Chapter 6: The Weight of the Sun × Man and Beast
A moment later, clarity returned to Roy's drowsy eyes.
Yes. Why worry about what is real or false? Why obsess over dream or waking?
"When the false appears true, the true seems false. When nothing becomes something, something returns to nothing."
The me of my past life was real. The Roy of the Zoldyck family is real. The Sumihiko Kamado of my Cognition World is just as real.
All I need to do is handle the task before me—and cherish the people before me.
A faint smile returned to his lips. He rose and began to dress.
It was nearly four in the morning. The daily run could not be skipped. He would treat it as warm-up for practicing the Breath of the Sun.
Because at the moment he woke, he'd been startled to find a new skill written on his status panel:
[Breath of the Sun]
But its color was ashen, lifeless. A note appended: Requires enduring the "Weight of the Sun" to activate.
The Weight of the Sun…
Pulling on his vest and shorts, Roy gazed toward the horizon. The first streaks of dawn tore faintly at the darkness.
Even from this distance, he could feel the scorching majesty contained within that light. It was not merely heat. It was trial—something that tested one's very mind and spirit.
Would he endure it? He didn't know. There was only one way to find out.
Roy inhaled deeply, pushed open the door, and set off running.
Elsewhere in the manor, life stirred in its own way:
An old man in a rocking chair, snoring to the sound of anime.
In a shadowed bedroom at the end of a corridor, pale eyes snapped open.
In the master bedroom, a man pressed a woman hard against the window.
Everyone was absorbed in their struggles. Roy would allow himself no less.
From mountain peak to valley and back again, his five-kilometer course ended swiftly.
When he returned to his room, dawn had broken in full glory.
The morning sky burned with dazzling clouds as the sun leapt over the horizon. Crimson light, ancient and primal, surged across the earth, filling all things with life.
Roy stood at the window, overwhelmed. Closing his eyes, he began to practice the Breath of the Sun.
But unlike Tanjuro, this time Roy infused it with Nen. Guiding his aura through his body, he synchronized it with the patterns of the breathing forms.
At once, he felt it—burning heat flooding his veins.
The more he advanced—Dance. Clear Blue Sky. Raging Sun. Fake Rainbow...the greater the blaze became, until it swelled into a roaring fire, igniting him from head to toe.
The pain was unbearable.
It was the pain of being staked alive upon a pyre, roasted in the flames. It was so intense Roy nearly blacked out.
Clinging to the doorframe was the only thing that kept him from collapsing.
Now he truly understood the weight behind a simple fact: from the Warring States to the Edo era, across a thousand years, only one man—Tanjiro Kamado—had ever truly mastered the Breath of the Sun.
Its value was beyond gold.
But instead of despair, Roy's eyes burned brighter.
"I will turn this rotting age into ashes."
"I will bring sunlight to scour away all that grovels in darkness."
"I will wield the true fire of the sun—to burn away every shadow, to slay every demon."
In the haze between pain and unconsciousness he thought he heard someone murmur. A figure appeared in his vision.
A swordsman with a flute—crimson hair, flame-like patterns at his temples—stood at the edge of time. He watched Roy with a gentle smile and spoke, as if answering a dream.
"Those who seek the way arrive at the same place."
"Brother, I told you—the breathing won't be lost. See for yourself now."
The figure was Yoriichi Tsugikuni—he looked exactly like the legendary man.
Roy dimly recognized him. His legs gave out and he slid down the doorpost.
The burning receded. Breath returned, ragged and huge. He was nearly spent.
Thankfully, pain had not been for nothing. The panel chimed, offering consolation.
[Notice: Breath of the Sun activated.]
[Progress: Initiate (1/100)]
"Finally… it worked." Roy smiled as the morning sun bathed his face. He spread his arms and let himself savor the moment.
It was five o'clock. The old wooden clock chimed. Steward Gotoh pushed the breakfast cart as usual, knocking lightly on the door.
Seeing the door open, he stepped in. Roy sat by the threshold, large and relaxed. Gotoh hesitated, reached out to help him up—
—and the instant Roy opened his eyes, Gotoh's pupils flared in pain. It was as if a miniature sun had struck his eyes, like a laser seared into his vision; everything blurred.
"Aaah—!" the steward screamed.
Soon Gotoh was replaced as household steward by the hulking Tsubone, the Kongo Barbie.
"Is he all right?" someone asked.
"The doctor says it's temporary blindness. He'll recover in a few days," came the reply.
Gotoh was taken away for treatment.
After morning training, Roy sat eating lunch while Kongo Barbie reported the steward's condition. Between mouthfuls he frowned and said, "Double his pay for the month."
"That's against precedent," the old head steward said, arms folded, expression blank. "He's a Zoldyck guard—food is enough."
"But—"
Kongo Barbie leaned in, her gorilla-like frame dwarfing the table, voice grave. "Master ordered I ask: how did Gotoh get hurt?"
The doctor's diagnosis: the eyeballs had experienced a stress reaction following an intense stimulus, resulting in temporary blindness.
So what had caused the stimulus?
If Silva knew, Kongo Barbie wanted to know too. But Gotoh had not named anyone, and Roy respected his choice. He took a slow breath, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said simply:
"I don't owe a dog an explanation."
"You call Gotoh a dog—are you not one yourself?" Kongo Barbie nodded, amused. "Of course I am."
Then her tone shifted. "But the master..."
"Let him come ask me himself."
Roy pushed back his chair and stood.
He respected the steward who would die for the Zoldycks—but he would not accept being treated like a dog. He strode past Kongo Barbie—
—and passed within eyeshot of a hollow-eyed figure; Illumi had just returned from a kill, the scent of blood still clinging to him.
Illumi strolled by with his hands in his pockets. As he passed Roy he paused, turned his head, and spat, "Dogs are dogs. People are dogs."
"As simple as killing a man or killing a dog."
"So it is." Roy's laugh was cold. He left Illumi with a tight, cutting parting line and a look sharper than any courtesy: "Then congratulations—my dog-brother, at least you know your place."
Illumi said nothing.
With a swift motion—swish—Roy flashed his hand into a hand-chop.