The boy's friend couldn't stand it and tried to break it up—only to catch a fist from the man, who cursed, "What 'strongest human,' my ass! Try luring my son away again and I'll tear down your Hunter Association!"
Luckily the boy's friend had moves—he slipped the punch and, helpless, fled in a hurry…
Years passed; the boy grew to a man, and the man—visibly older—led the man's child to water the willow just as he'd once taught the boy. Only this time…
a butler came rushing with a report: while on a mission, the boy had deserted to the Dark Continent.
The man stood in silence for a long moment, then sighed heavily…
He'd known from the start: when someone grows too large for the world to contain, he'll eventually jump out of it and cross into that forbidden land. As he himself had done—setting out full of confidence and returning battered and scarred…
"Father, I don't regret it." The boy's wounds were worse than anyone guessed. He left his life on the Dark Continent and brought home a dragon, taboos, and a curse…
Many more years later—so many the man began to forget—he didn't know when his hair had thinned. At dusk he'd often watch the boy's grandson bring the boy's son to water the willow, lost in thought…
Pop— The scene shattered like glass, splintering into tiny shards.
Roy jerked awake, head drooping, fingers pinching a willow twig in front of his eyes, hollow with longing.
"Are you telling me… you're family, too?"
The willow swayed, blocking a shaft of harsh sun. Roy caught a thread of understanding and murmured:
"Right—witnesses to history aren't always people. They can be a tree. A stubborn stone. A long river. A wide sea…"
"Humans are already part of nature, born from it—what's this talk of 'merging with nature'?
"It's just empathy…"
Bzzmmm… The aura that normally bled off his skin suddenly felt an order—pressed by nature back into Roy's body.
He shut all his aura nodes and examined himself; aided by aura, his five senses sharpened…
He cocked an ear and heard crickets hiding in the grass…
He flared his nostrils and caught the faint coffee scent lingering on his clothes…
He saw farther, felt deeper—and at some moment, instinct tugged his gaze to the second floor—
A tall man leaned at the bedroom's floor-to-ceiling window, arms folded, looking down at him from above…
"Father." Roy's smile came unbidden. He remembered the image from moments ago—Zeno holding little Silva at the willow to teach him to pee—and the pressure in his chest lifted…
Ten days—and he's already grasped Zetsu. The elder son shines brighter than the master expected. Tsubone, attending Silva, delivered the report. She'd also noticed Roy in the garden—he'd "vanished" before her eyes, no aura leaking at all, clearly in the state of "merging with nature."
"Congratulations, sir," she said with a bow.
The Zoldycks' "mediocre" eldest son, since opening his nodes, was finally cashing the talent he ought to have. Imagine, when Madam bears a white-haired heir—how high will that talent reach?
With that in mind, she added respectfully, "Madam asked me to inform you—her cycle has ended…"
"No time," Silva cut in, hard.
The target this time was on the Azian continent; even by airship, a round trip would take at least ten days. He might not be back in time to test Roy.
He waved Tsubone away.
Not too often… keep it regular… or the quality drops… harder to conceive… Tsubone composed a script to comfort Kikyo—but the thought of her volatile moods gave her a headache. She told herself they'd just take it one step at a time.
After all, once the master boarded the airship, she couldn't exactly chase him.
She shut the bedroom door, stood a moment in the hall, and watched Roy dust himself off, call to Gotoh for Yubashiri, and head toward the rear garden—
where Kikyo lounged over afternoon tea—fortified with tonics—flushed and overheated…
…
"Your blade, young master." At five p.m., Gotoh presented Yubashiri.
Savoring the earlier sensation, Roy held Zetsu steady. Before Gotoh even reached the hall, Roy had already "seen" him by the aura wafting around his body.
He lifted a hand and caught the katana in his palm.
The blade slid free—
Shiiing…
Paper-thin steel flashed a searing sunspot that made Gotoh flinch and shield his eyes.
"When I have a blade in hand—don't stand in front of me."
"Yes, sir."
Gotoh wisely retreated to the corner.
Roy set his feet: hands on the hilt, torso forward, split stance. He closed his eyes—five breaths—opened them, drew a deep lungful—
and cut diagonally.
"Sun Breathing — Form One: Dance!"
"Focused!"
Different—razor light ripped through air. Roy's eyes flashed; the blade didn't stop—he snapped an upward slash—
"Form Two: Clear Blue Sky!"
"Not focused!"
He frowned, stamped, and rolled a circle with the point—
"Form Three: Raging Sun!"
"Focused!"
Then…
"Form Four: Fire Wheel… Form Five: Burning Bones, Summer Sun… Form Six: Sunflower Thrust…"
Until the last stroke—"Form Twelve: Sun Halo Dragon Head Dance" kissed the wall and seared a scorch line.
He sheathed and exhaled long.
A glance at the panel—[Physique +0.1]. Unlike before, swinging blind for +0.05 at best, he could now catch threads of Total Concentration: Constant.
Total Concentration: Constant — sustain Breathing in every posture, waking or sleeping; even asleep, the body maintains the technique.
That's the difference a teacher makes. Roy thought of Kastro, the "internal arts" prodigy who'd invented Tiger Bite Fist. He'd been sniffing around for Roy lately.
"Correct. Word from Heavens Arena—Kastro has challenged you to a rematch," Gotoh said, nudging his gold rims up his nose.
~~~
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