"One minute forty-two seconds, young master. Just eighteen more seconds and you'll pass."
When Roy finished breakfast and pushed open the training room door, Illumi had already beaten him there for electric therapy.
Hearing the sound, the young man with his explosive hairstyle struggled to hold himself upright, as if determined to see Roy before collapsing.
Having seen him, his eyes rolled back and he fell straight down.
From one minute thirty-five seconds to one minute forty-two seconds—admittedly, Illumi had improved. But compared to Young Master Roy, Luke had truly opened his eyes these past days. The family head's passing standard was completely inadequate for this young master's progress. Roy truly "flew" like the wind, constantly shattering Luke's understanding.
Roy said nothing, stepping directly over Illumi's unconscious form. He cleanly removed his tank top, revealing refined muscles with perfect definition.
"My apologies, young master." Luke bowed in salute. His hand movements were swift—one strike jabbed forward.
Electric light flashed like mercury spreading across the ground, penetrating Roy's flesh. That stinging, numbing sensation shot from his soles straight to his crown, as if trying to rip his very soul from his body.
However, 'Seems manageable.' Roy held his breath, gritted his teeth, stubbornly refusing to let consciousness slip away.
Gradually, two minutes passed, then three, then three and a half, approaching four minutes. Luke hurriedly shut off the electric baton.
"Four minutes, young master. Can't continue further." Luke was terrified. The Zoldycks were everything to their butlers. He hadn't anticipated this situation. Even Silva's instructions hadn't predicted this would happen. So once Roy lasted too long, Luke momentarily lost composure without a backup plan, unsure how to proceed.
"Continue." Since he had no answer, Roy gave him one. Even seeing Luke nervously hesitating to approach, Roy simply snatched the electric baton, turned on the switch, and shocked himself.
Soon, he could feel his body beginning to adapt to this intensity. Then he'd become immune to electric current, no longer experiencing unconsciousness.
Reality developed in the direction Roy anticipated. That piercing pain weakened. The numbness enveloping his body also receded. Four minutes, five minutes, six minutes.
Until ten minutes passed. After confirming his body had adapted to the intensity, Roy casually tossed the electric baton to Luke and sat down on Illumi.
A dull groan escaped Illumi's throat, his body twitching involuntarily.
Roy pretended not to notice, gesturing for Luke to bring water. He drank half a bottle himself, pouring the rest entirely over his unconscious brother beneath him.
"Dig a new pit and bury him in it."
Since his younger brother had been ruthless, it didn't mean he had to stoop to the same level. That little bastard Milluki was defecating in pits again. Good thing Illumi could still run.
Roy regained full control of his body, stood up, and made room for Luke. Luke respectfully acknowledged and carried Illumi away.
When Illumi groggily awakened, not finding the "tree-hugging" Roy in the garden, only Luke fanning him with a folding fan, the young man swallowed to moisten his nearly parched throat, asking, "How many seconds this time?"
"One minute forty-three seconds."
'That one second glancing back at Young Master Roy also counts,' Luke added mentally, answering truthfully.
"What about him?"
"Young Master Roy didn't faint this time." Luke carefully glanced at Illumi.
The young man was clearly stunned. After a long while recovering, he simply closed his eyes, smeared dirt across his face to bury himself halfway in the pit, leaving only his nostrils exposed to air, barely maintaining breathing.
Roy had been ordinary. How had he become this strong? Illumi felt utterly betrayed.
He forced himself to calm down, recalling Father's words—even the strongest have weaknesses. Being killed means death. Even if revived through some means, it's just killing once more.
So be patient, stay calm. Being younger meant inevitably having more room and time for improvement than Roy.
The earth seemed to echo Illumi's thoughts, as if comforting him too. A breeze swept through the window toward the young man practicing Sun Breathing in the training room.
Roy's "Setting Sun Turn" split the heat wave in two.
[Notification: Constitution +0.2]
Sunset descended. The benefits from two sessions of "ten thousand basic swings" were becoming visible. As his swordsmanship improved, Roy exhaled, fingers together like a blade, stroking along Yukigakure's guard toward the blade back, finally to the tip, thoughtfully.
A swordsman's blade isn't a dead object. It's the swordsman's limbs, lover, everything. Just as Sakonji Urokodaki warned before sword practice—refine the blade, cultivate feelings with it. Unless death comes, never abandon the sword in the wilderness.
Roy decided starting today, he'd personally oil Yukigakure. After all, there was no reason to send one's wife to others for maintenance.
7 PM evening—sunset officially fell. Night took the stage. Instructing Gotoh to prepare dinner, Roy had his calculations. Carrying Yukigakure, he strolled through corridors, unhurriedly walking toward the warehouse.
Several crows flew past overhead, dropping black feathers. Passing the castle's main entrance, Roy stopped, squinting at the man walking toward him, respectfully calling, "Father."
Silva wore practical black training clothes, silver-white hair draped behind his head. From afar, he looked like a maned lion under moonlight, naturally imposing.
He paced forward, looking down at Roy. "What day is today?"
"Saturday."
"What day is the test?"
"Sunday."
"You remember well."
"Dare not forget."
"You want to reach the summit, yet what don't you dare?"
"Before defeating Father, I must be cautious."
Silva suppressed his voice in low laughter. The laughter grew louder, finally transforming into something wild and unrestrained. White hair swayed, dancing wildly!
Hands in pockets, saying nothing more, he stepped past Roy. Yet as if having said everything, he reached out to catch the woman launching herself at him, sweeping his arm horizontally to embrace her, instantly disappearing.
In the quiet corridor, only a few wisps of weak, restless aura remained, reminding Roy—tonight, wear earplugs to sleep.
That night, pushing open the cognitive door hanging with demon head ornaments, Roy arrived again in the Demon Slayer world. Taking the training sword Sakonji Urokodaki equipped him with, as usual, he came to Mount Sagiri's depths to practice.
Strong wind, urgent snow. Sakonji Urokodaki fearlessly corrected his stance, footwork, swing angles, and other details daily. Today he discovered this disciple, who reignited his desire to take students, had far more errors than usual.
Simply pressing down Roy's hands, his wrist flipping to seize the training sword into his own hand, the old Water Pillar stared at Roy. "Something wrong? Since your mind is unsettled, don't practice."
"Can't hide anything from Master's discerning eyes. Today I was going to request a day's leave from Master to recuperate." Roy didn't deny it, smiling.
"Reason."
"I must reserve some spirit for battle!"
"With whom?"
The young man took a breath, unprecedentedly serious. "With my insufferably arrogant father!"