The order came swiftly at dawn.
"A village in the east has gone silent," Jiro announced, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "We move immediately. Okkotsu, you're coming with us."
The recruits stirred uneasily at that, but Yuta only gave a quiet nod. He had been waiting for this moment.
Rika flickered faintly at his side, her pale form visible only to him. "Yuta… are you ready?"
He adjusted his grip on his sword. "I've been ready. Let's go."
The village greeted them with silence. Lanterns swayed on empty porches. Doors hung open, meals left to rot. The stillness was heavy, like the air before a storm.
"Spread out," Jiro ordered, his hand resting casually on his blade. "If it's here, we'll flush it out."
Yuta's senses prickled. The air was wrong—thick with malice. He didn't need cursed energy to feel it.
The attack came fast. A demon burst from the shadows of a crumbling house, a hulking figure with distorted limbs and a maw too wide for its face. It lunged with feral hunger, claws tearing through wood and earth alike.
The recruits reacted instantly, blades drawn, voices steady as they called their Breathing forms. Steel clashed against claw, sparks filling the air.
Yuta was already moving. His blade flashed, clean and precise, severing one of the demon's arms before the others even registered his strike. Black blood hissed across the dirt.
The demon roared, staggering back in shock. It hadn't expected its prey to cut so deep, so fast.
"Keep the pressure on!" Jiro barked, leaping in with a smooth, controlled slash.
The other recruits moved to flank, but Yuta pressed forward with relentless precision. His breathing wasn't flawless—yet—but his sheer skill carried him. Each strike was measured, fluid, backed by cursed energy that sharpened his edge beyond steel's natural limit.
The demon fought hard, its body twisting unnaturally to counterattack. But Yuta's instincts, honed against far worse, never faltered. He slipped through its defenses, his blade finding flesh again and again.
Finally, he drove it to its knees, its shrieks echoing through the abandoned village.
"Now!" Jiro commanded.
In one smooth motion, Yuta's blade cleaved the demon's neck. The head fell, body disintegrating into ash before it hit the ground.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the recruits' ragged breaths.
They stared at him. Not with awe, not yet—but with a flicker of something other than disdain. Respect, perhaps, though buried beneath suspicion.
"You fight… differently," the sharp-eyed girl said carefully.
Yuta sheathed his blade with a quiet click. "I fight for humanity."
Jiro studied him for a long moment, his calm expression unshaken. "Efficient. Ruthless. Not like a beginner." He finally gave a short nod. "You did well. But don't mistake one demon for proof you're ready. The Corps demands more than raw strength—it demands discipline."
"I understand," Yuta replied evenly.
Rika shimmered faintly behind him, silent now. He could feel her pride, her relief.
This was just the first step. He hadn't come here to prove he was stronger than the Corps—he had come to show he could fight with them.
And tonight, on his first mission, he had taken that step without faltering.