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Hunter x Hunter: The Sun Breathing Zoldyck - 118
🕑 Added 2025-11-19 16:03:21 +0000 UTCChapter 118: The Legendary Swordsman × Giyu Tomioka’s Challenge
Sakonji Urokodaki knew Hotaru Haganezuka was searching for a swordsman who could turn a Nichirin Blade red. He also knew it was not just Haganezuka. The entire Swordsmith Village was searching for that man.
Rumor said that in the pages of history, there had once been a legendary swordsman who could heat his blade scarlet. Because he had existed, the demons that ran rampant across the land had kept a lower profile.
But as the current Water Hashira, Giyu Tomioka knew more than Urokodaki. Much more.
He knew that the swordsman was none other than the founder of all Breathing Styles, the first user of Sun Breathing.
Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
Of all the Hashira, only two understood even a little of that existence: the Stone Hashira and the Wind Hashira.
Gyomei Himejima had once spoken his name at a Hashira meeting. He had passed on what his own master, the former Stone Hashira, told him:
“Yoriichi Tsugikuni was born with the Transparent World and the Mark. He nearly killed Muzan Kibutsuji alone, drove him into a true corner, cut him into many pieces, and still the demon barely escaped with his life.”
“You will know him by the red blade and the hanafuda earrings.”
Now, looking at Eiichiro, Giyu saw the sun and mountains worked into the boy’s earrings. They overlapped, faintly, with the hanafuda earrings that Gyomei had described.
The bowl hit the bed and broke clean in two. Fish porridge spread, splattering his haori.
The little cabin went silent in an instant.
Every gaze was fixed on Giyu. He looked at Roy with a grave expression. “Eiichiro. Will you show me?”
Master’s letter to the Master of the Corps had been too light on detail. Giyu was not blaming Urokodaki, but something this important should never have been glossed over. It should have been reported in full.
“Maybe Master did not realize how important it was,” he added inwardly on Urokodaki’s behalf.
Roy smiled. “If Senior wants to see, there is no reason not to.”
Shinsuke brightened. “I will go get your blade.”
He began to swirl into the wind to fetch the short sword from the wall when:
“No need to trouble yourself, Senior,” Roy said, not even turning. He reached one hand back. Magnetism: Attraction.
The blade shivered, slipped off its mount, and passed straight through Shinsuke’s ghostly body. As if it had grown wings, it flew into Roy’s waiting palm.
“Whoa,” Shinsuke yelped. “What is that technique?”
The blade might as well have had a mind of its own, moving perfectly in time with Roy’s will. “Eiichiro always finds ways to do things no one imagines,” he muttered.
Makomo’s mouth fell slightly open. It was like seeing him for the first time. She studied him up and down.
Sabito and Giyu traded a look, and both turned toward Urokodaki.
The old Water Hashira had over fifty years in the sword. He had seen much, but never this. He always taught his pupils that a swordsman’s blade was his life. When the sword endured, so did its wielder. When the blade broke, the swordsman died. Never—not once—had he seen a blade “live” and move of its own accord.
He stared hard at Roy, then fell silent.
A cool wind slid in around the edges of the paper screen, rattling it and bringing the chill of early spring.
Roy kept his expression steady and pretended not to notice. He drew the blade in a smooth motion and clad it in a layer of scorching Nen.
Red specks bloomed along the steel. Under Giyu’s trembling gaze, those points swelled and spread, in a breath covering the entire length of the sword. Even from two meters away, the heat hit like a wave.
“A red blade,” Giyu whispered.
There was no mistaking it.
Paired with the hanafuda-like earrings…
Giyu stared deep into the boy’s face.
Roy’s smile was faint. “Is that enough, Senior?”
“If I hold it any longer, I am afraid the others will not endure.”
A red blade was a weapon made to kill demons. For man-eating demons, or for lingering spirits like Sabito and Makomo, just seeing it was pain. Taking a strike from it would be worse.
And this was with Roy having wrapped everyone in Nen beforehand, using the heated bed as a conduit to coat them in a thin protective layer.
“It is enough.” Giyu drew a long breath and glanced around, taking in how everyone else looked.
When Roy let the heat fade and slid the blade back into its scabbard, they all relaxed at once.
“Let us eat,” Urokodaki said.
“Yes, let us eat,” voices answered.
“Senior Giyu has not had Master’s cooking in so long,” Makomo said, grinning. “You must eat a lot this time. I will just watch.”
“I will serve him,” someone offered.
“No need. I can do it myself,” Giyu said.
He turned and saw the mess under his seat. Hastily, he wiped it up, then filled himself a bowl of fish porridge and ate it with pickled radish.
After the meal, he insisted on washing the dishes and tidying the kitchen. Roy did not argue. It was rare for Giyu to come home. If he wanted to play the dutiful disciple, no one would rob him of that.
Urokodaki watched with eyes crinkled, kneeling by the kotatsu to brew tea for both of them.
Makomo stayed at his side, poking Sabito and whispering, “Hey. Have you noticed? Since Eiichiro arrived, Master smiles a lot more.”
“Before, he was always alone. Either carving or just sitting and staring. Days would pass without him saying a word. It was painful to watch.”
“That is a bad thing?” Sabito asked quietly.
“It is good,” Makomo said. She glanced at Urokodaki, then at Giyu working in the kitchen, and finally stole a look at Roy. “It is just so good it does not feel real.”
Sabito said nothing.
People are perverse. When things are bad, they cannot stand it. When things are finally good, they start doubting it.
He pulled a breath into his chest and tucked this brief warmth away in his heart. “Treasure it,” he said. “Now that Giyu is here, Eiichiro will be leaving soon.”
“It has not even been a year,” Makomo murmured.
“For a genius, what difference is there between one year or two?” Sabito replied. He could understand what she felt. He looked at Giyu, then at Eiichiro again.
“They will not waste a single day.”
Makomo’s expression dimmed. She lowered her head. She understood the logic, but that did not make the ache in her chest any less real. If anything, it only grew stronger with time.
In the kitchen, Giyu finished cleaning and stepped back into the room.
Just then, Urokodaki finished the tea. He handed one cup to Giyu and one to Roy.
The old man studied his two disciples. “Speak plainly, Giyu.”
New Year’s, the letter had said, he could not return. The moment the festival was over, he had run back as fast as he could. It did not take much to guess that the reason was Urokodaki’s letter to the Master of the Corps.
Call it age or the way he knew Giyu’s heart. Either way, the old master’s guess had landed true.
Giyu set down his cup. “By the Master’s order, I have come for Eiichiro.”
“The Master has heard of Eiichiro’s talent and very much hopes he will join the Demon Slayer Corps.”
“Eiichiro,” Giyu said, resting a hand on his Nichirin Blade and looking straight at Roy. “Please fight me.”
As expected, Shinsuke and Fukuda traded a look, eyes lighting up.
Sabito and Makomo had already foreseen this. They raised their heads toward the two, and beside them, Urokodaki watched in silence, gaze resting calmly on both master and junior.
