Chapter 16 – Zigg's Notes × First Descent Down the Mountain
In the end—
He was driven out, dust-covered and disheveled.
Zeno's expression held no resentment, only a flicker of surprise.
He had never seen Maha act so… possessive—guarding food like a beast protecting prey.
Perhaps influenced by that strange display, Zeno, for once, turned away from his own quarters and walked in the opposite direction.
Hands clasped behind his back, his steps were silent upon the mottled stone slabs. He moved like a drifting shadow, until he arrived outside Roy's window.
His mastery of Silent Step had long since reached the realm where great sound was soundless—an art of pure subtlety.
There he stood, unseen, watching quietly through the glass.
Inside, the boy sat immersed in a book, utterly unaware of the eyes upon him.
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"Nen isn't as mystical as people imagine…"
"The Shingen-ryū describes it as [Ten], [Zetsu], [Ren], [Hatsu]. Others record it differently—[Ten], [Shu], [Ren], [Hatsu]…"
"But they are all merely expressions—ways of articulating the process of 'opening one's aura.'"
"By gazing inward and shaping aura into language, then refining it with imagination before releasing it—that is the essence of Nen."
"As for [En], [Ken], [Shu], [Zetsu]—these are simply extensions, deeper refinements born of the same principle."
"Take [Zetsu]. To conceal one's presence is nothing more than retracting aura back inside the body. With no aura leaking, one's existence thins to nothing. But the consequence…"
"Without aura as protection, the body becomes vulnerable to the aura strikes of others."
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On and on it went.
"In summary, Nen training is not about tricks of application, but about Nen itself—how deeply the user understands its nature and its forms."
"To grasp the transformation of form and transformation of nature—that is what every Nen user must focus on."
The pages rustled as the night wind teased the curtains.
At some point, Roy finally looked up from the text.
Through the window, no one was there. Only the bright moon hung high in the sky, gazing down as if it were the one watching him. For a fleeting moment, Roy felt as though he had glimpsed himself from a higher vantage, a reflection made clearer.
So this is the difference—
Learning with guidance, or stumbling alone without it…
Systematic training might not always guarantee brilliance. But it would never leave one utterly lost. By contrast, the self-taught—unless born with monstrous talent—would struggle for a lifetime and still never brush against the threshold of true mastery.
Roy closed the book, his thoughts sharpened.
From the drawer he pulled paper and brush, and wrote three words:
[Value]… [Operation]… [Mechanism]
Value stood for aura capacity.
Operation for skillful control and use.
Mechanism for the vows and restrictions that grant power.
For a Nen user to stand tall, all three had to be honed, balanced, unshakable.
And for now, the path was clear—
Build the body, raise the value. His direction was not wrong.
---
The clock chimed ten.
Bedtime. To deepen mastery of the Breath of the Sun, he needed long, focused sleep—every night extending the span of concentration was also training.
Roy put aside the notebook, stretched once, then collapsed into the softness of his bed.
The cicadas sang their steady lullaby, as always.
Above, the moon was at its peak. Elsewhere—
A pale child with hollow eyes dug pits in the dark, only his head poking out of the soil.
A chubby boy dressed absurdly as a girl gnawed on dreamt-up chicken legs.
On the second floor, a woman's screams echoed as static snow covered every surveillance feed.
Roy switched his phone to white-noise mode, folded his hands across his abdomen, and emptied his thoughts.
At once, he drifted through the prismatic tunnel, into the sea of his subconscious. Before him rose those familiar wooden doors upon the endless horizon.
This time, he did not rush to push the Demon Slayer door.
Instead, curiosity stirred. He wandered among the others—
One bore the sigil of the sea.
Another was painted with a paper dragonfly.
Another hung an ornament shaped like a single eye.
They seemed familiar. Each radiated waves of pain.
And then—he remembered someone.
Someone pitiful.
Someone, like him, trapped in a fate he could not control, shackled and toyed with at every turn.
So… this is what it means to not be strong enough.
If you are truly strong, you can turn your pain upon the entire world. You can live by one creed: better the world betray me, than I betray myself.
Roy whispered to the silent sea, then turned away.
He chose not to linger in misery. He reached instead for the Demon Slayer door—and pushed it open.
The familiar drop seized him.
When he opened his eyes again, it was to Tanjiro's face—scar patterned like a mark of destiny.
"Big Brother, wake up. Today we're going down to town to sell coal."
Mining one day, selling one day.
If they were fast, they'd make it back before nightfall.
If not, they'd camp in the mountains—or seek lodging from kind souls, like old Saburo, whose cabin Tanjiro often borrowed.
"Why are you so close?" Roy smacked Tanjiro's face away with one palm, throwing on his coat as he crawled out of bed.
Roy rose lightly from his futon, careful not to wake Takeo and Shigeru, who were still sound asleep.
Behind him padded a smaller, sulking shadow—Tanjiro, still nursing the sting of last night's scolding. Together, they pushed open the sliding door and once more stepped into the endless expanse of snow.
His gaze drifted almost unconsciously to the wall where his father, Tanjuro, had lingered in silence the previous night.
The footprints beneath the wall had already been erased by fresh snow—yet his father's words remained vivid in Roy's mind.
As though tied by invisible threads, Roy turned his head toward the main house. There, beneath the eaves of the wooden veranda, Tanjuro was already waiting. He looked up from the brazier, where breakfast had been laid out.
"Sumihiko, Tanjiro—come, it's time to eat."
"Coming!"
Tanjiro's face lit up instantly, and he ran forward, last night's grievance already forgotten.
Roy followed at a steadier pace. He slipped off his snow-caked sandals and stepped inside, noting only his mother, Kie, and Nezuko at the table. He understood immediately—little Hanako must have been fussy again, and grandmother had taken her to rest.
So, he kept his voice low, speaking softly with his parents.
Breakfast was simple: rice dumplings with miso soup simmered from the pork cutlets left over from the night before.
Knowing Roy would head down the mountain today to sell coal, Kie had risen early. She'd packed extra dumplings in cloth bundles, so he and Tanjiro would have something to eat along the way.
Roy had no complaints. But when his eyes caught the patch hastily sewn into the sleeve of Nezuko's kimono, he set his bowl down after a sip of soup and said evenly:
"This trip might take us two days instead of one."
"First, I'll buy new clothes for Nezuko and the younger ones."
"Second…" His gaze sharpened slightly. "I'll make a detour to Mount Sagiri."
The former Water Hashira, Urokodaki Sakonji, lived there, training new swordsmen for the Demon Slayer Corps under the command of the Ubuyashiki family.
Roy had already decided—this time, he would seek the old master out. If he could earn even a sliver of guidance, it would be worth more than any bundle of coal.
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