"Got it."
Roy's face didn't change—no joy, no sorrow.
He finished breakfast unhurriedly, then told Gotoh as he cleared the table: "Don't forget to oil the cane blade."
Even with Yubashiri in hand, he couldn't neglect the cane. The boy stepped out; Gotoh hesitated, then bit the bullet and advised, "Young master, it's best to go along with the master for now."
"Alright—I'll do my best to have him go along with me." Roy didn't break stride and walked off.
Gotoh: "…"
what a sin… He packed the dishes and pushed the cart after him.
Summer—by 5 a.m. the sky was already bright. The boy strolled the castle corridor, paused by the little room—the TV was playing cartoons, the old man sprawled in the recliner, sound asleep.
As always, Roy bowed and moved on…
Maha half-opened his eyes to watch him go, then rolled over and sank back down…
Fortunately Zeno was out on a job—without his interruptions, the old man could finally get a second sleep.
Roy smiled faintly, catching the old man's snores, and, under the dawn glow, pushed open the training hall door.
Shiiing—Yubashiri came free.
He adjusted breath and frame, then settled his heart completely. At some moment, both hands on the blade, he slashed on the diagonal—daily Sun Breathing practice began.
"Dance…"
Focused.
"Clear Blue Sky…"
Unfocused.
"Raging Sun…"
Focused.
"Fake Rainbow…"
Unfocused.
Unnoticed, noon came. Fshh— a hot flare split the air; Roy sheathed the blade, and, as expected, the panel chimed.
[Notice: Physique +0.3 (Note: your focus time has increased by 20 minutes compared to before)]
That's because the hand was steadier… Roy recalled Urokodaki's words: "The steadier the hand, the harsher the blade." He understood.
Bzzt—
The camera in the corner blinked red…
Second-floor master suite.
The man drank tea—thick with herbs—quietly watching the monitor as the boy, dripping sweat, cut with growing sharpness.
"I service the master's blade daily—say the word and I'll fetch it anytime." Silva hadn't gone out in days. Having just fed Kikyo, he'd called Tsubone in to pick from the tasks Hall presented.
"No need."
Having the form without the spirit is wasted.
He won't say—he can't.
Tea gone, herbs left. Silva passed the cup to Tsubone. "Don't bother servicing it anymore. I have my own blade."
Hands are blades.
"Yes." She refilled and handed it back. "One more item,"
"Speak."
"The patriarch has lifted the restriction—Young Master is permitted to pay respects to Master Zigg."
"Father told you?"
"No." Tsubone looked deep at Silva. "Maha-sama."
She reported plainly: "He asked me to inform you: if you don't like it, go see him—and take three lashes."
Silva: "…"
After a long silence: "Understood."
Tsubone nodded, glanced at Kikyo stirring on the bed, and bowed out…
The door creaked shut.
From inside: "Start timing."
"Yes," she said. Her gaze drifted through the window to the screen—the boy carefully polishing his blade—and she felt it…
The sky is about to change.
…
Braised pig's head, steamed fish, red-braised chicken, freshly sliced sausage, vinegar-dressed salad, and a bottle of red. With help from the kitchens, Roy managed pig's head after all—per the chef's advice, simmered with spice packets, then chilled for two hours. Everything went on the cart for Gotoh to push—waiting for Great-Grandfather's summons.
6:50 p.m.—sun setting, a pale moon cresting the horizon. Tsubone, pink ponytail swaying, appeared.
She bowed, took the cart from Gotoh, and said, "Young master, please."
Roy didn't see Maha; he frowned. "Great-Grandfather isn't coming?"
"The master feared Old Master Zigg would be displeased, so he won't come."
The man's dead—what's there to be displeased about?
Roy followed, puzzled. Master and servant went down the corridor toward the basement… deeper, darker, a chill and loneliness rising…
Soon, a solid steel security door loomed.
Two elderly butlers stood guard—one scar-faced and yellow-bearded; one one-eyed and one-armed. They nodded to Tsubone, then looked past her to Roy. The boy's heart tightened—he clearly sensed danger.
Not hostility—just the leakage of a strong man's presence.
"Scarface."
"One-Eye."
"Greetings, young master."
Roy looked hard at them. "How come I've never seen you?"
"Please regard us as dead, young master." Scarface and One-Eye straightened, pulled open the door, and gestured: "Please."
Clean, crisp movements—no extra words. They shut their mouths and waited.
Roy stepped through. Tsubone pushed the cart in after him.
"This is as far as I go, young master. The rest is yours."
Ahead, a long black corridor; two rows of funerary lamps on the stone walls, ghost-green and lonely…
Inside it, Roy felt like he was back in Demon Slayer's world—an endless snow plain underfoot. The cold raised his hair.
Clank— The door closed behind him.
Alone, he had no choice but to grip the cart and move forward.
Step by step—soles whispered on stone. At the end, a heavy vapor-sealed door—pristine, faint metal sheen—someone wiped it down daily.
Roy thought of Scarface and One-Eye, glanced back—clack, clack…
The door moved—opening itself. A huge tentacle snaked out, wrapped the cart, dragged it inside—threw it back out a heartbeat later. Most of the meat gone; only some greens remained—apparently rejected.
"Zigg… Grandfather?"
Is this… a memorial?
Roy reeled and reached for his blade—then remembered it wasn't there.
Snow-white Yubashiri sat on the rack upstairs.
As panic set in, the tentacle shot out again—faster than Silva's three lashes—and snapped him into the room.
Such strong Ten—I can't answer it at all!
The world spun. With the last spark of sense, he looked—
A giant eye with dozens of tentacles, gazing at him with… kindness.
"My grandson. [re: Game of the Dead]—activate…"
Drowsy—an aged voice echoed faintly in Roy's head. He blinked—
and the world was new.
A sky-towering sandworm speared from the earth, churning cloud and wind, shrieking—
"ROAR—"
~~~
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