"One minute forty-two seconds, Young Master. You're just eighteen seconds away from passing."
When Roy finished breakfast and pushed open the door to the training hall, Illumi Zoldyck had already gone ahead with his electroshock training.
Hearing the door, the boy—face frazzled and hair puffed from static—stubbornly forced himself to stay upright, as if just to catch a glimpse of Roy.
Once he saw him, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed stiffly onto the floor.
From 1 minute 35 seconds to 1 minute 42 seconds—it had to be admitted, Illumi had improved.
But compared to Young Master Roy...
Luke had seen enough over these past few days. The benchmark Silva had set as the passing score now felt like an insult to Roy's growth rate.
He wasn't just progressing—he was soaring. Like something unbound by the laws of reality.
Roy said nothing.
He stepped cleanly over Illumi's "corpse," stripped off his tank top, revealing a chiseled physique lined with elegant definition.
"My apologies, Young Master."
Luke bowed respectfully, but his hands were already in motion—pressing the baton to Roy's body.
Electricity exploded outward like mercury flooding a channel, surging through Roy's body.
The pain, the numbness—they raced from the soles of his feet to the top of his skull, like his soul was about to be jolted out of his body.
But...
『It's not as bad as I imagined.』
Roy held his breath, clenched his jaw, and forced his consciousness to remain anchored.
Minutes passed—
Two... three... three and a half...
It was nearly four minutes when Luke panicked and switched off the device.
"Four minutes, Young Master—you can't go any further!"
Luke was terrified.
Zoldycks were gods among butlers, but even Silva hadn't foreseen this outcome.
And because there were no contingency plans for such an unprecedented result, Luke froze—unsure how to proceed.
"Keep going."
Since Luke had no answers, Roy gave him one.
And seeing that Luke was too hesitant to act, Roy simply grabbed the electric baton himself, flipped the switch, and resumed his own electrocution.
It wouldn't be long now—he could feel it.
His body was adapting.
Soon, the current would be nothing to him.
He'd become immune to it—no more fainting.
And indeed, just as he predicted—
The piercing pain subsided.
The numbing current withdrew.
Four minutes… five… six…
By the ten-minute mark, Roy was certain his body had fully adjusted.
He tossed the baton back to Luke with a flick of the wrist and dropped down—right onto Illumi's chest—using him like a seat.
"Ugh..."
Illumi groaned softly, twitching beneath him.
Roy pretended not to notice.
He waved at Luke to bring him a bottle of water.
After chugging half, he dumped the rest over his "seat."
"Dig a new pit. Bury him in it."
If a younger brother showed no kindness, the older one shouldn't show mercy either.
Mike had just pooped in the last pit.
Lucky he could still run.
Roy stood, regaining full control over his body, and stepped aside.
Luke bowed and replied, "Yes, sir."
He carried Illumi off.
When Illumi finally came to, he didn't find Roy hugging trees in the garden.
Only Luke was there, fanning him gently.
The boy swallowed, trying to soothe his scorched throat.
"How long was it... this time?"
"One minute and forty-three seconds."
『That extra second came from looking back at Roy.』
Luke added silently, but reported honestly.
"And him?"
"Young Master Roy didn't pass out this time."
Luke glanced at Illumi carefully.
The boy froze.
It took him a while to process it.
Then he simply shut his eyes, scooped up a handful of dirt, and buried half his face into the pit—leaving just two nostrils above the surface to breathe.
'Since there's Illumi, why must there be Roy?'
He used to be average too...
Illumi felt betrayed by fate.
He forced himself to calm down and recalled his father's words:
Even the strongest have weaknesses. If you're killed, you die.
Even if you come back—it's just dying again.
So... patience. Stay calm.
Since Roy was younger, it was only natural that he had more room—and time—to grow.
The earth seemed to echo Illumi's despair, gently comforting him.
As if Kikyo wasn't his real mother—it was the earth itself.
It summoned a breeze, stirred a wave of warm air, and blew it through the window—
Right into the training hall, where Roy was practicing Sun Breathing.
Roy unleashed a "Setting Sun Turn," slashing the heatwave in two.
[Notification: Physique +0.2]
Now, with the sun setting, and after two rounds of Ten Thousand Sword Swings, the gains were clearly visible.
As his Swordsmanship rose, Roy let out a breath of relief.
He traced his fingers along the spine of Yukizō, from the tsuba to the blade tip—lost in thought.
A swordsman's blade was no mere tool.
It was his limb.
His lover.
His everything.
Just as Urokodaki had told him at the beginning—
A blade must be honored, forged through bond. Unless it meant death, one must never leave it behind.
Roy made a decision.
From today onward—he'd oil Yukizō himself.
After all, no one sends their wife to someone else for maintenance.
At 7 p.m., the sun set fully.
Night took center stage.
Roy ordered Wutong to prepare dinner.
With plans forming in his mind, he took Yukizō in hand and began strolling the corridor, heading slowly toward the warehouse.
"Caw—caw—"
A few crows flew overhead, black feathers trailing behind them.
Passing by the castle's main gate, Roy suddenly stopped.
From ahead, a man approached.
Roy narrowed his eyes, then bowed deeply and said,
"Father."
Silva Zoldyck stood clad in a sharp black combat uniform, silver-white hair cascading down his back.
From afar, he looked like a lion under moonlight—radiating an aura of raw authority.
He stepped closer, towering over Roy.
"What day is it today?"
"Saturday."
"And your test?"
"Sunday."
"Good memory."
"I dare not forget."
"You're aiming to stand at the top. What's left for you to fear?"
"Until I defeat you—everything."
"Hahaha..."
Silva tried to suppress his voice, but his laughter grew louder and louder—until it became a full-blown roar.
His white mane danced wildly in the wind.
Hands in his pockets, he said nothing more.
He walked past Roy, scooped up the woman who ran toward him in a single sweeping motion—cradled her in one arm—and disappeared in a flash.
The corridor fell silent.
Only faint traces of turbulent aura remained... gently reminding Roy—
Tonight, he'd need to wear earplugs if he wanted any sleep.
That night.
He opened the Cognitive World's gate—adorned with a horned demon ornament.
Once more, Roy entered the Demon Slayer world.
Armed with Urokodaki's wooden practice blade, he returned to the depths of Mount Sagiri.
The wind was fierce. The snow relentless.
Yet Urokodaki Sakonji, despite his age, showed no fatigue.
Each day, he corrected Roy's stance, footing, and swing precision in fine detail.
But tonight...
He noticed something different.
The disciple who had reignited his desire to teach—his form was sloppier than usual. Too many mistakes.
Without a word, Urokodaki caught Roy's wrists, twisted them slightly, and took the wooden blade from his hands.
The old Water Pillar looked Roy in the eye.
"Something's bothering you. If your mind isn't calm, you shouldn't train."
Roy didn't deny it.
He smiled and said,
"Master's sharp eyes saw right through me. I was just about to ask for a day off—to recuperate."
"Why?"
"I need to save some strength..."
"For whom?"
The boy inhaled.
For the first time, his answer was serious—dead serious:
"For my overbearing, unstoppable father."