"No, that was too careless."
After Riku swung his blade, Urokodaki Sakonji shook his head and bluntly pointed out the flaw.
He could tell Riku was being honest, not humble at all—this young man truly had no foundation in swordsmanship.
"..."
Riku listened quietly. He felt his swing carried a strong sense of conviction, but that was all it had—nothing else.
"When you swing your blade, you need to hold back some strength so you can change your move in time," Urokodaki explained. But as soon as he said it, he realized it might not apply to Riku the way it did to normal humans.
When Demon Slayers fought demons, flexibility was key. They couldn't afford to go all out with every strike, as that would leave them vulnerable. Demons were different—losing an arm or leg meant nothing to them. They were even willing to trade injuries with humans, knowing they could regenerate in the blink of an eye. Humans, on the other hand, couldn't afford such reckless exchanges. A single injury could drag them down, and losing a limb often meant the end of their career as a Demon Slayer.
Because of this, Demon Slayer swordsmanship emphasized adaptability, far more than in human-versus-human combat. If a demon was willing to risk a limb just to land a hit, the best response was to shift your stance and block. A Demon Slayer only went all out when aiming for the neck—the one strike a demon had to defend against. If that strike failed, the Demon Slayer's fate was often grim, with little chance of survival.
"I'll teach you based on my experience, but as for finding a fighting style that suits you, that's something you'll have to figure out on your own," Urokodaki said after a moment of thought. As the saying goes, a master can lead you to the door, but the journey beyond is yours. Everyone has their own unique traits and fighting habits, so a one-size-fits-all approach wouldn't work.
Even the "Breathing Techniques" were adapted by many to suit their physicality, giving rise to various distinct branches. All Urokodaki could offer Riku was his own experience; how Riku made it his own was up to him.
"I understand," Riku nodded, grasping Urokodaki's point. Even a simple sword swing differed vastly between humans and demons. Demons could afford to go all out since humans had to block or dodge their attacks. But humans needed to be ready to shift and block at a moment's notice.
It was, without a doubt, an unfairly brutal fight.
Riku figured few Demon Slayers met a peaceful end. Every battle was a dance on the edge of death, and every swing of the blade could be the one that decided their fate. This only made Urokodaki—an old man who'd survived with all his limbs intact—seem all the more impressive.
"Again," Urokodaki instructed, signaling Riku to continue. Though it was just one motion, Riku had plenty of issues—common ones for beginners.
"Keep your center of gravity steady. Hold the midline. Don't shrug your shoulders—that won't give you more power; it'll only hinder your strength."
Using his scabbard, Urokodaki tapped Riku's body, pointing out flaws. Many of Riku's movements were instinctive, and his task was to overcome those instincts through practice.
"When you strike, don't extend your arms too straight or bend them too much. Keep your sankaku-ku (triangular zone) stable. Don't tuck your elbows in too tight or let them flare out. Maintain your stance, but don't make it too rigid."
Urokodaki lightly tapped Riku's arm, and Riku's lips twitched. He wanted to retort but didn't know how. Moderate arm bend, huh? Elbows in a moderate position, right? Stance moderately firm, is that it? How's that any different from a chef saying, "Add a pinch of salt"?
"That's why you practice—to find that sweet spot where it feels just right. This is the foundation of everything. Master it, and then you can move on to the rest," Urokodaki said, clearly seeing through Riku's frustration. He'd been through this countless times, teaching countless students, and knew every beginner's struggle by heart.
"Yes, sir," Riku replied. Though he grumbled inwardly, his body was honest. He kept swinging, gradually refining his form under Urokodaki's guidance. Overcoming instinctive habits took repetition, but once a movement became muscle memory, those instincts would fade.
And Riku wasn't afraid of hard work. For a kan-ō (grind king) like him, as long as he could see progress, no amount of effort was too much. What he feared was grinding without results.
"Keep practicing until your body gets it," Urokodaki said after watching a bit longer. Then he turned and headed back to the house, leaving Riku to his training. He didn't need to hover—Riku's determination was clear. He wouldn't slack off, even unsupervised.
As for overtraining? That wasn't a concern. Riku was a demon, after all. His body was different from a human's.
Sometimes, Urokodaki wondered what would happen if demons weren't so scattered and disorganized—if someone trained them systematically. If that were the case, the Demon Slayer Corps would likely have been wiped out long ago. With demons' physical advantages—their ability to recover stamina by eating humans, their tireless bodies—they'd easily surpass humans in swordsmanship or martial arts if trained. Humans needed rest, leaving them far less time to train.
Thankfully, for some reason, demons didn't do that.
It was humanity's fortune, Urokodaki thought.
Riku continued swinging his blade tirelessly through the night, repeating the same motion until dawn. It wasn't until Kamado Tanjirō returned that his endless practice was interrupted.
"Tanjirō? What happened to you?" Riku sheathed his blade and supported the stumbling Tanjirō, who was covered in bruises and wounds.
"I did it… before dawn…" Tanjirō said, forcing himself to stand in front of the cabin. Seeing Urokodaki inside, a smile spread across his face.
"..."
Riku caught Tanjirō as he collapsed, unconscious the moment he finished speaking.
"You were right, Riku. This kid is cut out to be a Demon Slayer," Urokodaki said after a pause, his voice tinged with emotion. Tanjirō might have flaws, but his strengths shone so brightly they outshone any shortcomings.
"Yeah, even compared to me when I was human, I don't hold a candle to him," Riku said with a nod, his expression complex but sincere.
He meant it. Even if he compared himself at Tanjirō's age—or even before he became a demon—he doubted he could've matched half of what Tanjirō had achieved.
(End of Chapter)