"There really are all sorts of Breathing Techniques… Which 'Lian' do you mean? The 'Lian' for training? Or…?"
Noe glanced at Cold Cry, then lowered her head, her cheeks turning red.
"No… not that one. It's the 'Lian' for love."
"Love?" Cold Cry frowned slightly. "How does that even make sense?"
Breathing Techniques were supposed to be precise, disciplined sword styles derived from Total Concentration Breathing. Even if a style wasn't powerful, it should at least sound… serious. Where did something like Love come from?
"My older sister taught it to me," Noe said softly. "You've seen how my family is—we eat a lot, and we're… built like this. Because of that, my sister struggled to find someone who would accept her. So she joined the Demon Slayer Corps… hoping to meet someone there."
She hesitated, then added in a quieter voice, "That's why she named it Love Breathing."
Cold Cry went silent.
That explanation… absurd, yet strangely sincere.
After a moment, he nodded solemnly. "I see. A surprisingly touching reason."
Noe's expression brightened slightly—
"Then in your case," he continued, completely serious, "it should be called Eating Breathing."
Her face froze.
"…What?"
"If that doesn't sound refined," he added thoughtfully, "Food Breathing could also work."
"You—!" Noe puffed her cheeks and lightly smacked his arm. "You're making fun of me again!"
She raised her hand as if to hit him again, but in the end, it was all bluster—no real force behind it.
After calming down, she tilted her head. "What about you? You mentioned Ice Breathing earlier. That sounds like a derivative style too, right?"
"…Yes."
Cold Cry's gaze drifted into the distance.
"I grew up in the mountains, where it snows year-round. When I was a child, I got caught in a blizzard while hunting and lost my way. I thought I was going to die… but I met an old man. He taught me a breathing style—and two sword techniques."
Noe blinked. "Then he must've been a swordsman from the Demon Slayer Corps."
"Most likely."
"Then…" she hesitated before asking, "why did you join the Corps?"
Her voice softened. "Like I said, I joined so I could eat. But you… what are you here for?"
The moment the question left her lips, Cold Cry's body stiffened.
A sharp, burning pain surged through him—like old wounds reopening. His chest tightened, and for a brief moment, he couldn't breathe.
Why did I join…?
Because I have to save my sister.
Because I have to kill him.
A name surfaced in his mind—
Kibutsuji Muzan.
His eyes darkened instantly, an overwhelming killing intent leaking out.
Noe, who had been waiting for his answer, turned to look at him—
—and froze.
The coldness she had grown used to before was nothing like this.
This wasn't distance.
This was something far more terrifying—like standing in front of a blade drawn in complete silence.
"Are… are you okay?" she asked cautiously.
Cold Cry suddenly turned to her.
For a split second, the killing intent in his eyes flared violently.
Noe gasped, her body giving way as she stumbled backward onto the ground. Her round face was pale, her eyes filled with fear and confusion.
The two locked eyes.
Slowly… the murderous aura faded.
Cold Cry blinked, as if snapping back to reality. Guilt flickered across his face. He reached out his hand.
"…Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
Noe hesitated, then took his hand.
His palm was ice-cold.
He helped her to her feet.
"It's okay," she said, forcing a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"I'll tell you… another time," he added quietly.
"Mm… okay," she nodded, still a little shaken.
She hadn't expected such a simple question to provoke such a reaction. Now, she couldn't help but feel a trace of guilt—and a growing curiosity about what kind of past could make someone like him carry such terrifying emotions.
After that, an awkward silence settled between them.
---
On the other side of the mountain, Kimuri led a group of examinees, organizing them into a defensive formation against the demons.
The circular formation was effective.
No matter which direction the demons attacked from, the corresponding members would respond immediately. Groups of three coordinated against each demon—one attacking head-on, the others supporting from the sides. With their Nichirin Blades and Breathing Techniques, they managed to push the demons back repeatedly.
If someone was injured, others would quickly fill the gap, while designated members tended to the wounded.
But despite its effectiveness, the flaw was obvious.
This was a war of attrition.
Demons did not tire. Even when injured, they regenerated quickly.
Humans… did not.
As the night dragged on, fatigue began to show. Muscles trembled, breathing grew uneven, and fear slowly chipped away at their resolve.
Even Kimuri's grip on his sword had begun to shake.
By now, he realized his mistake.
Strength in numbers wasn't always an advantage.
A flock of sheep was still no match for wolves.
The larger the group, the more attention it attracted—and now, they were surrounded.
If he had acted alone, like that white-clothed swordsman earlier, he might have avoided this situation entirely.
Regret gnawed at him.
Just as the group braced themselves for another wave—
A shadow dropped from above.
It landed silently in the center of the formation.
Directly in front of a female examinee.
---