And the truth was that he hadn't taught him Constant Concentration, but it's not like he had been holding it back out of malice or distrust.
Simply put, beginner hunters didn't need it. Period. It was a technique reserved for those who aspired to become Hashira. Forcing its use before the body and skill were up to par would only bring problems: distractions in the middle of combat, inability to balance swordsmanship with breathing... more of a hindrance than an advantage.
The normal thing was for a master to wait. For the swordsman to fully master their breathing technique, accumulate experience, and only then, based on their talent, evaluate whether it was worth teaching them.
But this brat had kept it active the entire way without even realizing it... Urokodaki had assumed it was simply a characteristic of his particular way of breathing.
And now it turned out it wasn't.
"What's called Constant Concentration," he explained, "is maintaining the state of Total Concentration twenty four hours a day. Every second. Every moment."
And he ordered him: "Try it now. Maintain the same breathing rhythm you had a moment ago."
Marcus deflated. "I... can't, master. What I was doing in the cabin... I was just breathing naturally. I wasn't trying to maintain anything in particular."
Half truth, half lie.
Within a five meter radius of Nezuko, Constant Concentration activated on its own. He didn't have to do anything, didn't even have to think about it.
It just happened.
But away from Nezuko... he didn't have the slightest idea how to replicate it. At least not yet.
"..."
Urokodaki observed him in silence. The boy's breathing was completely different from that deep, rhythmic cadence he had demonstrated before.
He wasn't lying. Or at least, not entirely.
"And the form you used this morning? Can you use it now?" He pointed at the wooden post at the other end. "With everything you've got."
"That I can do!"
Breathing deep, Marcus got into position and unsheathed.
The river of pink air rose from his body, climbing, coiling around the blade like a luminous serpent. The flames began to spread, to condense, to take shape...
But this time, it was different.
The speed was visibly slower. And when the giant blade of pink flames finished materializing over the sword... it measured barely four meters.
Four meters. Compared to the ten from that morning.
Less than half.
The presence was also less imposing.
Even Marcus felt it in his body before seeing it. The power had lightened considerably, but the breathing consumption hadn't dropped one bit.
Just as he suspected. Without Nezuko nearby, even the potency of his forms was drastically reduced.
But he didn't let any of that show on his face. Instead, he gripped the handle and tensed every muscle.
"Breath of Desire, First Form... Valkyrie!"
The giant blade cut its way through.
An arc of pink light streaked across the air and slammed into the wooden post.
CRACK
The post split cleanly in an instant, and on the ground, starting from the point of impact, a shallow trench was left behind: about six inches deep, six feet long.
Not bad. The power was respectable.
But compared to the cut from that morning... the difference was brutal.
Sheathing the sword, Marcus caught his breath, and this time the panting wasn't an act. He was genuinely tired.
Off to one side, Urokodaki's brow was so furrowed it looked like it was going to become permanent.
He had seen everything clearly. On both occasions, Marcus had given everything he had... but the result simply wasn't the same.
"What's wrong with you? Why is it so different from last time?"
Marcus wiped the sweat from his forehead and kept playing dumb. "I don't understand it either, master... it's like... I'm missing something? Before it was different. I felt like everything just clicked on its own, you know? Like my body knew exactly what to do before I even thought about it."
"..."
Urokodaki felt his temples throbbing.
He forced himself to close his eyes and think with a cool head about every detail from the beginning.
Marcus's "awakening." The use of the form. The appearance of Constant Concentration. Its disappearance. Everything.
The clues started connecting at a speed he didn't like one bit.
That pink energy... he had called it the Breath of Desire.
His breathing technique had awakened when that demon girl knocked him down. Skin against skin.
When he executed the form for the first time, that overflowing urgency to show off, that pathological need to impress... it was identical to a male peacock spreading every single feather in front of a female.
On the way back, while carrying Nezuko on his back, his breathing had been constant. He even maintained Constant Concentration automatically, with no apparent effort.
In the cabin, same thing. Constant Concentration without interruption.
But the instant he left the cabin... the moment he got away from that demon girl... Constant Concentration cut off. And now the potency of his cut had plummeted.
Marcus himself had said it: "I'm missing something."
What was it that was missing?
If he really had to point out a difference between both situations... there was only one variable.
Just one.
Nezuko.
With her nearby, everything came out right for this kid. The forms, the concentration, the potency... everything ran like clockwork.
Without Nezuko... he shut down. Like a plant ripped from the soil.
And that meant...
Urokodaki felt a chill run down his spine.
Could it be... could it be that his breathing technique...?
What this kid was really breathing was...?
The idea burst into his mind like a kick to a locked door. It was absurd. And it was so monumentally indecent that Urokodaki felt the soul of every swordsman who had ever existed writhing in their grave just from thinking it.
'No.'
He clenched his fists.
'IMPOSSIBLE.'
Breathing technique was sacred. It was the supreme art passed down by the greatest warriors in history to annihilate demons and protect humanity.
Every form, every movement, every breath of air represented the sacrifice, the sweat, the blood, and the tears of entire generations of swordsmen who gave their lives to perfect it.
A legacy that deserved reverence.
How could... how COULD it be possible that something like that was so... so...?
Urokodaki shook his head hard, trying to rip that thought out of his skull.
But it was useless.
Because once the seed of doubt is planted... it grows like a weed. And there's no way to pull it out.
He abruptly grabbed Marcus by the arm.
Five steel fingers clamped down on Marcus's bicep with a force that drew an instant wince.
"We're going."
"Ehhh?! Master, slow down! I can walk on my own! I CAN WAL..."
But Urokodaki wasn't listening. He dragged him down the mountain with long, urgent strides, without loosening his grip a single millimeter.
Marcus's complaints died in the air with zero effect.
When they arrived in front of the cabin, Urokodaki didn't open the door.
He stopped and turned around.
His eyes, barely visible through the slits of the mask, locked onto Marcus's face. Especially his mouth and nose.
"Open the door and go inside." He ordered in a tense voice.
Marcus didn't understand what the hell was wrong with this old man. But something in that tone told him it wasn't the time to ask questions.
So he swallowed hard and slid the door open.
What came was immediate.
A sweet, almost ethereal essence slipped through the crack like a caress.
It was the unmistakable body scent of Nezuko.
To anyone else it would have been imperceptible, but for Marcus it was as if someone had lit a bonfire in the middle of the darkness.
And the very next second...
Between his mouth and nose, the pink air bloomed again. His chest expanded on its own and the rhythm of his breathing changed instantly: deep, stable, perfect.
Total Concentration.
"..."
Urokodaki saw everything... Every damn detail.
One foot inside. One foot outside. And between the before and after of crossing that door, this brat's breathing state was diametrically opposite. As if they were two different people.
His last shred of hope shattered to pieces.
"Y... You..."
His voice trembled. His. The former Water Pillar's.
With one last glimmer of denial, with the fingers of disbelief clinging to the edge of the cliff, he ordered:
"Stay right there and don't move! Face the outside of the house and use the same form from a moment ago."
"HERE?!"
Marcus looked at the doorframe. It was narrow and low. Absurd for swinging anything bigger than a toothpick. "Master, this is a little..."
"FACING OUTSIDE THE DOOR! USE IT!"
"Okay, okay, okay..."
Turning toward the outside, he planted his feet and raised the sword. He breathed deep, and this time, with Nezuko meters away from him, the air entered differently.
"Breath of Desire, First Form... VALKYRIE!"
The giant pinkish purple blade roared back into existence.
And this time it was something else entirely.
Seven meters long. It didn't reach the devastating ten from the morning, but compared to the pathetic four meters from the clearing, it was a completely different monster.
The purplish pink pulsed with an intensity that seemed furious.
The colossal edge swept the green space on the other side of the door with a howl, and where it touched the earth it left a gash that was deeper, longer, and more brutal than the one from minutes ago.
"Phew..."
Marcus leaned against the doorframe, breathing like a broken bellows, and wiped the sweat. "Phew... master, this time it was more... manageable, but throwing them back to back is painful. I didn't perform at my best."
"..."
"Master?"
"..."
Nothing.
Urokodaki was still in the same spot, rigid as a stone statue.
He wasn't blinking. He wasn't breathing. His eyes were nailed to the gash the blade had just carved into the earth.
He hadn't heard a single word.
Close to a woman... power increases.
Far from a woman... power plummets.
Closer... more potency.
Farther... more weakness.
He hadn't been wrong...
This kid's breathing technique... what he was truly inhaling... what his lungs were seeking with every breath... was...
Was...
THE BODY SCENT OF A YOUNG GIRL!!!
His world spun.
'NO!'
'THERE'S NO WAY IT'S THAT INDECENT!!'
'IT'S ABSURD!!'
'WHAT A SHAMEFULLY, MONUMENTALLY, UNFORGIVABLY INDECENT BREATHING TECHNIQUE!!!'
He had dedicated his entire life to the cause of annihilating demons. Every drop of sweat, every scar on his body, every sleepless night... all in service of a sacred purpose. For him, honor wasn't an abstract concept. It was his backbone.
He had faced demons that devoured entire villages. He had held the gaze of creatures that oozed death from every pore.
Always unshakable.
And now, for the first time in his life, his body was trembling.
Because he made the mistake of thinking about the future.
He imagined Marcus finishing his training. Joining the Slayer Corps. Going out on missions.
And the image his brain gifted him was so vivid it nearly killed him.
The other hunters heading out to slay demons: drawing their swords with solemnity, breathing like flames, moving like lightning. Heroes. Worthy heirs of a sacred tradition.
And then Marcus...
Marcus killing demons.
First, desperately searching for some female hunter from the Corps to stand next to him. Then, leaning toward her like the degenerate he was, inhaling deeply with his eyes closed and an expression that had no business existing on a battlefield.
AND THEN, only then, drawing his sword with his face lit up with excitement, charging into the attack.
At that image, Urokodaki felt something inside him die.
'What a sin...'
The whisper became a scream.
'WHAT A SIIIIN!!!'
The scream became a funeral lament.
And at that precise moment, the knees of the former Water Pillar began to tremble.
________
Time: If you're craving more (and I know you are!), I have just what you need. On my Patreon, you'll find exclusive chapters. Join our community and be the first to discover what happens next!
👉 [patreon.com/Athome790]
Your support fuels me. Thank you for the support! đź’–