Being a servant of the Zoldycks is a point of pride.
Being a Zoldyck is even more so.
Zeno once thought himself a proud man—and from past to present he always had been. But looking at the boy before him—save for hair color, almost a stamp of his younger self—he had to admit he'd been modest.
"Heh-heh-heh…" Zeno fixed his gaze on Roy and chuckled low. "Freedom… is a very expensive thing.
"Most people dream of it and never touch it. I hope you get what you want."
"I'll do my best."
"Will you?"
Zeno looked at him long.
"'Your best' isn't enough. Risk your life."
With that, hands folded behind his back, he drifted past—his toes seemed never to touch ground; a flicker, another flicker, and he was gone from the gallery as if he'd teleported.
Roy stood there in the sunset a moment, then moved on—flicker, flicker—gliding the other way toward his room.
To climb to the summit begins with Mastery of Silent Gait.
…
"Seventeen thousand eight hundred twelve…"
"Seventeen thousand eight hundred thirteen…"
"Hey, Sabito—I can't keep count anymore…"
Snow country, inside Roy's cognitive world.
Makomo stuck her tongue out, grumbling. Under the birch, the boy kept chopping, stroke after stroke like a tireless machine, smashing her sense of what's possible again and again.
"Then don't force it." Ghosts aren't human; they have no bodies—no way to write with a pen.
Sabito understood. Counting to ten thousand plus is a trial of will and focus, never mind swinging that many times. The odd one out was simply Rōichirō—he broke all routine.
"No, I'll hold on a little longer—he's about to hit twenty thousand." She patted her cheeks to rally herself.
Since she wanted to persist, Sabito let her. Compared to Shinsuke and Fukuda, long since numb, Makomo really was iron-willed.
"Eighteen thousand eight hundred eighty-eight…"
"Nineteen thousand nine hundred ninety-nine…"
"Twenty thousand!"
The blade sank into the post and clipped it clean in two—the cut face smooth as a mirror, reflecting Roy's faintly steaming face, lending him a heroic air.
In six days, from ten thousand to twenty thousand—Roy hit his earlier "small goal," completing two rounds of "ten-thousand swings" in a single day.
And that still wasn't his limit.
"Add two thousand tomorrow."
Urokodaki stepped out of the trees and, as on previous days, said the same words to Roy.
The tengu mask hid his expression; but Sabito and Makomo, who'd grown up by his side, could read the tight fists behind his back—the old Water Hashira's heart was not as calm as he seemed.
"Master wants to see where Rōichirō's limits are," Makomo whispered.
"Don't you?"
"I do… but any more and I'll lose count…"
She puffed at Sabito. He shook his head, smiling. This time no image of Giyu surfaced—three thousand at Giyu's peak versus twenty thousand here were not comparable.
Sabito could almost swear: once Rōichirō leaves the mountain, he'll shock everyone—demons and Demon Slayer Corps alike.
"Perhaps that's what Master is hoping for…"
He glanced at Urokodaki; the old man tossed, "Dinner," and turned away. His back showed a faint stoop time had carved.
[Notice: Swordsmanship +17]
Another night passed, and the wooden clock in the corner chimed again.
All but wrung out, Roy ate a few bites with Urokodaki, then crawled onto the warm platform and slept till dawn. Opening his eyes, he was back on Kukuroo Mountain—feeling that "can't be bothered with anything" weariness.
Thankfully, after a few days' adjustment, he'd learned to lie still a while and rise only once the fatigue faded, then run.
Thanks to Mastery in Silent Gait, his speed kept climbing. Even holding back his pace, he outstripped the sunrise, skimming past the castle and butlers' villa to the "Testing Gate" at the foot.
"Good morning, young master." From afar, Zebro saw him, doffed his hat, and bowed.
Roy nodded, gaze skimming over Zebro's high-flying hairline to the gate—then BOOM. The so-called "Gate of Yomi" heaved open three leaves from the outside, and a figure strode in.
"Good morning, Young Master Illumi." Zebro had just set his hat back on when he took it off again.
Illumi walked past, a human head dangling from his hand; he flicked it away. Mike trotted up at the scent and gulped it down.
"Barely a mouthful…" Mike glowered at Illumi, aggrieved—he'd come barreling in and left disappointed.
Illumi ignored him, treating the dog's wounded look as air. His eyes locked on Roy's back as he turned uphill. "Starting today, I have eighty-one wins too."
So the head he'd fed Mike was the Emitter who'd sniped him at Heavens Arena.
A pity…
"Not consecutive," Roy said mildly, a helpful reminder—then lifted his foot and flew up the mountain.
A vein popped on Illumi's forehead. He stared at Roy's back and shouted, "Just you wait!"
His fists tightened.
"Heh…" came Roy's light laugh—and then his figure was gone.
Wait? We live under the same roof.
If you've got the ability, bring it on.
Roy's first step sent the earrings whistling. Two minutes earlier than expected he was back at his room. After a shower he sat at the table to wait for Gotoh.
Today's sandwich was cheese.
He flipped through Great-Grandfather's notes while Gotoh briefed the day's plan. Only when he heard "the master" did he close the book and glance up.
"The master called. He'll be home tonight. He'll test you first thing tomorrow," the young butler said, nudging his gold rims, worry in his voice. "So I suggest you cancel today's training and rest up."
Training plans are fixed. Without Silva's say-so, who dares cancel?
Roy finished his sandwich, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and said, "No need. Have Luke wait in the hall. Let's see whether he can even knock me out today."
He flicked a glance at his panel:
[Physique: 12.05 → 13.05]
A few days of Sun Breathing drills—
another full point; in other words, one more average human stacked on top. Which meant…
he could likely endure longer.
~~~
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