Illumi gripped the wooden nail tightly in his palm and pressed it to his chest, right over his heart. Those hollow, lifeless eyes of his—rarely expressive—finally rippled with emotion: surprise, joy, excitement. He watched Roy disappear down the stone steps and into the forest before he noticed something else.
This wasn't an ordinary wooden nail.
It was a Nen tool—one engraved with a [Divine Script]. And it still held a trace of Roy's warmth. Illumi cradled it and rubbed it against his cheek, murmuring under his breath, "Godspear… Godspear…"
"So Nii-san wants me to be the gun in his hand?" Illumi lowered his head. His straight black hair, long enough to reach his waist, swayed in the wind. Then he inhaled sharply, vanished in a blur, and chased after him.
Tap… tap… footsteps echoed.
Past the front gate, deeper inside was the mountain path. Roy and Gotoh climbed at an unhurried pace. From a distance, they spotted someone guarding the mountain—golden hair tied into a neat ponytail, one hand holding a staff, posture rigid as a statue. Only when she saw Roy did her beautiful eyes—half-hidden beneath scarlet irises—show the slightest change.
From ten meters away, Kuragin lifted the hem of her skirt and bowed respectfully.
"Welcome home, Young Master."
Sometime during all this, the traditional Kurta-style dress she always wore had quietly been replaced with a tailcoat.
"Once you enter the Zoldycks, you forget your past," Gotoh's warning from her first day still rang clear in her mind. "The young master is merciful—he allows you to contact your family and keep your original identity. That means you owe him even more."
Kuragin had finally made it—just the day before, she'd pushed open the first two Trial Gates and officially joined the Zoldyck butler corps. Now she'd been entrusted with mountain duty. That wasn't unrelated to Roy's influence.
"Mm." Roy walked over and helped her up. He'd heard she'd been training brutally hard. Her skin, once pale and rosy, was visibly darker from sun and sweat. He smiled at her.
"When you're out in the world, don't make the family worry."
"If you miss home, tell Gotoh—have him adjust your shifts."
"I'll give you a week off. Go back and visit."
Home… Kuragin thought of her little brother, her parents, her clan elders. She was still a young girl, after all. Her eyes reddened before she could stop it. She sniffed hard, lowered her gaze so Roy wouldn't see her embarrassment, and said loudly, voice trembling without her noticing:
"Report, Young Master—this is my home!"
Stubborn to the bone.
Innocent people aren't guilty—having something precious is the crime. The Kurta, one of the "World's Seven Beautiful Colors," were like a child carrying gold through a crowded market. They would never escape being coveted—until the day the entire clan was wiped out.
Roy could feel Kuragin's resolve. If she could be reborn, she'd rather never have the Scarlet Eyes at all. He simply patted her shoulder twice, said nothing more, and walked past her.
Gotoh followed quietly behind Roy. As he passed Kuragin, he glanced at her once and left her with a low, even line:
"The young master told you to go home—so go. With him around, no one will blame you for it."
"And no one's going to take your spot."
Kuragin's body shuddered. She bowed her head even lower.
"Yes!"
When she looked up again, the master and butler were already gone.
Spring slid into early summer in barely a month.
They'd only been away a few days, yet it felt like a dream that had lasted far longer.
A mountain breeze rolled through, fresh and earthy. Roy walked ahead, Gotoh just behind. Through the scattered sunlight filtering past leaves, the silhouette of the castle appeared.
Roy said suddenly, "We can open Nen for her."
Gotoh nodded. "Should we teach her the Breathing Style too?"
Roy stopped dead and looked back, half-amused. "You're not worried she'll get stronger and take your place?"
Gotoh smiled, calm and frank. "I don't care about that. I just want more people around you—stronger people."
His beard had grown in. He'd gone out, and it was like he'd grown up with it—older, steadier, more confident. He adjusted his glasses.
"Besides, if people can surpass me that easily, then it proves I don't deserve to be your personal chief butler."
Roy blinked, then burst out laughing. The laughter carried a faint edge of Nen and startled a flock of birds into the air.
Gotoh scratched his cheek and laughed too.
Master and butler continued, side by side, their shadows weaving together. Nearing home—nervous, happy, both at once—they climbed the last steps and reached the summit, where the castle's shadow fell over them.
"Back already."
It was Roy's father, walking in the garden with Kikyo, who was close to giving birth.
Late-pregnancy walks helped the baby settle, triggered contractions, eased anxiety, built stamina—prep for labor.
Kikyo's belly was visibly high now. The Lolita-style puff dress she loved had long been replaced by loose maternity clothes. She leaned carefully on Silva, and through the fabric you could practically hear it—strong, steady heartbeats.
Thump… thump… a declaration to the world: he's coming.
"Father / Sir."
Roy and Gotoh greeted them.
Roy straightened and smiled softly. "Looks like he'll be a healthy little brother."
Kikyo lifted her chin proudly. "Of course he will. And this one will definitely be silver-haired."
Silva wrapped an arm around her waist. His hand rested on her belly. He looked at Roy, serious.
"Don't go out again for a while. She's due any day now."
"You're the eldest. You should be here."
"Of course," Roy replied.
Behind them, Illumi drifted closer in silence.
Down on the first floor, in that dim little room, Great-grandfather rocked in his chair, listening to cartoons. Behind him, Grandfather Zeno, silver hair blazing, kneaded his shoulders. And somewhere nearby, Milluki—still unconscious from getting electrocuted—was… well, present.
Family meant nobody was missing. Not one.
Roy nodded, but for some reason, his mind flashed to another face—Alluka and Nanika, constantly shifting—and then to that "King's skeleton," the one that had gently stroked the massive Tapir corpse.
"Ah… even you failed in the end?"
The skeleton's sigh—distant as time itself—still echoed in his ears.
Silva noticed the change in Roy's expression. He kept walking, continuing the garden loop with Kikyo. But as he turned away, he spoke without looking back, voice low and heavy:
"When you've seen your grandfather and great-grandfather, come to my study."
Roy was quiet for a beat. Then: "Yes."
He stepped forward—and in the next instant, he reappeared in the castle corridor, moving at an even, unhurried pace. A "robe" woven from sunlight draped him like a halo as he headed toward the little room.
"Dad used the name you picked," Illumi said behind him, catching up with Silent Gait, hands in his pockets. "He's calling him Killua."
Tap… tap… footsteps rose and fell in rhythm.
Illumi walked beside him, expressionless. "Father really values your opinion."
Roy gave a soft grunt. "Mm."
Illumi turned his head to look at him. "He loves you."
"I know."
"I do too."
"I know that too."
"You don't," Illumi said flatly.
Roy stopped and looked at him. "Illumi. I'm not happy."
Illumi stopped as well, frowning. "Why?"
"Because…" Roy reached out and pulled Illumi's head into his palm, gripping him like he always did. "My stupid little brother—you need to learn how to love yourself first."
En spread. A heart-bug slid along the bloodline link and sank into Illumi's heart, and in a blink he saw a fragment of the future—his own future from the original story: Illumi obsessed with Killua to the point of distortion, even threatening him with Nanika, even longing to die by Killua's hand. Twisted. Nearly mad. And yet he'd ignored one simple truth:
"I—Father—Mother—Grandfather—Great-grandfather… everyone you claim to protect… none of us can bear your death either."
"Do you understand?"
Illumi's lips parted. "I…"
"Shh." Roy raised one finger for silence.
While Illumi stood frozen, his hollow gaze losing focus, Roy rubbed his hair once, then tapped his forehead and planted a Wind Breathing in him before turning away.
Outside, a fresh gust of wind slammed through the windows and knocked Illumi flat on the corridor floor.
He lay there spread-eagle, tasting Wind Breathing, thinking—so dizzy he couldn't recover for a long time.
Ahead, around the corner…
was the dim little room.
Inside, the dried-up old man was enjoying a scalp massage, eyes closed, making a satisfied sound. In those half-lidded eyes, it was like he'd already seen everything.
He gave a rasping laugh. "Zeno, you see that? He's stronger than you."
Zeno scowled, increased the pressure of his fingers, and shot back, "I'm the only son. I didn't even have a little brother to spoil."
Zoldycks had been three generations of single heirs—until Silva finally broke the pattern. Still…
Maha shot him a sideways look. "With that mouth of yours, you'll never compare to Roy."
Zeno: "..."
He shut up.
Compare people and someone dies; compare goods and something gets thrown away.
"Don't complain," Maha added, as if he'd suddenly remembered. "Even your grandmother said so—right to my face."
Zeno blinked. "My grandma?"
Maha's dry frame somehow sagged further with loneliness. "She said Roy's the most like me. Just like your father too—none of you are the type that lets people rest easy."
Zeno's eyes flickered. Then he nodded. "She's right."
"I'd like to meet her, if I could."
Maha snorted. "You?" He almost laughed. "That depends on your grandson. Whether he feels like taking you."
A man who could stitch dreams together like that—there was only one in the Zoldycks.
The wind hissed at the window. Warm sunlight poured across the corridor. Zeno's brows rose. Roy's footsteps drew closer.
Nine in the morning.
The last of the dawn haze cleared. The sun climbed higher.
Outside the window, Roy appeared, leaned in, and smiled warmly.
"Great-grandfather. Grandfather. I'm back."
Maha sat up, chair no longer rocking. He shoved Zeno aside with one hand and beckoned Roy over.
"Come on, good boy. Give your great-grandfather a back rub."
Zeno's eyes widened—so his shoulder massage meant nothing after all?!
Roy hadn't even started rubbing before Zeno stood, shadow-melding instantly.
But Roy caught the edge of his robe this time—his presence, finally visible. Roy blinked in surprise.
"Grandpa seems like he's got resentment."
"Don't mind him," Maha huffed. "If he's resentful, I'll send him to see your great-grandma."
"She's lonely. She'd love company."
From somewhere outside the room came a faint cough—someone with silver hair, moving too fast, as if he'd been caught. In the next second, the presence vanished again.
Roy stayed with Maha, kneading his back. He couldn't help thinking of the dream cemetery, that endless forest of gravestones—his great-grandmother's among them. His mood grew heavy.
Maha closed his eyes and didn't speak.
For a while, they simply shared the sunlight—rare, simple, warm.
Then Maha said, "Kid, your idea to lay groundwork in Meteor City was right."
He tapped the armrest twice. "That place is a breeding ground for evil. It's also the perfect place to spread faith—spread revolution."
The more chaos, the more people crave order. The more oppression, the more they resist.
Roy's hands kept working. "I didn't think that far ahead. I just wanted a few followers. But I didn't expect…"
"The darkness there… the filth… it's worse than I imagined."
Human trafficking. Killing for fun. Cutting people up and selling them. Selling them and cutting more.
And that was just one street, one corner.
How much sin was buried elsewhere in Meteor City?
How many monsters like Bolton and Ilia were living there, treating human life like trash?
Maha chuckled. "Hah. You've barely seen anything."
Roy didn't argue. If he counted what he'd witnessed in Demon Slayer, in Naruto's battlefield…
He said quietly, "Great-grandfather. I have seen some things."
Maha's smile widened. "Oh?" He stood, facing Roy, hands behind his back.
"So let your great-grandfather broaden his horizons too?"
~~~
Patreon(.)com/Bleam
— Currently You can Read 50 Chapters Ahead of Others!