A pot of tea warmed on the brazier, steam curling upward, adding a touch of homely warmth to the small wooden house.
Sakonji Urokodaki quietly knelt, opening the letter to carefully read the familiar messy handwriting. Giyu was a nostalgic child—cold outside, warm inside, and quite talented in sword practice, though his handwriting left much to be desired.
"Urokodaki-sensei, are you well? As winter approaches, my duties grow heavier, making it impossible to return home. Please pay respects to Sabito, Makomo, and all our fallen brothers and sisters on my behalf. Tell them Giyu has never stopped improving. I've now defeated one hundred thirty-seven demons, in their honor."
Simple one to two hundred words conveying recent circumstances. Sakonji Urokodaki read to the end. "Please also take care of your health; wishing you continued strength. Written in haste, Giyu Tomioka."
Closing the letter, he sat quietly for a long while. Shinsuke, Fukuda, and the others had followed Roy to Mount Sagiri's depths, leaving only Sabito and Makomo. Seeing the crow, they silently stayed by the old man's side.
"Giyu is doing well, living up to the Water Pillar title." Sabito read the letter, watching that crybaby grow into the Demon Slayer Corps' backbone, feeling deeply moved.
"One hundred thirty-seven demons, one hundred thirty-seven letters. Senior Brother Giyu really misses Master." Makomo nodded in agreement, suddenly saying, "Hey, do you think Master will tell Senior Brother Giyu about Eiichiro?" The little girl's eyes sparkled looking at Sabito, excitedly saying, "I really want to see his reaction when he finds out about Eiichiro."
Three daily sessions of "ten thousand basic swings"—that Eiichiro guy was completely inhuman.
Sabito knew what Makomo was thinking—nothing more than wanting to see Giyu lose his composure. But thinking of Giyu's cold personality, even if he knew, he'd probably maintain that icy demeanor, pretending to know nothing.
"He won't. At most he'll glance twice. Moreover," Sabito noticed Sakonji Urokodaki staring at the letter in a daze, saying quietly, "Master won't tell Giyu. The Demon Slayer Corps walks a knife's edge. One misstep could cost them their lives. Master doesn't want Giyu feeling pressured."
Indeed, Sakonji Urokodaki said nothing as usual, not replying. Just carefully placing the letter in the wooden box beside his pillow. Opening it slightly, one could vaguely see thick stacks already inside.
Cold wind howled, bringing flying snow. Closing the wooden box, Sakonji Urokodaki's back seemed to hunch more. He stood there quite a while before pushing open the door and walking out.
"Eiichiro, follow me."
Just past 4 PM, after completing his daily ten thousand practice swings, Roy felt unsatisfied, deciding to add two thousand more strikes. When he suddenly heard Urokodaki call him, he sheathed his sword and followed him through the dense forest to an open area.
Looking up, he saw over a dozen burial mounds of various sizes covered in thick snow. Urokodaki-sensei stood before them, lighting oil lamps at the shrine, his back to him as he prayed. "Winter is approaching. You should also pay your respects to those who trained here before you."
The deceased are gone, nothing but earth and memory now. Resting in eternal peace—wasn't this another kind of freedom? But watching the spirits of Sabito and Makomo silently standing behind Urokodaki, Roy fell silent for a long while before smiling.
"I won't."
The young man holding his training sword raised it, his expression carefree. "I prefer to celebrate their lives. When I've avenged them, I'll bring sake to pour at their graves. I believe they won't blame me."
A cold wind swirled. Over a dozen ghostly figures turned to look. Shinsuke and Fukuda felt their eyes begin to sting, tears streaming down their faces.
"Eiichiro, you..."
Who would blame you? Who would dare blame you?
Makomo's nose twitched, tugging at Sabito's sleeve. The young man beneath the fox mask gazed intently at Roy. His gaze traveled past them toward the sky. After a long silence amid the drifting snow, only the old man and his disciple faced each other, exchanging a silent nod.
"Then it's settled. Still have two thousand strikes left."
Roy raised his hand, shouldering the blade. Stepping through the snow under countless gazes, he returned to the deep forest.
Soon, one slash produced a four-meter-long flying slash, instantly cutting the wooden stake in two.
[Swordsmanship +30]
Today's ten thousand practice swings—complete.
He exhaled, his breath forming frost in the cold air. He returned to the cabin, ate dinner, and removed his shoes before climbing onto the warm bed. Along with Makomo, several more ghosts joined him in the room that night.
Roy saw this, a small smile crossing his face. He closed his eyes and slept soundly until dawn.
The familiar falling sensation came. One "young master" broke through his dreams, pulling him back to reality. Leaving the snow country without the grandfather clock's reminders, Roy drowsily opened his eyes. Gotoh had already prepared breakfast on the nearby table.
"This isn't like home—too few fresh ingredients available. Young master, please make do." Gotoh seemed very dissatisfied with Heaven's Arena's food. He didn't mind for himself, but when it came to the young master—when collecting breakfast this morning, he'd nearly slit the chef's throat.
"What time?"
"5:30 AM."
'I actually slept this long?' Roy frowned, getting up from bed. He put on his athletic wear and headed out for a run. Food could wait—it wouldn't go bad. It could always be reheated. In any case, his morning run was non-negotiable.
He took the elevator straight downstairs and circled around Heaven's Arena. From the floors above, several figures watched from their windows, their expressions varied as they tracked his movement.
In room 1981, a pale, hollow-eyed young man slept in a barrel. Gripping the edge, he suddenly opened his eyes.
Across the hall in room 1989, a young man with long gray-white hair that reached his waist stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down. His eyes blazed with fighting spirit.
200th floor—the Nen users' domain. Wing performed one-handed handstand pushups, attempting to condense Ren in his palm to push himself up. On the sofa beside him, Bisky comfortably enjoyed a massage.
In this still-sleeping city, some people were already busy. Roy didn't use Shadow Step; he just ran ten kilometers at a normal pace. After heading upstairs to eat breakfast, he received several challenge requests.
"Young master, we've just received news from the Arena. Kastro has sent you a challenge." Gotoh served Roy's meal while reviewing documents to report. "Besides him, there's 'Meat Grinder' Harrison, 'Divine Spear' Guy, and 'Ninja' Kikuta Tadashi—they're all waiting to challenge you."
"No Wing?"
"No."
"Then accept them all. Start with the ones who have the worst records."