The forest was a cage of shadows and whispers. Tsuruji walked on. He did not hide. He did not hurry. He was a shadow himself, quiet and cold.
He heard a scream from up ahead. A short, sharp cry that was cut off.
He kept walking.
A minute later, he entered a small clearing. Another recruit, a boy with wide, terrified eyes, was backed against a tree. His sword was on the ground. A large demon, with too many arms, was closing in. It licked its lips.
"Help me!" the boy pleaded, seeing Tsuruji.
Tsuruji looked at him. Then he looked at the demon. He assessed the situation. The recruit was a liability. He was weak. He would only get in the way.
Tsuruji began to walk around the edge of the clearing. He would leave. This was not his fight.
The demon, however, saw new prey. One of its long arms shot out, claws aimed for Tsuruji's head.
Tsuruji's black sword was in his hand in a flash. He didn't swing. He just moved the blade, and the demon's arm was severed at the elbow. It fell to the ground, twitching.
The demon roared in pain, forgetting the other boy.
From the trees on the other side of the clearing, another figure dropped down. It wasn't a demon. It was a boy, maybe Tsuruji's age. He wore a tattered, grey haori. His hair was a wild, unbrushed mess. In his hands, he held two jagged, serrated swords.
He didn't say a word. He moved like an animal, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He launched himself at the demon.
His fighting style was chaos. He wasn't cutting; he was tearing. His two swords ripped and shredded, a whirlwind of wild, brutal strikes. It was messy, but it was effective. The demon, confused and wounded, couldn't keep up.
With a final, furious slash, the wild boy took its head.
The demon turned to dust.
The wild boy stood, chest heaving. He turned his head and his sharp, feral eyes locked onto Tsuruji. He sniffed the air.
He pointed one of his jagged swords at Tsuruji.
"You," he said, his voice a rough, unused sound. "You're strong."
He took a step closer, ignoring the other recruit, who was now scrambling to grab his sword and run away.
"I am Hayate," the wild boy said. He didn't smile. It was a statement of fact, like a wolf giving its name. "I will follow the strong one."
Tsuruji looked back at him, his own expression blank. He saw no threat, only a strange, wild intensity. An asset? A distraction? He wasn't sure yet.
He didn't answer. He simply turned and started walking again, deeper into the mountain.
Without a word, Hayate fell into step behind him, a silent, feral shadow.