It really was true: there's no such thing as "worn-out land," only "worked-to-death oxen."
Ever since Kikyo got pregnant, terrified that intimacy might disturb the baby, Silva had enjoyed a rare stretch of peace.
The afternoon sun was perfect.
In the west-side study on the second floor—his private room.
The man had copied Maha and bought a rocking chair, setting it by the floor-to-ceiling window. Hands folded over his lower abdomen, he sat quietly basking in the light. At some point, he heard faint footsteps in the corridor, followed by the door opening.
Without turning his head, Silva said, "Back then, your great-grandfather also told me to punch him."
Roy pushed the door open. "Dad—did you?"
"Yeah," Silva replied.
"And I got my ass kicked."
The rocker creaked softly. Silva's silver hair spilled like mercury over the carpet. He opened his eyes and stared into the bright sun outside, where swallows sliced through the light with a sharp chi—.
With a trace of nostalgia, he said, "He told me the moment I threw that punch, my ceiling was set. That I'd never become anything special—my whole life I'd just be… a thug."
Kill for money. Don't kill if the money's not enough. The Zoldycks had their own philosophy of murder, and Silva was the sharpest blade of it. Roy had grown up on those stories—he knew exactly how terrifying his father and grandfather were.
And yet… this man—who built the world's number one assassin family, who stood at the peak of strength, who could even trade blows with Neferpitou, Youpi, Pouf, even the King—
had been casually labeled "a thug" by Maha.
Roy shut the door behind him. For a moment, he didn't know what to say.
"At first I refused to accept it," Silva continued, back still to Roy. "I killed one after another, just to prove myself."
"But in the end, I still couldn't stop a single punch your great-grandfather threw like it meant nothing."
Silva plucked a green leaf drifting in through the window and traced its veins with his fingers, voice low and steady.
"I didn't understand why."
"Until… I asked your grandpa Jeg in the game."
Silva's hand tightened. Nen-light flared—and the leaf crumbled into ash. He opened his fingers and let it drift out toward the forest.
Then he stood, turning into the sunlight, and faced Roy with an expression so serious it felt like a verdict.
"He said: no matter how strong an individual is, how can they be the match of an organization? Of a nation?"
"That's when I understood."
"From the day your great-grandfather stepped onto the road of faith… from the day Jeg did…"
"They stopped being… alone."
Footsteps sounded.
Silva's tall body moved forward and swallowed the daylight, blocking the window's glow as he stopped directly in front of Roy.
He looked down at his son as if seeing him for the first time.
"The road of faith—taking other people's Nen—was always going to be brutal and twisted."
"Son… have you really prepared yourself?"
Roy chuckled. "Great-grandfather asked me. Now you're asking me. Next time will it be Grandpa?"
Then he lifted his chin and met Silva's imposing eyes without flinching.
"Yes, Dad."
"I'm going to walk it."
"Not only that—" Roy smiled brightly, almost boyish. "I'm hoping I can actually do something with it."
"Like…"
"Kill a god."
"Take its place."
"And let it get a small taste of what sunlight feels like."
A breeze lifted the curtain; a playful beam slipped around Silva's frame and landed on Roy.
Silva stared at him for a long time. Roy had grown absurdly fast—already nearly up to his nose. Soon he'd surpass him.
Finally, Silva let out a low, throttled laugh.
"I'm genuinely looking forward to that day."
"But before that—"
Silva's aura exploded.
A violent Ren roared out, twisting into dragon-shaped torrents of Nen that swallowed Roy whole. Roy's black hair snapped back in the pressure. Silva stepped in, the force bearing down like the sea.
"Pass my test first."
Roy didn't budge. Both feet nailed to the floor like roots, he released his own Ren to meet Silva's head-on, smiling.
"One year."
Silva's gaze sharpened, dangerous. He took another step—his aura swelled, a crushing tide.
"One year?" he repeated.
"Too long?" Roy asked lightly, then shrugged. "Dad, you know me. I'm always racing the clock."
"So…"
"One year."
Silva's eyes turned cold.
"Grow a little and you start floating."
"No one ever tell you you're… arrogant?"
The room screamed with pressure—Ren against Ren—like steel scraping steel.
Roy smiled and stepped forward too, forcing his way into Silva's space.
"Above heaven and below, I alone am supreme."
"Dad—arrogance is the sun's true nature."
A scorching red flare erupted from Roy.
The air ignited. Heat waves surged, boiling, snarling into a steam dragon that lunged for Silva's face.
For a heartbeat, Silva caught a familiar scent—like Maha's punch long ago, packed with the weight of countless lives.
And within the steam dragon's body… he saw faces.
Some he knew—Gotoh, Kastro.
Some he didn't—Gyomei and the nine Hashira, Uchiha Setsuna and the Uchiha, Vanessa and the naga, Old Koller and the dogman… endless, overlapping.
Silva's eyes flashed.
He raised a fist and drove it straight through the dragon.
Roy felt it in the instant—the concept behind Silva's "vision."
Force.
Raw force. Force that never bends. Force that refuses to yield. Cold, brutal, unreasoning—exactly like Silva himself. A philosophy aimed at the peak of personal violence.
Silva's punch—just a punch wrapped in Ken—pierced the steam, smashed into Roy's chest, shattered the Ko guarding his heart…
…and sent him flying.
BANG!
Roy blew through the door, through walls, and crashed into a storage room deep inside the castle.
Cracks spiderwebbed around a perfect human-shaped crater.
Second floor: chaos.
Silva held his punching stance without retracting, gaze flat.
Then he said calmly, "Stop acting."
A sound like a water mirror shattering.
A quiet laugh rose from behind him.
The genjutsu collapsed.
Silva snapped around.
Roy's eyes were blood-red, three black tomoe turning slowly.
The steam dragon, the punch, the impact—gone like foam on a wave.
They were still in the study.
The door and walls were intact.
And Roy… was sprawled by the window, lounging next to the rocking chair like he'd been there the whole time, lazy as a cat in sunlight.
"This chair is amazing," Roy said cheerfully. "No wonder you and Great-grandpa love it. I'll tell Gotoh to get me one too."
Silva's mouth twitched—barely—then he returned to his usual stone-faced expression. He walked over and stood beside Roy, both of them looking out over the garden where Milluki was training with Luke.
"Good genjutsu," Silva said.
Roy sighed. "Still couldn't fool you."
Silva glanced down at him. "Arrogant."
Roy leaned back with his hands behind his head. "Dad, honestly? I've wanted to beat you up for ages."
Silva's smile turned sharp—almost feral.
"Same."
Roy blinked. "Since when?"
"Since you started dragging me into dreams and playing with my head."
Roy: "..."
"Sorry," Roy said, then grinned. "Next time… I'll make you dream and never realize it's a dream."
Silva nodded once, eyes hard.
"One year."
"One year from now… pray I don't beat you to death."
Their low laughter echoed through the bright afternoon, father and son locking eyes—sparks crackling in the air.
Just then, the door opened again.
Tsubone came in holding a file. Her pink pigtails swayed as she looked from Roy to Silva—one lying down like the father, one standing like the son. For a moment, it almost felt… reversed.
"Master, the intel you requested," she said, adjusting her glasses and bowing to Silva.
Silva rumbled, "Let him read it."
"Yes."
Tsubone handed the file to Roy.
"Master Roy. This is the latest on Meteor City."
Roy took it, read a few pages… and his brow tightened.
Meteor City—at this point in time—wasn't the place he thought he knew.
In canon, it was a black zone once controlled by the Elders, later taken by the Phantom Troupe. The strongest threats were roughly "mature spiders" and a squad-leader level Chimera Ant like Zazan.
But here—
The Elders' Council wasn't just dangerous. Some of them had backing so deep Roy could practically see the shadows of V5 and Kakin behind them.
Roy's face darkened. He realized, fully, that Meteor City was far deeper water than he'd assumed.
Worse—
As he skimmed certain profiles, he caught traces that resembled Morena's "Contagion" style of Nen—propagating, sermon-like, almost faith-shaped abilities.
Roy looked up at Silva.
Before Roy could speak, Tsubone continued, voice steady.
"The eldest master recently ordered the master to investigate several people. They share one trait: all are propagation-type Nen users."
"Some spread through drugs—like Guzman, who sells 'Candy.' It looks like a stimulant that briefly awakens human potential, but in essence it's life overdraft. He harvests the users."
Roy's eyes landed on Guzman's photo: dark green hair, a youthful face, soft build, freckles—harmless… until you read what he really was.
(Meteor City Elder Council: Third Elder. Suspected ties to the United States of Saherta. Responsible for testing drugs for certain pharmaceutical companies.)
Tsubone flipped to the next page.
"Fifth Elder Selina—alias 'Whip of Lust.' Nen ability: Thorn Dopamine. Likely tied to flesh trafficking. Several days ago she was seen involved with the chief aide of Begerossé Union's Minister of General Affairs…"
She continued:
A "human collector" backed by Kukan'yu Kingdom.
A "parasite" backed by Federation of Ochima.
A "blood diamond" backed by Mimbo Republic.
And not long ago, Bolton—backed by Kakin Empire.
Tsubone's list went on, down to groups as small as "Ten Dons."
Then she stopped.
The room went quiet—just Roy, his father, and the file in his hands.
Roy lifted his eyes. The words he'd asked Maha came back to him.
Do you believe in light?
He exhaled.
"…This is going to be hard, Dad."
Silva met his gaze, calm and heavy.
"Roy."
"Meteor City's people don't belong to themselves."
"And that includes… your mother."
Roy's mind flickered—Kikyo, Meteor City, the things she never spoke about. If he hadn't known canon, he might've lived his whole life without ever realizing.
He swallowed.
Then he admitted, plain and honest:
"It's hard."
To face V5 plus Kakin meant facing the world's "evil" head-on.
A place called the "world's dumpster" really wasn't a land of clean soil.
Silva's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So… you're scared?"
Roy's lips curved, sharp as a blade.
"Of course I'm scared."
"I'm terrified I won't be able to kill them all."
~~~
Patreon(.)com/Bleam
— Currently You can Read 50 Chapters Ahead of Others!