When people talked about the Zoldycks, the first thing that came to mind was... They were the world's number one family of assassins, with two top-tier masters: Zeno Zoldyck and Silva Zoldyck.
They were powerful and cold-blooded, disliked talking to others, and cared only about their missions and money.
It was their long list of accomplishments that had made the world understand: there was no one the Zoldycks couldn't kill. If there was... then the money simply hadn't been right.
But some elders who had dealt with the Zoldycks, along with veteran Hunters like Netero, knew very well that the person who had given the Zoldycks such an exalted position in the world of assassins was actually one person—and one person alone—
Maha Zoldyck, the ancestral figure who had built the entire Zoldyck family with his own hands.
He was the true pillar holding up the Zoldycks, their most mysterious presence.
The old man had appeared from who knew where. The skin sagging from his dry, wrinkled face made him look as if he were on the verge of death, like a desiccated corpse that could drop dead at any moment.
But Roy got to his feet and bowed to him, without the slightest disrespect in his heart... He knew full well that nothing about his great-grandfather's outward appearance could be trusted. Even his age was a mystery.
If he lost his temper over something and flew into a rage, then not only his father, Silva, but even the Strongest Human, Netero, might not come away unscathed.
After all, his grandfather—who couldn't stand going a day without killing someone—had once said, "Across the entire continent... Chairman Netero is the only person who has fought Maha and lived."
That alone showed how formidable Maha was.
Maha was like a ghost. He drifted in, drifted into a seat, and paid no attention to anyone or anything.
His chopsticks flew as he shoveled food into his mouth, bite after bite. He seemed slow, but his chopsticks were moving so fast they blurred... Seeing this, Roy forgot all about manners, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite him. By then, half of the two dishes was already gone.
"That speed..."
The young man's heart tightened...
He hastily grabbed his chopsticks, picked up a slice of eggplant, and tossed it into his mouth. When he looked again, three-quarters of the food was gone.
By the time he took another mouthful of rice, clatter! Two empty plates landed on the table, with only a few lonely slices of tomato left on them.
And that was only because the old man couldn't chew them.
"Great-grandfather..." Roy's hand, still holding his chopsticks, froze in midair.
The old man burped, pretended not to notice Roy's aggrieved look, and vanished in a flash. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground.
Roy could just make out his voice, lamenting how age had caught up with him and his teeth weren't what they used to be, and saying he'd left the remaining tomato slices for his good grandson to get some vitamins...
Roy and Gotoh: "..."
They were utterly speechless.
They exchanged a look, then stared at each other in bewilderment.
The young butler cleared his throat and carefully offered, "Young Master, how about cream of mushroom soup again tonight?"
Roy could feel his stomach churning, so he immediately waved a hand.
He took Snow Walk back from Gotoh and headed toward his bedroom.
The crescent moon hung in the sky tonight, much like Roy's mood: neither good nor bad.
It was a shame he hadn't gotten to eat the dinner he'd made, but his great-grandfather's behavior had proved beyond doubt that he hadn't lost too much of his cooking skill... With a little practice, he might be able to get it back.
In any case, handling Takeo, Shigeru, and the other little ones wouldn't be a problem.
Feeling reassured, Roy left the corridor, opened the door, and entered his bedroom. He was just about to set Snow Walk on the sword stand Gotoh had prepared by the window when his gaze swept over the room out of habit. Then his eyes narrowed—
A book he had never seen before lay quietly on his desk, its pages fluttering gently in the evening breeze blowing in through the window.
They made a soft rustling sound.
Roy frowned. He was certain the book wasn't his.
He walked over and took a closer look by moonlight. The pages had yellowed with age, and the title page was so blurred that he couldn't make it out. He could only just discern a line of small print—
On the Forms of "Nen" Ability.
"Nen Ability"... "forms"...
"Could this be some kind of 'popular science' book?" The boy suddenly thought of something.
He hurried out of his bedroom and strode to the small bedroom he passed almost every day.
A dim yellow light glowed inside. Cartoons played nonstop, twenty-four hours a day... Peering in through the window, he saw a gaunt old man sleeping soundly in a rocking chair...
He lay on his back, fast asleep...
Roy stood quietly by the window for a while, clutching the book in his hand, then bowed to him.
The old man seemed tired—or perhaps he had slept in the same position for too long and one side of his body had gone numb. He simply turned over, showing Roy his small, slightly hunched back.
Only after Roy had left the window did the old man open his eyes halfway and let out a quiet sigh. "Come out."
The darkness twisted unnaturally... then a figure appeared.
He had silver hair and a silver beard, and a metal ring encircled his neck. A fitted robe covered his body, emblazoned with eight conspicuous characters—
"One Kill A Day, Still in Active Service."
"Good evening, Grandfather." Zeno bowed to Maha.
The old man rocked back and forth in his chair, making it creak, and couldn't be bothered to answer...
Zeno didn't mind. It was like a routine check-in; he came by every day.
He also gave Maha's shoulders a massage while he was at it.
An assassin's hands could wield a knife, or they could give a massage... When it came to understanding the body's structure and pressure points, no one dared claim to surpass the Zoldycks.
Naturally, Zeno's technique was peerless.
As he worked from Maha's neck down his back and then along his arms and legs, he asked casually, "Grandfather, what made you bring out Father's notes?"
"If I'd known one meal was all it took to make you happy, I should've learned to cook a long time ago."
"You?" Maha snorted and sneered. "You'd dare cook, and I'd dare eat it?"
"You lot are good for nothing but killing. Just like your dead father—all of you are conceited fools."
Zeno fell silent. His father, Jager, had become a taboo in the Zoldyck family for five generations. He had gone to the Dark Continent with Netero, and he had brought back the dragon from the Dark Continent. He was also the one who, before he died, had repeatedly urged them... to beware of the "Curse"!
The dragon was being kept in the back mountains now, but the "Curse" had yet to appear.
That was also why... all these years since his father Jager's death, Zeno had come to see Maha every day. He feared the old man might have contracted something dreadful and passed away.
Fortunately, although Maha's vitality had declined somewhat over the years, his overall condition remained stable. Today, he had even had enough of an appetite to eat several extra bowls of rice.
That was undoubtedly a good sign.
Zeno said with surprise, "I didn't expect Roy to be so bad at other things but such a good cook."
"I'll have to try his cooking sometime."
"He's my grandson!" Maha abruptly opened his eyes and glared at Zeno. "I'm the only one who gets to try his cooking from now on!"
Zeno: "..."
Before you continue