Chapter 14 – The Power of the Mark!
Thud!
"Careful! She's not human—!"
Even after being hurled into the corner of the room, Yukinoshita Yukino didn't scream or panic. Instead, the very first thing she did… was shout out a warning.
When you're drowning in despair, and someone suddenly pulls you out of the abyss, it's only natural for a spark of hope—perhaps even something deeper—to begin growing in your heart.
Especially in a life-or-death moment like this… the one who rushes in to save you becomes the embodiment of that fleeting miracle.
To many girls, this kind of moment defines the idea of a "White-Horse Prince."
"I know~"
Yukinoshita Akira responded calmly, his tone casual.
Of course he knew. That creature before him—still wearing the face of Watanabe Miki—was no longer human. In fact, he was more aware of that truth than Yukino herself.
At this point, Akira still hadn't inherited any full Breathing Techniques. His power wasn't complete.
But even without those techniques, his combat instincts, his battle experience, and—above all—the inherited template of Yoriichi Tsugikuni, the strongest swordsman in history, gave him more than enough to stand his ground against a creature like this.
The only thing he truly feared… was the oni's monstrous regeneration.
Severed limbs, crushed bones, even a bisected torso—none of that could kill an oni. Only two things could: sunlight… or a Nichirin Blade, the specialized katana wielded by the Demon Slayer Corps.
With a swift motion, Akira raised his hand—catching the oncoming strike effortlessly.
Her fingernails had elongated into razor-sharp claws, glinting with the savagery of a beast. No, not a beast… a demon.
The woman before him no longer resembled anything human.
"What…?! Impossible! How can you stop my strike?! You're human! A human shouldn't be able to do that!"
Miki's voice was twisted with rage and disbelief.
To her, oni stood above all—apex predators at the top of the food chain. Humans were prey, nothing more. Something to be consumed, not fought.
But now, a mere human had blocked her strike—without even getting scratched.
"So that's it?" Akira spoke softly. "Looks like you've only just turned. Haven't eaten many humans yet, huh? No wonder you're so weak."
His tone wasn't mocking—it was factual. Newborn oni were fragile. They only grew stronger the more humans they devoured.
"Y-You… You even know that?!"
Miki flinched. Her eyes widened in alarm.
How did he know that? How could a human possibly understand the mechanics of an oni's growth?
The unknown has always bred fear. Even among monsters.
"Akira! Catch this!"
From across the room, Yukino—her body trembling, voice hoarse—hurled something toward him.
Akira caught it mid-air.
The moment his fingers wrapped around it, his eyes narrowed in surprise.
It was a katana.
A real one. Not a decoration, not a cosplay prop—an actual, sharpened blade.
And for it to be in the apartment of the Yukinoshita family's second daughter of all places… was beyond unexpected.
Still, the moment he felt its weight and saw the gleam of its steel, a quiet confidence surged through him.
No, it wasn't a Nichirin Blade.
But it would do.
"Hmph. So what? Even if you give him a katana—what now? You think he can actually sever my neck?"
"…Your neck, huh?"
Yukino, still gasping for breath, caught that single detail in Miki's rant.
An important clue.
"You insolent little—!"
Miki's expression twisted with rage. Her body tensed like a spring, and in the next instant, she lunged at Yukino with terrifying speed.
Yukino shut her eyes tight.
She had no strength left. Her limbs were numb, her body battered. All she could do… was bow her head and await the end.
"Die!!"
The demon's claws flew toward her neck, driven by unhinged malice.
And then—
A flash of light tore through the dim room.
Followed by the sound of flesh being sliced.
A single arm was sent flying through the air.
Blood splattered across the floor.
Standing protectively in front of Yukino, katana in hand… was Yukinoshita Akira.
"AAAAAGGHHHHH!! What the hell?! How?! How can a human cut off my arm?!"
Miki's shriek pierced the room, a blend of pain and horror.
Yukino opened her eyes.
And there he was.
The boy she had once looked down upon… was standing between her and death.
His silhouette… felt strangely dependable.
For the first time in her life—other than from her father—Yukino felt genuinely protected by a man.
She stared at the severed limb. At the fresh blood soaking into the floorboards. At the demon's crazed, disbelieving expression.
Then her mind flashed back—to what her sister had said earlier.
That today, Akira had defeated Busujima Saeko, the captain of the kendo club.
She hadn't believed it at the time.
But now... she believed completely.
"I'm just a swordsman," Akira said quietly.
As he stood there, a faint, flame-shaped mark began to glow on his forehead.
His hair shimmered with a strange, fiery luster.
It was the Demon Slayer Mark.
A technique that trades lifespan for power—a terrifying trade-off.
Throughout history, those who awakened the Mark rarely lived past the age of twenty-five.
All except for one man.
Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
The First Swordsman. The only one to have been born with the Mark—and live his full life wielding it at full strength.
The air vibrated.
Reality itself seemed to tremble.
For a moment, Miki's vision blurred. In the flames behind Akira, she thought she saw someone else.
A figure from the depths of memory—someone wrapped in fire.
She didn't know who.
But her body remembered.
It trembled.
Without thought. Without control.
Fear—pure, primal fear—gripped her.
Meanwhile, Akira remained unfazed by the consequences of the Mark.
Even if it consumed lifespan... it didn't matter.
He was no ordinary human. He had inherited the template of Yoriichi. He was the successor of the King of the Shadowkhan, and the wielder of the Divine Weapon: Chains of Heaven.
His body… simply didn't age the way others did.
And because he was born with the Mark—like Yoriichi—it didn't shorten his life at all.
"I… I'm an oni! I've transcended humanity! I'm not afraid of you! I'll kill you!!"
Miki's scream rang out like a desperate wail.
She launched herself forward again, claws raised, fury exploding in all directions.
She wasn't just angry—she was desperate.
She wanted to devour him. She needed to kill him.
But Akira stood still.
Calm. Unmoving.
He raised his katana—slowly, deliberately.
And so… the true battle began.
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