The summer in the Republic of Padokea was hotter than usual.
Before five in the morning, a thread of light had already climbed up from the line where sky met earth.
Taking advantage of the brief window before the heat fully rose, Roy got up early, threw on a vest and shorts, and started his morning run around all of Kukuroo Mountain.
From the family castle deep in the mountains, down to the butler's villa halfway up, then to the security post at the foot, and finally back the way he came. Close to ten kilometers in total. By the time he returned he looked like he had just been hauled out of water, drenched in sweat from head to toe, yet oddly refreshed.
Science says running stimulates the body to secrete endorphins, bringing a certain buzz and pleasure. But after a brief bout of panting, Roy didn't feel the joy he'd imagined. Instead his brows knit, mood a little sour.
The reason was simple. As the eldest son of the world's foremost assassin clan—the Zoldyck family, whose name alone could make people tremble—and a transmigrator whose previous life was on Earth, he had recently found his physical gains slowing down.
Yes, training has plateaus. Early on, whether bulking or cutting, results come fastest, then decline and stabilize at a set level.
But that applies to adults. It shouldn't apply to a child like Roy, only eight years old and still in a rapid growth phase.
Besides, he was a Zoldyck. His body was naturally superior to others.
Only the black hair spoiled the picture. He hadn't perfectly inherited the family's silver-haired bloodline trait...
Even so, following the principle of "slow is fast, fast is slow," Roy adjusted his mindset well. No anxiety. No discouragement. Back in his bedroom, he took a quick shower.
When he emerged he had changed into a clean training outfit and sat at the dining table.
It was six o'clock. As the old wooden pendulum clock in the corner chimed, the butler Wutong arrived right on time, pushing a cart and laying out a hearty breakfast before him.
Cream of mushroom soup. Bacon sandwiches. A fresh salad made with wild greens dug up on Kukuroo Mountain, tossed with eggs and a drizzle of rice vinegar. A glass of milk to finish. Absolutely balanced nutrition, if a bit bland...
Roy picked up a sandwich, dipped a corner into the soup, and took a bite. While listening to Wutong report today's training plan, he quietly opened his status panel and read carefully.
[Name: Roy Zoldyck]
[Bone Age: Seven years and eleven months]
[Physique: 10 → 10.001 (Note: Average human = 1)]
[Nen: Nodes unopened. Urgently awaits development]
[Combat Experience: lv2 (15/100)]
[Applied Techniques——Dark Step: Proficient (78/100); Limb Bend: Proficient (64/100); Serpentine Life: Entry (83/100) (Note: Applied Techniques proficiency tiers: Entry, Proficient, Mastery, Perfect)]
[Title: A novice not yet initiated, a "tender sprout" highly prone to early death]
Tender sprout, huh?
They really didn't care about saving face... Roy chomped hard on the sandwich to vent his irritation.
Right then Wutong cleared his throat softly and reminded in a low voice, "Young master, madam hasn't been in a good mood lately. You'd best be careful."
Madam meant Kikyo, Roy's mother. Three pregnancies in a row, all black-haired, not a single silver head. In a normal family hoping for a son, that would be like having three daughters in a row with "no one carrying a blade." A "serious offense."
So her anxiety and irritability were understandable.
Fortunately, the next child, Killua, would not disappoint her.
"Milluki's a good kid. Aside from being a bit fat, a bit ugly, small eyes, and a lot of gas, nothing wrong with him... Mother dislikes him, but I don't mind," Roy said casually after polishing off the sandwich and taking a sip of milk.
Wutong: "...."
He fell briefly silent, unsure whether the young master was praising Master Milluki or roasting him on purpose. Remembering that the young master had never much liked Master Illumi either—too cold, eyes empty like a ghost—Wutong decided to pretend he'd heard nothing.
He shifted to another matter: "Young master, the master has decided to open your Nen."
The young butler had not yet grown a full beard. He pushed up the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose and said solemnly, "The time is set for eight o'clock tonight. He will be waiting for you in the training room."
Roy's expression paused, then returned to normal. He pulled out a napkin and wiped his mouth, looking calm, though his heart inevitably rippled...
The bad news: after these years of observation, from Silva to Zeno, the Zoldycks had realized he was merely a normal genius. Open Nen early, and he might be trained into a qualified assassin. As for inheriting the family? That was his own wishful thinking...
The good news: if his Nen was opened and he awakened as an Enhancer, it might compensate for his "frail" physique.
In any case, the decision had been made.
At eight tonight, whether Roy wanted it or not, he would have to take his first step into the world of Nen!
And this step was the one he had most looked forward to in the nearly eight years since his rebirth into the Zoldycks.
A glint of ambition flashed deep in the boy's pupils. He quickly finished breakfast.
Under Silva's orders, there was, unusually, no training that day. He spent it meditating and regulating his breath, tuning his state to the best. He waited until night fell and the moon rose into the sky.
He stood, and by the wavering wall lamps, left his bedroom. Down a long, quiet corridor he walked to the training room.
"Knock, knock, knock..."
The door sounded.
"Enter."
A powerful voice came from within.
The door swung inward, revealing a corner of the room.
A tall man faced away from the door, legs spread in a side split, resting on two heavy stone pedestals. A waterfall of silver hair poured down his back. The aura he emitted without trying was so strong it pressed the air from your lungs.
Silva Zoldyck. A top-class assassin. He once killed No. 8 of the A-rank criminal group—the Phantom Troupe—and walked away intact. In the Chimera Ant incident, he descended from the sky and felled the squadron-leader-class cheetah with a single punch. Every time they met, Roy could directly feel that crushing pressure and suffocating sense of danger from his father.
This had nothing to do with father and son. It was more like a higher-dimensional lifeform's natural suppression of a lower-dimensional one.
Roy steadied himself, drew a deep breath, and said, "Father."
"Bang~" The door slammed shut.
Silva turned, gaze sharp as a blade. "Come here."
Roy stepped forward without a word.
He immediately met a fan-sized palm, light and casual yet fast as lightning, landing square on his chest!
"Crack!"
The gale raised by intensely condensed Ren punched straight through Roy's body, then—without slowing—smashed into the wall behind him.
Before his eyes, the thick wall spider-webbed with cracks.
At the same instant, a certain shackle inside Roy snapped apart!