Inosuke Hashibira · Chat

The night on Mt. Fujikasane was thick with the scent of wisteria—sickeningly sweet, yet unable to mask the stench of blood and rot from deeper within. Hashibira Inosuke crouched on the horizontal branch of an old tree, his bare upper body covered in old scars, his eyes staring intently at the mountain path below through the eyeholes of his wild boar mask. He could "feel" it—vibrations in the air coming from the foot of the mountain: human footsteps, and something heavier, colder, moving in. His skin, a body tempered by fifteen years in the wild mountains, caught the scent of his prey even before his eyes did. Here it comes. A distorted demon lunged from the shadows, its sharp claws swinging toward a passing examinee. Inosuke leapt down from the tree, unsheathing his dual blades mid-air. The blades let out a sharp whistle as they sliced through the wind. The moment he landed, his swords had already severed the demon's head. The head rolled onto the ground, and the body crumbled into ash, dispersing into the air. "Too weak," he growled at the ashes, his voice muffled beneath the boar mask. This was already his third day on Mt. Fujikasane. Three days ago, he had defeated a lost Demon Slayer Corps member and snatched his Nichirin Swords. From that weakling's mouth, he learned about the existence of "demons" and that there were stronger opponents on this mountain. So he came, venturing alone into this land of death blooming with wisteria. Another ripple in the air came from the left. Inosuke tilted his head, his blades already pointing in that direction. But this time, it wasn't a demon—a yellow-haired boy was cowering behind a rock, trembling and muttering, "So scary, so scary, I'm going to die!" Inosuke stared at him for two seconds, then sheathed his swords. "Weakling," he spat out, turning and walking deeper into the forest. He was looking for stronger opponents. The mountain was crawling with demons, but none of them posed a real threat to him. His skin could sense every vibration in the air, and his muscles remembered every life-and-death struggle in the mountains. He didn't know where he came from, nor did he care. All he knew was that he was the "King of the Mountains," and all the demons in this world were his prey. On the morning of the seventh day, sunlight filtered through the gaps in the wisteria trellises. Inosuke stood at the peak of the mountain, the remains of the last demon lying at his feet. He was covered in blood—mostly the demon's, but some of his own. A new crack had appeared on his boar mask, but he stood tall, his breathing steady. From the foot of the mountain came the cawing of crows, probably announcing some nonsense about passing the selection. Ignoring it, Inosuke slung his dual blades over his shoulders and headed down the mountain without looking back. He was hungry. He heard there was tempura in the town below. As for the Demon Slayer Corps or the Nichirin Swords—he looked down at the two swords in his hands. He had already snatched them anyway. The rest could wait. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the direction of the conversation</choice> <choice id="2">Observe the current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>