Roy never considered himself a good man, let alone a saint. However, at the very least, he maintained a set of standards that defined his humanity.
He didn't care how Silva and Kikyo had met. He only knew that since he had promised his great-grandfather to be a light for others—even if only a flickering spark—he would remain steadfast in fulfilling that promise.
Even if it meant turning against the entire world.
Ring... ring... ring...
A sudden trill broke the silence between the father and son once more.
Tsubone pulled a phone from her pocket and glanced cautiously at Silva. "It's Hall."
Hall was the head of the Zoldyck family's direct intelligence agency and Tsubone's son. He rarely called unless it was significant, and if he did, it meant something big was happening.
"Answer it," Silva said.
Roy, mimicking Maha's habit, leaned back in his rocking chair and closed his eyes. Tsubone nodded imperceptibly and accepted the call. Her expression shifted slightly. "Master, Hall reports that the informant embedded in Meteor City says 'Poison Insect' Guzman is moving toward the Young Master's location."
"I see him." A faint whisper drifted through the air.
Roy remained still, enjoying the gentle touch of the mountain breeze on his face. Through his shared vision with Taiyi, he had already spotted the green-haired, freckled youth mentioned in the intelligence.
Meteor City, West District, 4th Street, The Pale Church.
Clap, clap...
A string of applause rang out.
From the corner of a table newly grown via Wood Style, a silhouette flickered into existence. The figure sat casually on the edge of the table, right beside Chrollo, Sarasa, Pakunoda, and Shalnark. Not far away, Uvogin and Nobunaga were still lying on the ground like corpses.
Guzman's fluffy, deep-green curls swayed in the wind. He fixed his feminine gaze on Roy, who sat behind the table, and smiled broadly. "Creation out of nothing... what a beautiful display of Conjuration. No wonder that idiot Bolton fell by your hand."
"I suppose you used this 'Wood Transformation' to shield yourself from his bombs, didn't you?"
Guzman tapped the table beneath him. It was solid. He acted as though he were an invited guest in his own home, peering curiously at Roy. Chrollo, still reeling from Roy's illusion of Uvogin's death, stared back in a daze, while Sarasa and the others watched with bated breath.
Pakunoda's reaction was the most visceral. The moment she saw that deep-green hair, she recognized him. Her pale fists clenched beneath the table, trembling with a hatred so thick it was almost tangible. Roy caught the shift in her emotions instantly.
Guzman raised his hands with a mischievous grin. "Now, now... don't look at me like that. We're all neighbors. Is it really too much to ask for a cup of tea?"
"So, you are aware that you're an uninvited guest?"
Slap!
A damp rag flew through the air, aimed straight for Guzman's head.
Kastro's silver hair danced as he moved with blurring speed, closing the distance to Roy in three steps. His Nen flared as he dropped into the stance of the Tiger Bite Fist, positioning himself firmly as Roy's shield.
The rag he had thrown was suddenly intercepted by a dark shadow emerging from behind Guzman, which dragged it into the darkness. Kastro's pupils shrank. He sensed an immediate, lethal danger.
"Young Master, he's a Nen user—and a dangerous one at that."
The brief skirmish ended as quickly as it had begun. The young Spiders, having already witnessed Roy's prowess and Kastro's martial skill, wisely kept their mouths shut. Even a brute like Uvogin could feel the tension in the air. He looked from Guzman to Roy, then instinctively toward Chrollo, but the boy remained silent, clutching his head in grief, still lost in the remnants of the illusion.
"Oh, come now, how can you call me uninvited?" Guzman scanned Kastro with a smile. "I'm clearly here to say hello. And..."
"I brought a gift." As if performing a magic trick, the boy produced a bag of candy from his coat and held it out. "Let's get acquainted. I'm Guzman."
"A drug dealer," Roy added flatly.
"Don't make it sound so ugly. I prefer to think of myself as a merchant of happiness!"
Guzman expanded his [En], shielding his mind from the parasitic heart-worms trying to burrow in. He muttered to himself, "I can accept Bolton and Elijah dying to you. Sending out a bug to eavesdrop on people's hearts without them noticing... hey."
The boy leaned forward, bringing his face close to Roy's. "Father, I don't think you're such a 'good' person either. Why don't we both stop pretending?"
"You're asking for death!"
"Kastro!"
Roy's soft command stopped Kastro in his tracks. Waving a hand to signal his subordinate to calm down, Roy offered a single, pious phrase.
"Praise the Sun."
As he spoke, twin suns ignited within Roy's eyes—the [Eye of Delusion Breaking], capable of piercing through any falsehood.
"It's just a doll," Roy said calmly. "There's no need to take him seriously. Even if you kill it, you're just wasting your Nen."
"Heh... the Father is a man of understanding. Great eyes!" Guzman clapped. Facing Roy's piercing gaze, his Nen surged. His body began to collapse and stiffen, transforming into a stuffed doll in the blink of an eye. Thread ends poked out of its moving mouth, and its glass-bead eyes stared intensely at Roy. It was eerie—as though it were still alive.
'Transmuter?' Kastro wondered. 'But what was that black shadow that swallowed the rag?'
Kastro was still operating on a basic understanding of Nen, unaware that the power was often illogical.
"The shadow is him, and the doll is him as well," Roy said, staring expressionlessly at the doll. "He uses drugs to manipulate others at will, extracting and forcibly seizing their Nen abilities. Third Elder, Guzman of the [Psychic Morphine], please leave."
"The drug trade and the Elders' meeting in ten days... I have no time for either."
[Psychic Morphine]: A Nen ability that uses "Candy" filled with "Morphine" as a stimulant to control others. It allows the user to delve into the target's soul and forcibly seize their mental energy and abilities.
In some ways, it was similar to the [Bandit's Secret] Chrollo would later awaken, but where one was "theft," the other was "rape" via drugs—far more brutal.
"Ah... I was just a step too slow. If I'd known you could read minds, I would have used [En] sooner."
The unexpected parasitic bug was too insidious; he had lost a large chunk of his secrets in an instant. Guzman, in his doll form, looked at Roy dangerously. "So, can I take that to mean you're rejecting me?"
"Drugs are not permitted on 4th Street. Not now, and not ever." Roy extended a finger toward the bag of candy. A spark of fire ignited, followed by a burst of boiling steam that engulfed the bag. In an instant, it was vaporized into nothingness.
"Good, good, good!" The doll clapped its hands.
Guzman's expression turned vicious, his smile dripping with malice. "I hope the Father can stay this 'tough' in the future!"
The presence withdrew. All that remained was a lifeless doll, which fell forward and hit the wooden table with a dull thud.
Silence reclaimed the Pale Church. Uvogin and Nobunaga exchanged bewildered glances. Shalnark and Sarasa were equally lost, having lost their leader's guidance.
Only Pakunoda, her emotions a turbulent mess, whispered with downcast eyes, "You shouldn't have rejected him." Her eyes were filled with suppressed pain. She took a deep breath. "He isn't human, and neither are we. You don't need to offend an Elder for things like us. You certainly don't need to..."
"Waste money to provide for trash like us."
Sarasa lowered her head. Shalnark nudged Chrollo but said nothing. Uvogin and Nobunaga looked as though this were simply the way of the world.
However, Roy had seen more through the parasitic worm he sent into Guzman's heart. He saw the people who approached Guzman willingly, begging for a single "candy," just for a taste. Among them was a girl with beautiful amber eyes—Pakunoda's close friend. She had been willing to be toyed with and humiliated just for the drug. In the end, as Guzman violated her, she had smiled while licking the sugar, dying "happily" as her body was pierced.
Just as he had felt when he saw "Little Mary" in the Dark Continent, Roy fell silent. It was a deafening silence.
Then, he drew his sword.
Faint light shimmered as Yukibashiri left its scabbard, a cold arc of steel reflecting in his grip. The young priest held his scripture in one hand and his blade in the other. He stood up and began to walk away without looking back.
"Kastro, come with me. We're going to kill someone."
"Yes!" Kastro shouted.
Master and servant strode out into the wind, Roy's shoulder-length black hair fluttering behind him. Under the watchful eyes of Pakunoda, Sarasa, Shalnark, Uvogin, Nobunaga, and a finally conscious Chrollo, they marched toward the North District—toward 1st Street, Guzman's territory.
Around the Pale Church, several figures peeked out from behind the trash heaps, their eyes flashing as they scrambled to report the news.
Only a few days after the deaths of Bolton and Elijah, the brief peace in Meteor City was being torn apart by a new undercurrent. Teams from the East, South, and West districts began to converge—some in black suits and ties, some in provocative, form-fitting outfits, and others, massive, tattooed thugs with bared chests.
They all flocked toward the border.
On 3rd Street, neighboring the 4th, Berus Raymond leaned against a bright floor-to-ceiling window. He watched Roy and Kastro head toward the North District and silently lit a cigar. He took a drag, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and turned to the veiled young woman beside him.
"Do you think people this stupid actually exist in this world?" he asked, frowning through his crow's feet. "I've thought about it for three days and nights, and I still don't understand why he came to Meteor City to preach."
Sister Lotus, wearing a wide-brimmed top hat, recalled the old bishop's words about "sunlight" in the church courtyard. She looked at Berus and said bluntly, "Aren't you a fool too?"
Running a recycling station and doing honest business in a place like Meteor City—only a man with a strange head would think of it. Everyone knew people here weren't "people." Honest business was never as fast as drug trafficking or human smuggling. This place was a cradle of sin, a paradise for criminals.
"I'm different." Berus ignored the sarcasm. His gaze followed the receding figure of the young priest. "This is my home. I was born here, and I grew up here. Naturally, I want it to be a bit better. But him?"
"This isn't his home. Why is he meddling?"
He had no motive. To Berus, all that talk of missionary work and charity was nonsense. In this world, no one acted without self-interest or profit. Unless... he truly was a fool. Or, as Dennis Lauren put it, one of those holy angels sent by the True Lord to save the world.
Sister Lotus fell silent. She didn't believe it either. As an Embalmer, she had come to Meteor City with the selfish intent of honing her [Nen Thread Sewing]... only this place provided bodies that were fresh, decadent, and tragic enough for her needs.
Just as she had once sewn the dismembered Sarasa back together in another life, her selfishness was plain to see.
"I don't know," Sister Lotus said, watching Roy disappear. "Maybe... he really is different."
Her figure swayed, appearing at the office door, then again at the ground floor. With a graceful, ethereal stride, she followed the path Roy had taken, ghosting through the mountains of trash toward the North District.
Left alone in the massive villa, Berus stared out at the empty street filled only with trash heaps and scavengers. He sank into a long silence amid the swirling smoke.
"It's impossible," he whispered firmly. "There is absolutely no way a person like that exists."
A moment later, he sent several men in black suits and armed with firearms to follow Sister Lotus.
Not long after they vanished into the waste, the sounds of heavy gunfire erupted from 1st Street in the North District.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Bullets poured down like a rainstorm.
The men climbed a high pile of rubble and poked their heads over the top to look. In front of a luxury villa twice the size of Berus's, two youths—one in black, one in white—were advancing calmly through the hail of lead.
The black-haired boy was the priest. The silver-haired one was his attendant.
Flash!
A brilliant, snow-white blade light flared, cutting through the air.