"Another one coming to die?"
Blocked mid-strike, the oni swiftly retreated backward. Its left hand still hadn't regenerated under the power of that Breathing Style—it needed to be cautious when facing Demon Slayers, even as a demon.
"Are you alright?"
Emiya Shirou stepped in front of the boy, shielding him.
Of course, anyone with a severed arm couldn't possibly be "alright," but the question slipped out more from habit than concern. It was something Shirou was used to asking.
"You're… not with the Demon Slayer Corps?"
The boy took one look at Shirou's plain clothes and the uncolored katana in his hand, and knew instantly—this red-haired teen who had just saved his life wasn't part of the Corps.
"Demon Slayer Corps?"
Must be something like the Mage's Association.
Shirou thought to himself. He had never met anyone from the Association personally, but that didn't mean he was unaware of such an organization.
He had asked Kiritsugu once when he was a child—what would happen to people with special powers like his? Would the government take them away?
Kiritsugu told him there were specific organizations that managed magi. But unless something major occurred, the Mage's Association typically didn't interfere with freelance magi.
"So you're just a regular guy… scared me for a second."
Even though the boy had lowered his voice, the forest was deathly silent—and oni had extraordinary hearing. The demon had clearly caught every word of their exchange.
The boy froze, but didn't show too much regret. Even if the demon now realized that Shirou wasn't a threat like a proper Slayer, there wasn't much to be done.
What, was it just going to leave because there was a second Slayer?
That oni wasn't anything like the wounded, starving ones buried deep within Fujikasane Mountain. This one was considerably stronger—it would absolutely probe its opponent first. That would confirm that the red-haired teen before it didn't know any Breathing Styles. Just a regular person.
"You should go. Give me your sword. I can hold it off for a bit."
The boy was genuinely grateful that Shirou had leapt in to save him. But someone without Breathing Techniques—or a Nichirin Blade—had zero chance against an oni.
Night had only just begun. If they didn't do something before sunrise, their bodies would already be devoured.
"No. I won't leave an injured person behind."
A faint green glow began to shimmer across the blade in Shirou's hand. Neither the demon nor the boy noticed the subtle pattern forming along its surface.
After all, it was the manifestation of magical energy—without training in magecraft, they couldn't perceive the sword's magical reinforcement.
"Quite the brave one, aren't you!"
The demon lunged before the words had fully left its mouth. It no longer cared that one of its arms had yet to regenerate—it launched forward like a bullet, zigzagging with eerie agility, its ghostly movements making it nearly impossible to track.
This was no mindless brute.
Straight-line attacks had their uses—especially to distort vision and cause disorientation—but this one could vary its angles, attacking with sharp feints and curves.
In the blink of an eye, the black blur appeared to Shirou's left, lunging like a beast pouncing on prey, mouth curling into a wide, savage grin.
This demon relished combat. To the point that it would rather sacrifice an arm to a Nichirin Blade just for the thrill of a strike.
In its hand, a katana gleamed cold and silver. With a savage howl, it slashed downward—a deadly arc that came crashing down vertically at Shirou's face, fast as lightning and just as merciless.
CLANG!
The force of the blow made Shirou's arms tremble as he gripped his blade tightly, feet automatically sinking into the earth to absorb the impact.
But the oni wasn't done.
Mid-air, it twisted its body, spinning with terrifying force. The katana flipped with it, rotating downward to strike again. Riding the current of the air, the second blow came whistling toward Shirou's midsection with brutal momentum.
There was no way he could lift his current sword in time to block it.
But—
Shirou didn't have just one sword.
CLANG!
With a sharp, metallic ring, Shirou's left hand snapped to his waist, yanking free a second katana.
The sheer ferocity of the sideways slash almost knocked the fresh blade from his grip. He held on, barely.
"Tch… interesting!"
The oni clicked its tongue, twisting in mid-air again. With a slicing sound, it cleaved the air, redirecting its strike toward Shirou's throat.
His raised blade was now off-center, dragged too far down.
In raw strength, Shirou was no match for an oni. Even gripping both swords tightly, he was still forced to twist away under the pressure of each blow.
Without both hands, it would've been impossible to block even this much.
But then—
Shrrrip—!
The grin froze on the demon's face.
One of its arms now dangled in the air, completely severed. Lacking the support of its own strength, the limb had been sliced off by Shirou cleanly.
Despite having no formal swordsmanship, Shirou had somehow fended off the oni's barrage—his counterattack even sharper than before. Sparks flew with every clash, leaving the wounded boy watching in stunned silence.
But he wasn't idle.
Taking advantage of the oni's distraction, the boy had already wrapped a makeshift bandage around his severed arm. Carefully, he began inching toward where his dismembered limb had landed.
Ordinary blades couldn't kill demons. The fact that this one had dared gamble losing its head even in front of a Nichirin Blade showed just how fearless—or reckless—it was.
There was no reason it wouldn't fight Shirou with even more brutal tactics.
Nichirin Blades could kill. But Shirou's swords? They posed no real threat. Just enough to be annoying.
I have to get to its head. Only then do we stand a chance.
The boy clenched his teeth, continuing toward his lost arm.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! DAMN IT!!"
The demon reeled back in fury, unable to believe it had been wounded by this—by a mere child. Even without one of its arms.
But it took only seconds.
As rage boiled in its chest, two fresh arms sprouted again from its sides.
"Incredible regenerative ability..."
Sweat began to bead on Shirou's brow. He didn't dwell on the fight that had just passed. Whether he had one sword or two didn't matter much to him.
He wasn't a swordsman. He was an archer.
But somehow, in the heat of the moment—before his mind could even process a plan—his body had already moved on its own.
Maybe it's just… reflex?
Shirou didn't overthink it.
But under the cover of night—could such monsters even be killed?