"It's Grandpa Zigg's memory."
Roy held the cane-sword in his left hand, opened his right and materialized the short blade—pinpoints of light gathered…
Demon Slayer World.
The blade hanging on the south wall vanished again.
Giyu Tomioka, travel pack ready, glanced once at the sleeping boy. He exchanged a look with Sakonji Urokodaki—neither surprised—and slid the door open to begin the long walk home.
"I'll report everything that happened, exactly as it did, to the Master," Giyu said.
He neither knew nor much cared what "a Pillar losing to Roy" would stir up in the Mansion or the Corps. He was going back with the method for the Red Blade and one thought only: persuade Ubuyashiki Kagaya to provide every scrap of intelligence on existing demons…
Urokodaki watched him off in silence. Sabito, Makomo and the others stood by as well, saying nothing; this was Giyu's duty. Still, few expected the boy to come so quickly and leave quicker, unwilling even to stay a single night longer.
No telling when they would meet again—perhaps never.
"Is Giyu really not going to tell Roy?" Makomo fretted. "If he slips out without a word, Roy will definitely be mad…"
"He won't," Sabito teased. "Giyu's busy, Roy's busier. Weren't you watching? That kid just called his short blade into his dream; he's probably fighting someone even now. We're the only ones with time on our hands…"
Makomo studied Sabito's face. "You look…happy, big brother?"
Giyu gone… Roy about to descend the mountain… and all of them due to vanish someday. What was this—making joy from sorrow?
Sabito only smiled and didn't explain.
Putting aside that they themselves were ghosts, the fact that Giyu now wielded the Red Blade meant the Corps would soon wield it—and with Roy leaving the mountain—Sabito could already glimpse the demons' end drawing near.
Then people would go at sunrise, return at sunset; no more fear of the night, night markets bustling, safe roads under the moon. A world easy to picture, beautiful and calm.
"Sabito." Giyu's voice pulled him back.
The Water Pillar bowed to them all. "I'm going."
A ring of chill wind spiraled around him in reply.
With Urokodaki, Sabito, Makomo and the rest quietly watching, he stepped off into the trees. Fog swallowed him. He was gone.
The moon pried a slit in the mist and spilled a sliver of light.
Makomo's face dimmed. "If we're doomed to disappear, what would you still linger for?"
Sabito said nothing. After a moment he turned back toward the hut instead of the path Giyu had taken.
"Less 'lingering' than 'curiosity'…"
He smiled faintly, eyes soft on the sleeping Roy. "I'm very curious what the world in Roy's dream looks like—and who he's fighting now."
[Logged: 'C'-class creature — Orc-man.]
[Beastiary unlocked.]
[Note: Host may record monsters upon contact.]
[Use Beastiary to 'Appraise' targets.]
…
Hunter world.
Exam venue, inside the illusion.
Roy flicked a thought, materialized the short blade—twin swords in hand—clanged the incoming axe aside, felt the raw power driving from the brute frame, sank his shoulder to brace, and skimmed the panel…
A "new species" had tripped a patch to his Nen, Cognition Gate—a module it named Beastiary. Anything his eyes beheld, his brain could sort, then catalog—a ledger of monsters built from I see, I hear, therefore I know.
So why hadn't the "Sand Worm" from Zigg's memory logged?
[Answer: Host did not behold the whole.]
As if their minds were linked. Roy shoved off the orc-man's axe, snapped a right-leg front kick that rocked it back, bought space—text unfurled:
[Orc-man Warrior]
[Role: Barbarian]
[Manifest Aura: C– (120/100000)]
[Potential Aura: C– (120/100000)]
Manifest matched potential. Roy's brows rose even as the four-meter brute surged back in and hacked down again. A fully realized build—Nen developed end-to-end.
"Hand-axe: Heavy Strike!"
Born enhancers didn't need praise; their blows spoke. Blood-red aura laced the edge as it fell. Roy's left hand lifted the cane-blade, caught the axe—and repelled it with Magnetism · Repulse—then, in the same beat, drove the short blade straight in—
"Water Breathing, Seventh Form: Piercing Rain Drop."
He stabbed for the heart—and heard twin chimes.
One ring on steel as the cane-blade locked the right axe; another as the orc's left axe flicked the short blade off line. The lock held—and Roy felt the weight crush him down.
Against a C with his D body, the gap printed itself in his arms. This wasn't about tricks; it was raw numbers—and the enemy was a pure-breed Enhancer.
"Gul'dan, aid me!" the brute bellowed.
From the forest a broadsword tore screaming into the scene, timed to his pin, skimming for Roy's waist—cut the boy in two.
Too fast—too clean. Roy's eyes flashed to Gyo. The ground trembled doom, doom, doom as a second orc—taller still—barreled out: C– (240/100000). Fully built as well.
The broadsword knifed in.
If he didn't break the bind now, he was dead—
Incandescence of the Sun—burn.
Goldie was gone—wherever the bird had slipped the enchantment—but heat snapped up Roy's spine; white Nen flushed scarlet and ran from the blade into the axe and into the orc's palm.
A scream broke out.
The brute ripped its hand free. Boils bubbled on Nen-hardened skin—it stumbled two steps—exactly the slack Roy needed.
"Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance!"
Two swords cut fire. Flame-rings howled; one batted the broadsword aside, the other bit for the orc's unarmored neck—
Rrrip—flesh parted. Blood sprang. The Ken at the throat broke; steel chewed deep.
The orc shrieked and pistoned a kick. Roy was a breath from finishing the cut—and the broadsword he'd knocked away spun back to its owner, who lashed another full-body cleave straight at Roy's skull.
He abandoned the short blade where it lodged in the first orc's neck, ghost-stepped back on Grandmaster Silent Gait, and felt the broadsword graze by. It plowed the earth—left a 50-meter trench.
"Gul'dan" snorted twin steam-jets, stepped up shoulder-to-shoulder with his bleeding kin, angling to pen Roy in. Two more orcs perched in the trees above. And, deeper, a gaze fell—cool and heavy. Roy's body knotted as if a rope slipped around him.
He grimaced, snapped a hand open—and pulled the short blade back into his palm with Magnetism: Draw.
This was the hard kind; he'd likely have to re more than once.
Fifteen seconds. Sixteen. Seventeen. Twenty. Thirty…
Outside the illusion.
The boy stood alone amid four hundred, eyes closed, calm as a monk within the storm.
No one spoke. The cuckoo clock ticked. Shock ran with dejection—gray and red a smear of aura across the room.
Thirty-five seconds. Forty. Fifty. Nearly a minute. Murmurs rose. Then feet.
People started leaving. The elevator clacked open and shut—clank… clank…—again and again, until half the floor was empty.
Yūsuke and the snake-handler among them.
"Tch. Didn't think it'd be him." In a corner, Tonpa cut a glance full of bile at Roy—then choked it down and slipped into the stream. Let them gripe about how hard it was; he grinned inwardly. Hard now meant easier next time; easier meant his shot. The exam breathed; he knew its lungs. Shame about his skill—but among pro exam-sitters, Tonpa would always have a place.
The elevator shut one last time.
All that remained: Kite. Kanzai. Illumi. Gotoh and Kuraging—posted like stones around Roy—no one watching anyone; everyone waiting for one result.
"Two minutes," Gel warned, still feeding Nen into Illusion. She cut a look at Botobai.
He stood behind the mask and said nothing. A big hand rolled the elbow; he was—almost—excited.
"Three minutes." At the bar of the barbecue upstairs, the two old men sat clean-bowled, sipping tea, the exodus of candidates murmuring behind them.
They ignored the gripes and watched the screen: one boy, eyes shut, still deep in the mirage.
Silence held until Netero, at last, pried it open. "How long d'you think he can hold?"
Zeno rubbed the cup. He didn't answer. Then, out of nowhere: "As long as he wants."
He shook his head—nearly laughing at how absurd that sounded even to him.
Inside, it wasn't just orcs. There was an Orc General as well.
And that one wouldn't be easy at all.
~~~
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