Chapter 13: The First Encounter with Milluki × The True Meaning of Martial Arts
Roy's thoughts gradually quieted, and soon he slipped into slumber.
This time, his dream carried him back to his childhood.
Whips. Electric batons. Venomous insects…
His limbs twitched reflexively.
If you've never been lashed by a soaked whip, you don't know how much sharper the sting can be.
If you've never been electrocuted, you can't comprehend the agony of fifty thousand volts coursing through your body.
If you've never been bitten by poisonous insects, you'll never understand what it's like to convulse, guts twisting as venom sears your veins.
From the age of three, as far back as he could remember, this had been his daily routine.
It was Silva himself who dragged the boy into this living hell, calling it "foundational training for a proper assassin."
But later, when Silva judged Roy's potential to be limited, he shifted his focus onto Illumi, Milluki, and even future children yet to be born.
Roy had nothing to say about it. He didn't even want to comment. That was simply the fate of every child born into the Zoldyck family. No one was spared.
And yet… Roy had always believed that as a human being, he had the right to choose his own path.
The first step is breaking free of their control.
At dawn, the beastly cry of Mike shattered the silence. Roy opened his eyes, once again in his familiar bedroom.
He lingered a minute in bed, savoring the memory of last night—the rich taste of boar stew, lovingly prepared by Kie.
Because of that, for lunch today he ordered Gotoh to fry him some extra bacon.
Once satisfied, he took up Yukizō, the snow-white blade.
Morning drills of shock therapy were finished. The afternoon was his alone.
Roy changed into comfortable training clothes and strolled down the quiet halls of the Zoldyck estate. Through the windows, he glimpsed the garden outside: a woman with half her face hidden beneath cybernetic implants, sipping tea.
Beside her sat a plump child, limbs stacked like bamboo joints. He wore a frilly lolita dress, white stockings, a little flowered cap, and glossy leather shoes—dressed as a girl to indulge his mother's peculiar whims.
Roy almost suffered the same humiliation as a child, but he had violently torn the outfit apart. Since then, the woman never looked at him without disdain. He didn't mind—peace was peace.
"Master Milluki, you mustn't eat that!"
The butler shrieked as the chubby child tried stuffing a butterfly into his mouth. Too late. Half the insect disappeared down his throat.
"Crunch, crunch…" Milluki chewed happily, powdery wings smearing his lips.
Then, perhaps sensing Roy's gaze from the corridor, he struggled to lift his head and look over.
The butler provided the answer:
"That is your elder brother, Master Roy."
Milluki followed his gaze, saw Roy, and clumsily placed a hand over his chest in a polite bow.
Roy said nothing. He did not disturb what little joy Milluki found in his strange world. His eyes lingered only a moment before he turned and walked toward the training hall.
As for the woman—if she chose to pretend he didn't exist, why should he force himself into her sight?
After all, in her eyes, he was nothing but a failure.
Roy chuckled bitterly, patted Yukizō's hilt, and pushed open the heavy door.
The pristine blade seemed to loathe even a speck of dust. Drawn free with a clear ring, it shimmered with icy blue light, scattering the motes in the sunbeams.
Click. The door shut behind him.
Breathing steady, Roy began to move.
"Hinokami Kagura — Dance (Enbu)."
"Hinokami Kagura — Clear Blue Sky."
"Hinokami Kagura — Raging Sun."
"Hinokami Kagura — Burning Bones, Summer Sun."
[Constitution +0.05… +0.05… +0.05…]
Then—
A flash of steel.
Yukizō slipped from his grip like lightning, nailing an electronic eye in the corner with a metallic cry.
Upstairs, a television filled with static snow.
"Zzzzt…"
In the master's chamber, Silva had been lounging lazily on a tiger-skin couch, swirling a glass of red wine. At the sight, the corner of his lips curled upward.
He did not frown. He did not grow angry.
Instead, with a gesture, he ordered Tsubone to fetch him a sword from the armory.
When he rose, weapon in hand, his aura shifted. Gone was the indolent master—before Tsubone now stood a beast, feral and domineering, ready to tear apart everything before him.
The pressure was suffocating.
Tsubone, ever the obedient hound, stepped back, giving her master room. Her face remained impassive, but inside she was conflicted.
She had noticed something unsettling: lately, the family head's attention had turned—too much—toward one particular boy.
When had it begun?
Perhaps from the moment he saw that "dance" on the television screen…
A blade wind ripped past her lashes, dragging her back to reality.
Silva had moved.
Silva gripped the blade with both hands, mimicking Roy's movements.
In his grasp, the sword seemed alive—sometimes slashing, sometimes sweeping, sometimes thrusting, sometimes cleaving. Paired with his mastery of Silent Step, the entire chamber became an illusion of shifting phantoms, awash with flashing steel and flickering shadows.
Until—
That final strike.
"Hinokami Kagura — Flame Dance."
A blinding arc split the air, sharp enough to sing.
Only then did Silva halt, lowering the blade, exhaling a long breath.
"Heh… heh heh…"
The man's low, suppressed laughter reverberated through the room.
His eyes narrowed, as if confirming something.
"This is no dance," Silva murmured. "This… is martial arts."
Tsubone's pupils shrank.
At those words, her mind instantly conjured an image: an old man with a tall ponytail, who loved to play volleyball.
Known as the strongest human alive, the great master of martial arts—he had explained the essence of budō through his ritual of ten thousand grateful punches each day.
Martial arts was the crystallization of mankind's pursuit to surpass itself.
It was a heart that embraced the heavens and the natural order.
It was reverence for life, and acceptance of the endless cycle of death and rebirth.
And now, here in this small chamber, within this ancient castle that had stood for centuries, she had glimpsed a fragment of that very truth.
It was… inconceivable.
"Take it," Silva said at last, tossing her the sword. "Keep it well maintained."
Tsubone caught it reflexively, still dazed, unable to pull herself fully out of the storm of sword-light she had just witnessed.
Her unfocused gaze drifted to the television screen.
But the snow-filled static showed no trace of the youthful figure whose blade had set her nerves ablaze.
Only that mocking phrase echoed in her mind, again and again—
"Aren't you a dog too?"