shinobu Kocho—and by extension, the entire Demon Slayer Corps.
That said, the arrangement also stirred something within him. His curiosity grew—what kind of organization would subject its recruits to such a life-and-death trial?
If even a single test was this dangerous, then perhaps the Corps truly had substance… perhaps they really could help him find his elder sister.
Fine. If they wanted to watch, he would give them a show.
It wasn't his first time facing a demon.
Iguya Kishi… I will step over the corpses of your kind to reach you.
To avoid dirtying his brand-new haori, Cold Cry casually tossed it into a nearby thicket. He picked up a wooden stick about as thick as his wrist and snapped it cleanly. The jagged edge would have to suffice as a weapon.
"Ugly freak… come on. Let me see what you've got."
Understanding the provocation, the demon opened its mouth wide and let out a guttural howl before lunging forward on all fours.
Its speed and explosive power were terrifying—more beast than human. It had completely abandoned upright movement.
Its hind legs were built for propulsion, while its forelimbs bore long, razor-sharp claws.
"Cold Tide."
Without a Nichirin blade, Cold Cry could only rely on his Breathing Technique. Cold air spread from his body, sharpening his perception and expanding his awareness of the battlefield.
From their earlier clash, he had already realized—
This demon hated the cold.
A foul wind reeking of blood and decay rushed toward him. Cold Cry swung his wooden stick with force, aiming straight for the demon's chest.
Mid-air, the demon swatted the stick aside with one hand while slashing at his face with the other.
Cold Cry leaned back just enough to evade the claws, then dropped low, sliding beneath the demon's body and landing behind it.
Just as he expected—
The moment the demon touched the ground, it recoiled as if burned, then scrambled up a nearby tree.
Its claws sank deep into the bark, allowing it to cling effortlessly—even sideways.
Strong… and fast.
Cold Cry narrowed his eyes. In his current condition, a direct contest of strength was impossible.
Failing twice to subdue its prey—and irritated by the lingering cold—the demon let out a shrill cry, kicked off the tree trunk, and launched itself at him again.
Cold Cry tracked its trajectory.
At the moment it closed in, he sidestepped and raised his weapon, slamming it toward the demon's back.
But he had underestimated it.
Mid-air, the demon twisted unnaturally—its waist bending at an impossible angle. Its legs rotated sharply, redirecting its attack toward Cold Cry's chest.
Too close.
Too fast.
There was no time to withdraw.
In that instant, Cold Cry made his decision.
If he retreated now, he would lose momentum entirely.
So instead—
He advanced.
Even if it meant taking the hit.
Breathing Techniques strengthen the body… I can endure this.
"Drifting Snow!"
Cold air erupted outward. Snowflakes formed in the air around him, swirling violently.
Frost spread across the wooden stick, encasing it in ice.
Cold Cry gripped it with both hands and brought it down in a cleaving strike toward the demon's back.
The demon hesitated for a split second—instincts clashing between attack and self-preservation.
But greed won.
It shrieked and drove its kick into Cold Cry's chest—
At the same time, Cold Cry's strike landed.
Boom!
Cold Cry was sent flying, crashing into the thicket. His body tumbled down a slope before slamming hard against the roots of a tree.
A muffled groan escaped his lips.
His vision swam. His stomach churned violently.
He coughed—
Blood spilled from his mouth.
Only then did his breathing begin to steady.
He lay there for a moment before forcing himself up, ignoring the pain radiating through his chest.
No broken bones… good.
Climbing back up the slope, he returned to the clearing.
The demon wasn't faring much better.
It knelt on the ground, writhing, clawing frantically at its back. Frost had spread across the wound, refusing to melt.
If that had been a Nichirin blade, the damage would have been far worse.
Even so, the jagged wood had torn open a shallow wound.
More importantly—
Ice had formed within it.
"Drifting Snow" wasn't just about cutting.
The true purpose of the technique was infiltration.
Cold seeped into the wound, slowing movement and hindering regeneration. For demons—whose strength lay in rapid healing—this was a direct counter.
If the wound struck a joint, the effect would be even more devastating.
Their first true exchange ended without a decisive victor.
But in truth—
Cold Cry had taken the heavier damage.
The demon, however, no longer saw him as ordinary prey.
Most humans fled in terror.
This one advanced instead.
It felt anger—
And danger.
For a moment, it even considered retreating.
But then—
It smelled blood.
Its gaze snapped to Cold Cry's chest. Saliva dripped from its mouth as it let out low, guttural sounds.
Watching this, Cold Cry's eyes sharpened.
An idea formed.
He unwrapped the bandage around his right hand, letting fresh blood drip onto the ground.
The effect was immediate.
The demon trembled, its body reacting instinctively. Desire overwhelmed caution.
With a feral howl, it lunged—
Not at Cold Cry—
But in the blood.
It dropped to the ground, scooping up dirt soaked in blood and stuffing it into its mouth.
Cold Cry moved.
Silently.
Swiftly.
Circling behind it, he ignored the pain in his chest and drew in a deep breath.
"Shattering Drizzle."
He swung the frozen stick downward—
And in that instant, sharp cones of ice formed within the swirling wind and snow, hurtling toward the demon's back.