If he didn't grip the nichirin blade tightly with his calloused hands, Kiyokawa Izumi feared he wouldn't even be able to hold his weapon steady.
The blood-red Sharingan bloomed in the dark night, three pitch-black tomoe forming a triangle, suspended within the pupils, carrying an enchanting beauty and an unquestionable majesty.
In that instant, it felt as if everything was presented before his eyes.
He could see everything clearly.
'Left or right?'
'No, right down the middle!'
Kiyokawa Izumi reacted instantly. The second Demon would charge straight ahead, using its superhuman strength to pounce on him with a ferocious posture and pin him to the ground.
Compared to its residual human form, it was more like a wild beast.
He crouched slightly, lowering his center of gravity.
Ten meters,
Five meters,
The distance between the man and the Demon closed rapidly, and he could even vaguely smell that disgusting, fishy stench.
When their eyes met, the Demon's movement actually stuttered for a moment. A sense of oppression, seemingly from the depths of its Soul, made that non-human heart throb slightly.
The blade, shimmering with a faint blue light, slashed downward. It wasn't a perfect arc and contained many redundant movements, yet it carried the wielder's current determination.
But regardless, his body had reached its limit.
His strength was insufficient to sever the Demon's neck. The nichirin blade was nearly jolted from his hands, the edge getting stuck firmly in the Demon's muscles.
Veins bulged clearly on his arms and neck. At this moment, the blood in his body accelerated its flow, and a large amount of oxygen was sucked into his lungs.
"How is this possible... No, this is impossible!"
The Demon's neck twisted at an eerie angle, its crimson pupils suddenly widening.
It was going to die here?
Was this a joke?
Kiyokawa Izumi was in no mood to say anything. At this moment, only one thought remained in his mind.
Not enough strength!
More!
His muscles were like a squeezed-dry sponge, but if he squeezed harder, some water could always be wrung out.
He seemed to hear a buzzing in his ears. Perhaps it was because he hadn't rested for too long, or because he hadn't eaten for too long, but his vision was already starting to darken.
His wounds stung like fire, and even his throat felt uncomfortable.
The sharp blade moved down slowly, and he could even vaguely hear the sound of it grinding against bone.
'Die!'
The fragile balance snapped. The nichirin blade finally severed the Demon's neck, and Kiyokawa Izumi fell forward with the momentum, collapsing on the ground, unable to stand for a long time.
His body was like an old machine, with alarms blaring from every part.
Waves of dizziness hit him, and the nichirin blade had slipped from his hand at some point.
Bad, bad, bad!
A faint light appeared on the horizon. The whole world seemed to grow quiet. The prying eyes hidden in the shadows vanished, and the undisguised malice slowly receded.
The third day had quietly arrived.
As the first ray of morning sunlight pierced through the thick clouds, the relaxed Kiyokawa Izumi felt his eyelids grow incredibly heavy and unknowingly fell asleep.
For Demons, sunlight is fatal.
Therefore, Kiyokawa Izumi didn't need to worry about encountering any danger during the day.
If possible, he hoped that the next time he opened his eyes, he would be on the big bed at home... After an unknown amount of time, Kiyokawa Izumi gradually regained consciousness.
Slowly opening his eyes, he felt his vision was blurry and his hearing dull. Subconsciously wanting to sit up, his arms felt as heavy as lead.
His throat was so dry it felt like it was smoking, and a burning sensation came from his chest and abdomen—in game terms, these were the hunger and fatigue debuffs.
'Is it noon or perhaps afternoon?'
His forehead throbbed with pain, and Kiyokawa Izumi had the urge to take his sword hilt and bash his own head.
What made him despair was that this was only the third day.
If he could, he really wanted to give up on this Selection.
He lay there listlessly, and it took a long time before he managed to sit up with difficulty.
He did a simple check of his wounds; they were all superficial, and the bleeding had stopped.
But his current state was very poor.
The original owner of this body was just an ordinary person who overestimated himself and lacked self-awareness.
He had come to participate in this Selection without making any preparations.
He had about four or five rice balls in his robes, which had been crushed and deformed during the previous battles.
Seven days with only a few rice balls—how could he possibly endure?
He also had to treat his wounds and maintain enough physical strength for combat before night fell.
Troubles were piling up one after another.
What made him feel most desperate was that there was an existence known as the Hand Demon in the Selection—a Demon of that level was far beyond what he could deal with now.
Without a Breathing Technique, and relying only on a nerfed version of the Sharingan, what did he have to fight the Hand Demon with?
To encounter it was to die!
He took a deep breath, and his throat throbbed with pain.
Supporting himself with the sword hilt, he stood up with difficulty and walked slowly for a few steps to let his body adapt.
According to the original owner's memories, there was a small stream nearby, likely formed from accumulated rainwater.
Coming to the stream that was narrow enough to step over, Kiyokawa Izumi scooped up some relatively clear water with his hands and gently splashed it on his dirty face. The coldness hit him instantly, and he immediately felt much more awake.
He gathered some leaves and twigs from nearby, then took out a Fire-making kit from his robes. Tearing off a small clump of Tinder, he repeatedly scraped the Flint and steel. Sparks flew, and the clump of Tinder was soon ignited, emitting a faint white smoke.
Kiyokawa Izumi blew gently, hoping to expand the sparks.
After the fire was started, he tore a piece from the hem of his clothes and used the clear stream water to wash some larger leaves, cloth strips, and stones.
The larger leaves could be used as water containers. Putting them directly on the fire to boil definitely wouldn't work, so he could only put red-hot stones into them to heat the water.
Kiyokawa Izumi operated with fumbling hands, suddenly remembering the scene when Kanao participated in the Selection—the protagonist Tanjirou was in a wretched state, while the young girl only had a slightly dirty hem.
He didn't think much of it then, but thinking back now, he couldn't help but feel heartfelt admiration for her.
Enduring the pain, he dipped the clean cloth strips into the hot water and began to wipe his wounds over and over again.
Then came drinking water and eating.
He saved every minute and second to adjust his condition.
As the sky grew darker and the mountain wind became colder, Kiyokawa Izumi, sitting by the fire, felt a mysterious sense of being watched from all around, making him somewhat uneasy.
"Just a little longer..."
He expressionlessly picked up the dried cloth strips by the fire and clumsily bandaged his wounds.
His low murmur sounded like he was speaking to the Demons in the darkness.
"Meat! It's the scent of meat!"
"I got here first! Get lost!"
The two voices arguing without restraint also made Kiyokawa Izumi's heart incredibly heavy.