As Marcus Lee fled through the forest, his state of mind was anything but calm.
That was the Hand Demon.
The very same monster that even Sabito had failed to defeat.
Could I really do it?
If an ordinary person like me is targeted by it, is there truly any chance of surviving?
Fear surged like a tide. The moment he chose to turn and run, the courage he had forced out of himself was nearly gone.
Go down the mountain.
The thought surfaced suddenly.
Demons could not leave this mountain because from the foothills to the mid-slope, wisteria flowers bloomed in abundance. They loathed the scent.
But humans were different.
He could leave.
It was something he had not realized earlier, having instinctively treated this place as a dead end.
Suddenly, his heart clenched violently.
Marcus stumbled and fell hard to the ground, his Nichirin blade skidding several meters away.
His right hand clutched tightly at his chest.
A feeling of deep unwillingness welled up.
The lingering emotions of the original owner were affecting him.
Or perhaps calling it emotion was inaccurate.
It was obsession.
An unwillingness to leave. An unwillingness to give up.
He wanted to participate in this Final Selection.
It was not that the original consciousness was fighting him for control of the body. But Marcus was undeniably being influenced.
That stubborn drive, that desire to prove something to someone, he could feel it clearly.
I am not afraid.
But that is the Hand Demon.
It has survived here for so many years. Maybe even the Demon Slayer Corps does not know it exists. Do you really think it would let me go so easily?
If I do not leave, I will die.
Marcus had never seen himself as a savior. He did not possess that level of strength, nor did he bear that kind of responsibility.
In just three days, after several life-and-death battles, he was already utterly exhausted.
He was not made of steel.
The instant he turned to flee, the breath he had been forcing himself to hold during combat finally loosened.
Countless reasons to give up flooded his mind, yet all of them were bound by that inexplicable obsession.
He could almost hear those heavy footsteps behind him. The Hand Demon's voice seemed to echo at his side.
Maybe in the next second, that terrifying whisper would sound.
"I found you, kid."
A reason was needed to fight.
"Quincy, give it up. You do not have the talent to become a swordsman."
Fragments of memory surfaced in his mind.
The original owner was still just a teenager. His life experience was limited, and Marcus had only skimmed through these memories before.
Why?
Just because someone said you lacked talent, you had to prove them wrong?
Is that really what life is about?
More memories followed.
Becoming an orphan. Being adopted. Training desperately, not to surpass others, but simply to avoid disappointing that elderly man.
Coming to this selection was never about humiliating those who looked down on him.
It was about telling that old man, I can become a demon slayer. I can take your place, kill more demons, and help more people.
A simple-minded fool.
Marcus exhaled slowly, reaching that conclusion.
In his previous life, people like this were rare.
This body belongs to you. Then let us try.
I will give everything to pass the selection. After that, the body is mine.
I will live my own life. Maybe I will leave this place. Maybe I will leave this country. Maybe I will refuse to join the Demon Slayer Corps. Everything will be my choice.
How does that sound?
The pain gripping his heart gradually faded.
Marcus slowly stood up, realizing for the first time that lingering obsession could influence him this deeply.
Then again, this was his first time transmigrating. Lack of experience was understandable.
Compared to his previous body, this one was far healthier. No irregular schedule, no terrible diet, no years of inactivity dragging it down.
Then let us try.
Recall the memories of the breathing techniques. Without mastering them, there would be no fundamental change in strength.
With his resolve set, Marcus continued running, moving farther away from the Hand Demon.
He was willing to try.
That did not mean he was willing to fight that monster right now.
If possible, he would rather never encounter it again for the rest of the selection.
Breathe. Breathing will guide you. No matter what happens, never forget to breathe.
Feel it. Experience it. Remember this rhythm. Let your body adapt to it.
Faint voices seemed to echo in his ears. Images of breathing training occasionally flashed through his mind.
Under immense pressure, hidden potential was often awakened.
Marcus had always believed that.
Back when he was a student, he could finish all his homework in the final days of vacation.
But for some reason, this time it was different.
He just could not do it.
He could not grasp this cursed breathing technique.
Was it because he did not belong to this world, separated by some invisible barrier?
Why could he not learn it?
Or was it simply that this body lacked the talent for breathing techniques?
Damn it.
Overwhelmed with frustration, Marcus suddenly drew his blade and slashed at the empty air more than ten times in rapid succession.
Only after venting did he slowly calm down.
At moments like this, impatience was the worst enemy.
Breathing guides you.
Let your body adapt to it.
As the sun rose above the horizon, Marcus stood still, lost in thought.