"Master Zeno has accepted a bounty from the Mingbo Republic police to take care of a terrorist called 'Jester.'"
"Zippo Nian will be driving him to the airport and handling his daily affairs."
At 4:30 a.m., Roy had showered and now sat at the dining table, chewing on a beef burger as Wutong reported the day's schedule. This time he'd specifically requested it well-done.
"The medium-rare one's already been discarded, young master, don't worry." Wutong continued, "I booked the tickets two days ago. After we see Dr. Bennett at the Provincial Central Hospital downtown, we can take an airship to Heavens Arena."
"Tell me about this 'Jester.'" Roy interrupted, suddenly recalling someone—an apple-grower who also dressed like a clown, though his nose wasn't red.
"He killed a whole ship of people!"
"What ship?"
"A pirate ship in an amusement park." Wutong pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose, voice low. "According to the Mingbo Republic police, nearly two hundred people died because of him. The news was broadcast on TV—young master, you could look it up yourself."
If that many deaths still couldn't make the news, Roy thought, then the Mingbo Republic's upper ranks were darker than crows.
"And?"
"Aside from us, the Hunter Association's also watching this case."
"Not surprising." Roy chased the last bite of burger with a sip of milk, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Terrorists should be handled by terrorists. If the police have money, they can hire whoever they like."
The Hunter Association was infamous for its violent side. Porter White, the Three-Star Terrorist Hunter, led an anti-terror unit that wasn't to be trifled with. None of it concerned them…
"Pack up. Let's go." Draining the last of his milk, Roy stood.
All travel arrangements and hotel bookings were Wutong's responsibility. Roy could simply grab Snow Walk from the rack and head out.
"Young master, the airport's under strict control—no bladed weapons allowed." Wutong reminded him in time, handing over a wooden cane he'd prepared earlier.
Roy eyed him suspiciously, drew it—and revealed a hidden blade.
Wutong quickly explained, "Don't underestimate this cane. It's made entirely of ironwood—harder than steel—and it's not on the airport's restricted list."
So that's what they called policy versus workaround.
Roy swung the cane blade. It was even heavier than Snow Walk, etched with black flame patterns—a decent substitute in a pinch.
"Shhh—"
He slid the blade back. In an instant it was an ordinary cane again, resting in his grip.
The boy, carrying two suitcases with Wutong, walked the silent corridor to the castle's front door. There a man was waiting. Roy stopped.
Luke stood with hands folded at his abdomen, as if he'd been there for a long time. Seeing Roy, he bowed. "The master said even when traveling, you must not skip training. Whatever you owe these days, you'll make up when you return."
"How?"
"Double."
"Oh."
Roy strode past him. Luke bent lower, sneaking a glance at the boy as he left. Roy exited the front door and turned to glance up at the second floor…
There, behind the massive floor-to-ceiling window of his bedroom, stood a tall man, bare-chested, silver hair cascading down his back, swirling a glass of red wine, staring silently at him.
From behind the man, a slender hand slid down his chest. His body visibly stiffened. Even the wine in the glass stilled.
"…Tsk."
Busy. Everyone was busy. Good.
"Wutong, let's go." Roy withdrew his gaze and walked away without a backward glance.
Wutong hurried after him. Passing the garden, they spotted a human head napping peacefully beneath a parasol…
Then the head spoke.
"Two minutes fifteen seconds. I passed too." Illumi opened his eyes.
"Congratulations." Roy didn't even look back, tossing him a small, indifferent silhouette and never slowing.
Wutong, lagging slightly with a suitcase in each hand, nodded to Illumi before quickly following. Master and servant vanished into Kukuroo Mountain.
The whole mountain was Zoldyck territory—only the sun above and the sunlight shaded by the parasol belonged to no one.
Illumi watched Roy leave. His aura was that same 'cold gray'—a chill that kept people thousands of miles away, a mix of care and detachment, always at arm's length.
"Next time… when you return, I won't be electrocuted again…"
Roy's back disappeared. Illumi closed his eyes.
Just a wall away, in a dim little room, the old man muttered in his sleep, "Another few days of eating shit…"
He rolled over and farted.
Lazy people piss and shit more. Once old, even the sphincter fails…
About ten minutes later, Jieronbo returned from the toilet to find Roy and Wutong standing before the Testing Gates. He hurried forward, flexing his massive biceps.
"Young master, no need to rush—I'll open it for you."
"No." Roy tossed the cane blade back to Wutong, rolled up his sleeves, stepped forward, and planted his palms on the gate. With a push—one door… two doors… three doors…
The Testing Gates swung open to three layers. The fourth trembled faintly but remained shut tight.
Four doors equaled thirty-two tons of absolute force—about seventy adult men. In stat terms, seventy points of physique. Still a long way to go…
Roy knew when to stop.
No discouragement, no frustration. He'd expected this. Exhaling lightly, he took the cane back from Wutong and walked straight out.
A black sedan waited by the gate. A red tour bus idled a hundred meters away near the checkpoint…
A crowd surrounded the bus, cameras flashing at the Testing Gates.
When the doors opened and a handsome boy stepped out with a tall butler carrying luggage behind him, everyone froze!
Someone shouted, "That's the Zoldyck heir!"
A blinding burst of light erupted, forcing Roy to squint.
"Wutong, maybe this timing wasn't so great?"
"My apologies, young master." Wutong signaled the driver to open the car door. Roy slipped inside while he loaded the luggage and climbed in after.
"They're just a bunch of commoners admiring your looks…"
"If you're upset, I can kill them all right now!"
Stop always jumping to killing. Roy leaned back against the soft seat, arms spread lazily. "Forget it. Not the first time…"
"Just pick a few of the ones selling my photos online and teach them a lesson."
"Yes." A cold glint flashed in Wutong's eyes.
Young master was too kind to stoop to their level.
Those wretches dared sell his picture online—for only ten thousand Jenny a shot. Such an insult to Wutong. They had to be taught a lesson.
(Note: 10,000 Jenny ≈ 60 RMB)