A spray of blood fountained into the air—
followed by a piercing scream.
The afterimages vanished. The trees stopped shuddering. Blinding white snow sifted down as the demon crashed hard to the ground—one arm spinning off and rolling to a stop at Tanjiro's feet.
[Combat Arts +1]
Tanjiro's pupils blew wide as he stared dumbly at the severed limb dissolving into black smoke. His heart surged like a storm tide. He pumped a fist and shouted, "Nice one, Nii-san!"
From stillness to motion and back again—it all took Roy the blink of an eye. The move was simple—too simple—but whatever was inside it made Sato Takeichiro's spine go cold.
"You're a Hashira?" he snarled, clawing up from the snow and locking eyes with Roy.
In demon terms, "Hashira" are to demons what the Twelve Kizuki are among their own. Sato had once glimpsed Upper Rank One from afar: a casual stroke that carved arcs like crescent moons. People said that in life, that "man" had been Hashira-class. Later Sato ate villagers at the foot of the mountain and was hunted by the Water Hashira; only the Hashira's age and Sato's comrades' help let him escape by a hair.
And today, in this godforsaken forest, he'd run into a third one?
But Roy wasn't.
In the Corps, to become a Hashira you either slay a member of the Twelve Kizuki or kill fifty demons. Roy, who knew the story, also knew the real dividing line wasn't the rigid rules—it was mastery of a Breathing Style. Just like in the Hunter world, a top Nen user is defined by how well they develop and command their own ability. Poor mastery or the wrong development path and even a genius won't go far—like Kastro, who, lacking a teacher, was an Enhancer who mistakenly developed a Conjurer-type clone.
So, aside from mining coal and selling charcoal to upgrade the Kamado family's meals, Roy had another goal in this dream: find a real teacher and learn a Breathing Style. Closest option: the former Water Hashira, Sakonji Urokodaki.
Roy dragged the hoe, scratching a straight line in the snow. He didn't answer Sato's question. Instead, watching the demon regrow his arm, he asked, curious, "How many times can your demon blood keep you regenerating?"
"Plenty—at least until I rip out your heart and liver!" Sato spat.
"Good," Roy nodded. "A man should keep his word.
"If you don't rip out my heart and liver today, nobody's leaving."
Sato & Tanjiro: "?"
Both were baffled. Tanjiro couldn't figure out why his brother didn't press the attack while the arm was still growing back. Sato, on the other hand, snapped to full alert—then—
He bent, snatched a handful of snow, and flung it at Roy. Using the flurry as cover, he unleashed his top speed and bolted.
"Bounce—bounce—bounce—bounce!" Tree after tree shivered as Sato ricocheted away. In a blink he'd put a hundred meters between them.
Tanjiro stared, stunned, not even sure what had just happened. Roy's face, meanwhile, went black.
My EXP bag—my beautiful EXP bag… Rage flared. At the very least, a demon shouldn't be this slippery. You awakened "Spring-Strike Kill" just to run the moment things go south?
As the demon pulled farther away, Roy kicked a pebble. It shot off with a whoosh like lightning at Sato's retreating back. But without Shu, Roy couldn't coat a thrown object with Nen to boost its speed; and Sato, on high alert with a terrain-perfect Blood Demon Art, ducked and the stone zipped past.
"That won't do."
Two hundred meters. Three hundred. Another step and he'd be out of sight.
Roy rolled up his sleeves—and for the first time, invoked a Breathing Style.
Wind stirred cloud; a spear of sunlight slid through a seam and lit Roy's face. He set the hoe like a long blade, split-stance, and drew in a single, huge breath.
Inside him, everything hit fast-forward—blood roared, heart hammered, capillaries surged to the skin and raced across his body.
On the panel it was brutal and clear:
[Physique: 10.051 → 20.102]
A clean double.
Sun Breathing feeds the fire with air.
Twin flames seemed to kindle in Roy's eyes. He seized the brief window of power, lunged—
The hoe ripped the winter air with a shrill keeeen.
Tanjiro's vision blurred—something flashed—and then he saw it: in the space of a breath, his big brother had crossed nearly three hundred meters and was already above the demon's head.
From there, a falling cut:
Hinokami Kagura — Dance.
Shhhk—
A ribbon of fire, a circular stroke that boiled the snow and caged Sato within.
At first Sato felt nothing. Then he realized his torso was airborne while everything from the waist down was still on the ground. Only then did it hit him—he'd been cut in half.
He glared with blood-red eyes, choking on rage. "And you say you're not a Hashira—?"
Darkness closed in. Thud. He toppled into the snow. Blood streamed in thin ribbons, staining the drift. The delayed scream came at last.
Wooden clogs over thick socks. A youth with a hoe on his shoulder walked toward him, unhurried. Sato's eyelids twitched; ignoring the pain, he burned more demon blood to regenerate—
This time, nothing happened.
Terror set in—cold and total—as he felt life leaking from his filthy body. He lifted his head in stubborn disbelief and croaked, "What technique… is that?"
Roy stopped and looked out over the white hills, sighing softly. "You really have no sense of honor—don't make me use Sun Breathing to kill you."
"Happy now?"
Sato's pupils pinched tight. "Y-you—who are you?!"
Roy smiled gently, lifted his foot, and crushed the demon's head.
"Name's the same whether I'm standing or sitting—Kamado Rōichirō."