The forest had changed since Félix's last mission. The snow was deeper now, settling in thick, undisturbed layers that muted footsteps and swallowed sound. Each tree was draped in frost, branches bending under the weight of the season, and the air was so still it felt almost unnatural. Félix moved cautiously, boots pressing into the soft snow, katanas sheathed, but ready. The sixth and seventh techniques of Ice Breathing were in his mind, waiting for opportunity—the Frost Fang, a rapid stabbing strike for precision attacks, and Glacial Veil, a sweeping, defensive maneuver that could protect multiple allies at once.
Tanjiro led the group with his usual calm efficiency, his black Nichirin blade at the ready. Zenitsu, anxious but eager, whispered repeatedly to himself, "Stay calm, stay calm… no screaming this time…" while Inosuke bounded ahead in fits of excitement, sniffing the snow like a predator anticipating a kill. Félix's senses were honed, alert to every shift in the forest. The subtle change in the wind, the creak of a distant branch, the faint shimmer of movement beneath the trees—all signals of potential danger.
Suddenly, the demon appeared, not with the brutish aggression of those Félix had faced before, but with a calculated, deliberate stance. Its eyes, sharp and glinting red, scanned the group with intelligence rather than mindless hunger. Félix felt the difference immediately. This was not a simple lower-ranked demon; it was a creature that understood strategy, that anticipated attacks, that would punish hesitation.
Tanjiro whispered, "Observe first. Strike only when opportunity presents itself." Félix nodded, drawing his katanas, feeling the familiar chill of Ice Breathing flow through him. He positioned himself slightly ahead of Zenitsu and Inosuke, both for defense and to coordinate attacks. The Frost Fang would be crucial—rapid, precise, and lethal—while Glacial Veil would allow him to protect allies from sudden assaults.
The demon lunged with deceptive speed, aiming for Zenitsu, who froze in terror. Félix stepped forward, executing Glacial Veil, spinning his katanas in an arc that created a barrier of ice between Zenitsu and the demon. Frost erupted outward, deflecting the attack, and the demon hissed in frustration. Félix followed with Frost Fang, a rapid series of stabs aimed at precise points along the demon's torso, each strike slicing through sinew and ice forming along the blade's edge. The demon staggered but quickly regained balance, circling, analyzing, predicting.
Inosuke leapt into the fray, wild and unpredictable, but Félix adjusted, subtly guiding his movements, using his techniques not only to attack but to manipulate the battlefield. Each motion was calculated; every strike, block, and pivot had a purpose. Zenitsu, inspired by Félix's control, finally found courage, striking with his sword at a vulnerable flank. The combination of precise Ice Breathing, unpredictable Inosuke charges, and Tanjiro's steady guidance created a synergy the demon could not anticipate.
Yet the creature was clever. It feinted repeatedly, forcing Félix to choose between offense and defense, between protecting his allies and exploiting openings. The Frost Fang stabs became faster, the Glacial Veil sweeps broader, and Félix felt the pull of exhaustion, the subtle strain of concentration. Focus, adapt, anticipate, he reminded himself. Each movement was a dance, the forest a stage, the demon an opponent whose intelligence demanded respect.
The first significant opening came when the demon overcommitted to a strike at Inosuke. Félix pivoted, Frost Fang slicing along the demon's flank, and immediately transitioned into Glacial Veil to shield Zenitsu from a retaliatory swipe. The rapid execution of dual techniques, flowing seamlessly, disoriented the creature. Its next lunge was intercepted by a perfectly timed sweep of ice that redirected momentum and sent it crashing into a snow-laden tree trunk.
Tanjiro's voice broke through the controlled chaos. "Now! Focus on precision, not just strength!" Félix responded instantly, performing a rapid series of Frost Fang stabs targeting vital points he had observed in the demon's stance. Each strike was deliberate, each motion calculated to exploit the slightest weakness. The demon reeled under the assault, its strategy faltering under Félix's combination of control, precision, and adaptability.
Inosuke, sensing the shift, charged again, creating openings with reckless energy. Zenitsu, trembling but resolute, struck the final blow alongside Tanjiro, coordinating a thrust that Felix had subtly guided through his Ice Breathing, ensuring minimal risk to his allies. The demon collapsed, a scream fading into the snowy silence. Frost formed along its twisted body as life left it, the forest quiet once more.
The group exhaled collectively, a mix of relief, exhilaration, and fatigue. Félix lowered his katanas, chest heaving, ice still clinging faintly to the blades. He felt the subtle hum of Ice Breathing lingering through his body—a resonance of power, precision, and control. The sixth and seventh techniques had been tested under pressure and proven effective, but he understood the lesson was not complete: mastery required continuous adaptation, observation, and trust in both self and allies.
Zenitsu, pale but smiling faintly, muttered, "I… I think I can actually do this now." Inosuke, grinning beneath his boar mask, clapped Félix on the shoulder. "Finally! Someone who can fight like me and doesn't just panic!" Félix allowed himself a faint smile, acknowledging both encouragement and levity.
Tanjiro's gaze was steady, observing Félix's posture, movements, and expression. "You've demonstrated more than skill today," he said softly. "You've demonstrated leadership, awareness, and responsibility. Ice Breathing is more than a set of techniques—it's control, flow, and the ability to protect and adapt. Remember these lessons."
As the sun began to set, casting long, silver shadows across the snow, Félix reflected on the day. He had faced a cunning opponent, executed new techniques under duress, coordinated with allies, and survived a true test of judgment and skill. He felt a growing sense of confidence tempered by humility—a recognition that while his power had increased, so too had the stakes and responsibilities.
The return to the village was quiet, contemplative. Félix walked slightly ahead, senses alert, mind processing the lessons of the forest. Every step was deliberate, every breath measured. Ice Breathing was no longer a mere tool; it was a philosophy, a rhythm that dictated not only combat but awareness, patience, and protection. He had begun to understand that every strike, every maneuver, and every decision mattered—not just to the outcome of battle, but to the lives around him.
By the time they reached the village, the first stars glittered in the night sky, reflecting off the snow like scattered diamonds. The forest behind them was dark, concealing threats that would challenge them again. Yet Félix stood taller, twin katanas sheathed, mind sharpened, heart resolved. He had passed his first trial beyond training, mastered new techniques under pressure, and begun the journey toward the slayer he was destined to become.