Chapter 108: Yorbian Black-and-White Chess × Roy Hoists the Elephant
On the deck beneath a blinding blue sky, Kite stood with a long blade at his hip. He had already leapt up the mast and leaned against the sail, watching the clash unfold below.
Both Roy and Pariston set his instincts screaming.
Especially Roy.
Kite pressed the brim of his cap, eyes narrowing. The tip of Roy's blade sparked into flame by sheer friction with the air — not an illusion of aura, but real fire, born from speed alone.
That could only mean one thing: Roy Zoldyck wasn't just a swordsman of monstrous talent. His physical ability far outstripped even Kite's.
And then there was that strange force — the Pressure and Pull — the invisible push and drag that turned the air into his weapon.
Unreadable. Completely.
Hiiiiii—
Hooves thundered like mountains falling.
The lances Roy had sliced apart moments ago regrew in an instant as Pariston poured aura back into them. The riders seized their chance, driving the points forward with the charge of their mounts.
Roy's face did not so much as twitch. He freed his left hand and gave the air a casual slap.
Magnetism: Pressure.
Pop.
The air thickened into a wall, pinning hooves and lances in place. Then, with a sweep of his arm, Roy sent man and horse alike tumbling — flung backward before they could even reach him.
"There it is again… That pressure," Kite muttered, tracking the motion.
A milky shroud of Nen wrapped Roy's right hand like a magnetic field whose poles flipped at will — repulsion and attraction switching seamlessly, shaping a force that hurled or drew his opponents as he pleased.
"Hehe… magnificent, Roy Zoldyck."
Horses flipped. Knights scattered. A few plunged straight into the sea.
Pariston, however, only smiled wider. He snapped his fingers.
"Elephant. Come."
A thunderous trumpet split the sky, rattling eardrums.
Some froze. Some screamed. Some clutched their heads without understanding.
A black-and-white chessboard yawned open in a spiraling vortex, and through it pushed a gleaming tusk — then a trunk, a plated head, a tail — until the full creature stepped through.
A war elephant, its hide layered in black scales, metal caps gleaming on its tusks.
Boom.
It reared and stamped with all four feet. The entire Sea God shuddered, the deck cracking under its weight.
In the captain's room, jaws fell open.
No one had words for what they saw.
They forgot the Points Scramble — forgot number tags, rankings, everything. Even the old captain forgot. He could only stare, mute, as his beloved ship was torn apart.
He remembered swearing to his superiors that even if the candidates tore each other limb from limb, the Sea God would hold. If anyone managed to scar her hull, he'd tip his hat to them.
Now Mark Seam had stopped thinking and started praying.
If they could just reach Dolley Island before she sank, he'd light every stick of incense he owned.
"Hehe… Little Hill, stomp him flat for me."
Clark batted aside a rain of Nen spikes, his fists shrouded in Ten as he traded blows with Illumi. Both slid back two steps, finding brief space to breathe.
Illumi shook out his hand, sparing a sliver of focus toward Roy — a flicker of unease in his eyes.
The war elephant seemed to understand human speech.
Pariston pointed at Roy and said simply, "Go."
The beast obeyed.
Four feet crashed against the planks, each step a crater. Splinters flew as the monster thundered forward, tusks lowered to pierce the boy through.
"Young Master!"
Gotoh snapped a coin that buried itself deep into the elephant's hide — to no effect. The creature didn't even flinch. It barreled on, shadow swallowing Roy whole.
"No one taught you not to lose focus in a fight?"
Goh brushed the cross at his chest and breathed out a wisp of gray mist. Inhaling even a trace warped the mind — dragging the spirit into despair, crushing the will to live until only the urge to die remained.
Gotoh had always guarded against it. Even as Goh's Ten-fortified fist blasted him away, he refused to let a single wisp touch him.
Bang.
As Gotoh skidded back, Roy finally moved.
He drove the cane-sword into the deck and stepped forward instead of back.
He rolled up his sleeves, picked his moment, and seized both tusks.
Under the stunned gazes of Pariston, Kite, Illumi, Clark, Goh, Mark Seam, and Rika, he spoke calmly.
"Up."
The war elephant — the hulking beast that filled half the deck — rose into the air, legs kicking toward the sky, trumpeting in terror.
Then it flew into the sea.
Splash.
A mountain of water leapt into the sky.
Roy dusted his hands and looked up. "That it?"
Pariston's smile wavered. His aura faltered, fraying at the edges.
Conjuration was not daydreaming.
It demanded a real aura to fabricate real matter.
Yorbian Black-and-White Chess — that was Pariston's Nen ability.
As the name implied, it was a chess game popular on the Yorbian continent. He had loved it since childhood, even placing in international tournaments.
So the moment his Water Divination revealed him a Conjurer, a thought struck him — use "chess" as the object of visualization, and build a Nen ability from that foundation.
The path was sound. The process smooth.
Eight pawns, eight knights, four elephants, two dragons, a king, and a queen — all born of his aura, his traveling arsenal.
Now the elephant was gone.
Pariston exhaled, abandoned the beast, and covered his face. Through his fingers, he watched Roy draw the cane-sword again and step forward. Never before had anyone driven him so far.
Truly, the Zoldyck firstborn.
He rolled his shoulders, laughing low.
"Hehe… honestly, I never thought I'd see the day."
"Thank you for the reminder," he said, looking Roy square in the eye. "The next time I meet someone like you, I'll plan earlier — and more precisely."
Roy said nothing.
He simply kept walking.
Dusk had fallen. The sky burned red, draping his shoulders like a cloak.
He stopped, leveled the cane-sword, and asked, "Are you finished?"
Pariston's cheeks flushed. For the first time, anger crossed his face.
He clapped his hands together.
"Silver Dragon Possession."
Roar—