The moment Shinichi set foot on the Wind Hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa's training grounds, he was hit by a literal wall of air.
This place wasn't just a training area; it was the eye of a hurricane, a swirling vortex of dust, aggression, and raw power.
There were no fancy tricks or complex obstacle courses here.
Sanemi's method was brutally simple: pure, unrelenting combat.
He was in the thick of it himself, his eyes burning with a ferocity that could make a demon flinch, let alone the Slayers he was supposed to be training.
The constant gusts of wind kicked up clouds of dirt, and the wooden sword in Sanemi's hand shrieked as it tore through the air.
He moved like a storm, unleashing a merciless barrage on whichever poor soul he'd chosen as his partner.
His attacks came from impossible angles, each one packed with crushing power and delivered at a blinding speed.
"If you can't even handle this, then get the hell out of my sight! The battlefield won't show you any mercy, so neither will I!" Sanemi's roar was a constant backdrop to the sharp whistle of his blade, a sound designed to fray nerves and push everyone to their breaking point.
The Slayers scrambled to survive his onslaught, their bodies a blur of desperate blocks, dodges, and frantic counterattacks.
Every time their wooden swords met, a bone-jarring shock shot up their arms, leaving them numb.
A single misstep earned them a painful smack from the flat of Sanemi's blade, a stinging reminder of their failure.
Some of the higher-ranked Slayers, who had arrived at Sanemi's expecting a challenge, were now seriously questioning their life choices.
It didn't matter if they fought him one-on-one, teamed up against him, or even tried to launch a surprise attack.
Nothing worked.
They couldn't land a significant blow.
The result was always the same: they'd limp away at the end of the day, bruised and swollen, only to return the next morning for another round of relentless torture.
Sanemi's goal was clear.
He was forging them in the highest-pressure environment imaginable, tempering their will, courage, and sheer survivability until they could withstand the fury of a true monster.
"If you're looking for a fight, I'm right here," Sanemi's gruff voice cut through the chaos.
He had appeared beside Shinichi at some point, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Everyone else is busting their ass training the Corps, but you're just standing here with your hands in your pockets. You think that's a good look?" His words were harsh, as always, but his tone was surprisingly level.
Shinichi turned his head with a slight chuckle.
"Are you saying I look idle? Maybe I am, a little bit. Besides, what could I even teach them? I'm not exactly the strongest guy around."
The air immediately turned frigid.
Sanemi's brows slammed together, and his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.
"What the hell did you just say? Are you giving up, you bastard? That's the most pathetic thing I've ever heard! Get it together! These Slayers look up to you, the Forest Hashira. You're supposed to be one of the seniors they can count on, and you're pulling this crap? Is this about Shinobu?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and sharp.
"You bastard!" Sanemi seethed, stepping closer. "If you're acting like this because of her, I swear I'll break both your legs myself! Kanae lost her sister, and we all lost our best comrade! We all managed to pull ourselves together, so why do you get to act like such a damn loser!? Stand up and be a man!"
His fist was inches from Shinichi's nose, and the windmill mark on his cheek seemed to twitch with his fury.
He was genuinely, terrifyingly angry.
But his rage was met with a profoundly awkward silence.
Shinichi just stared back at him, his expression one of utter surprise.
"Uh… Sanemi," he said slowly.
"Are you… caring about me right now? Are you trying to encourage me? I never thought you had it in you, even if you sound like you're about to murder me. Also, I was just messing with you. I'm your senpai, you know. You think I'm that fragile?"
They stared at each other for a long, silent moment.
"Wind Breathing, Ninth Form: Idaten Typhoon!"
An explosive gust of wind blades erupted without warning, heading straight for Shinichi's face.
He yelped... he was horrified!
"Hey! What was that for!?"
And so, with the entire training group watching, the Forest Hashira and the Wind Hashira treated everyone to a thrilling, high-stakes spar.
Of course, Shinichi was completely on the defensive, forced into a fight he hadn't asked for.
Their clash was so intense that they shattered several of the wooden training swords, the splintered pieces flying through the air.
As they fought, Shinichi could feel it—Sanemi was several times stronger and faster than before he had awakened his Mark.
A wave of respect washed over him, a somber acknowledgment of the price the Demon Slayers of the past had paid to unlock such power, a price recorded in the ancient texts that Sanemi was now willing to pay.
Finally, after a frantic ten minutes, the fight ended.
Shinichi was disheveled, his uniform torn in several places.
Sanemi was sporting a fresh black eye and had a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.
They dropped the splintered remains of their swords at the same time.
The Slayers watching from the sidelines were having the time of their lives.
Seeing the very man who had been torturing them for days on end get roughed up was immensely satisfying.
They probably didn't notice the lingering anger in Sanemi's eyes, however, or realize that he would need a new outlet for all that pent-up frustration.
It was safe to say there would be a lot of wailing from the trainees that night.
As he was leaving, Shinichi politely declined the ohagi that Sanemi gruffly offered him.
The reason was simple: he'd already had his fill of free food for one day and couldn't possibly eat another bite.
The final stop of the Hashira Training circuit was the undisputed big brother of the Demon Slayer Corps, the Stone Hashira, Gyomei Himejima, and his rock-solid physique training.
Shinichi had to admit, seeing Gyomei's training regimen brought back a flood of memories from his early days training in the forest.
Even with his own monstrous physique, that training had nearly broken him.
Looking at the normal, mortal bodies of the Slayers in front of him, he could only imagine the agony they were enduring.
The trials were simple to understand but nearly impossible to execute:
First, waterfall impact training.
The Slayers had to stand under the full, crushing force of a cascading waterfall, maintaining their balance and center of gravity.
Second, log carrying.
They had to lift and carry three massive logs, each weighing a ton, a test of raw strength and stamina.
And third, boulder pushing.
They had to push a rock weighing tens of tons for a hundred meters, an exercise designed to build explosive power until their muscles gave out.
These Slayers were the black iron waiting to be forged.
Each Hashira's training was a different stage of the process, hammering and shaping them into something stronger.
Gyomei's training ground was the final forge, the place where those who survived everything else were tempered into indestructible steel.
The Slayers who had made it this far were the best of the best—unwavering, determined, and incredibly strong-willed.
Facing these three impossible tasks, they pushed themselves to their absolute limits, using every Breathing Style and every ounce of strength they had.
No one was giving up.
And through it all, Gyomei stood like a mountain, his presence alone a source of incredible encouragement.
Just seeing the Stone Hashira standing there, so calm and solid, gave everyone a sense of reliability and hope.
"Use all of your strength! Do not be afraid! Endure!" Gyomei's deep, compassionate voice rumbled over the roar of the water.
The prayer beads in his hands never stopped moving, but his massive body didn't shift an inch under the waterfall's assault.
Beside him, a line of Slayers squatted, gritting their teeth, determined to hold on.
The raw determination in their eyes struck a chord deep within Shinichi.
He stood there for a long time, just watching, before he finally looked down at the black Demon Slayer uniform he was wearing.
'As the Forest Hashira' he thought to himself, a new resolve hardening in his heart.
'I need to do my part, too.'
-----------------------------
Read 45 chapters ahead and support me on patreon.
patreon (.)com/Newbietranslator