Undercurrents

Nen is an ability that anyone can master, lying dormant within every individual.

Yet the vast majority of people in the world remain unaware of its existence.

Nevertheless, some who shine brightly through deep cultivation in their respective fields can unknowingly wield Nen abilities.

This seems to be a manifestation of extreme focus, or perhaps the infusion of intense emotion into exquisite skill...

Thus, any object created by hand has the potential to be imbued with Nen by its creator.

Moro collectively refers to such objects as Nen objects.

The residual Nen left on these objects is usually very faint, requiring "Gyo" to see clearly.

But what's remarkable is—

Despite being so faint, this Nen withstands the erosion of time, persisting for a hundred or even a thousand years.

Even if the person who released the Nen has been erased by time, even if the vessel has decayed to ruin, it still remains.

They are like the natural enemy of time, a thought that stirs awe.

Moro caressed the scabbard of the katana.

Shinra—that was the name of this blade.

Among the Nen objects he had encountered, Shinra's Nen intensity ranked in the top three.

Even without using Gyo, the fluctuation of its Nen was visible to the naked eye.

If he hadn't learned the full story of Shinra from a colleague before his rebirth, he wouldn't have been able to seize this opportunity at such a low price.

If memory served, Shinra's final transaction price had reached as high as one billion two hundred sixty million Jenny.

If not for Shinra being involved in a murder case, which made it much harder to offload, it could have sold for an even higher price.

Moro didn't attempt to absorb the Nen right away. He stuffed Shinra back into the black cloth.

The masked man roughly confirmed the authenticity of the banknotes, then, without counting them, closed the briefcase and looked at Moro.

"Any issues?"

He held the briefcase, scanning his surroundings with the corner of his eye as he spoke, his other hand behind his back.

Moro took note of the masked man's behavior but paid it no mind.

Because Shinra's origins were already treading on thin ice, the masked man was jumpy as a result.

Moro nodded, signaling that everything was fine.

"Alright."

Facing Moro, the masked man took a few steps back before turning into an alley.

Moro watched him go, then heard the sound of hurried footsteps fading into the distance. The masked man, fearing trouble, had bolted from the scene.

The masked man's furtive behavior and his paranoid reactions seemed normal to Moro.

That was the hallmark of Yorknew City.

Though opportunities were everywhere, they came hand in hand with all kinds of human malice.

The footsteps quickly faded away. Moro, carrying Shinra, left from another direction.

Back at his hotel, Moro unwrapped the black cloth covering Shinra.

Shinra's scabbard was entwined with red and white stripes, while the hilt and guard were a grayish white, giving the whole piece a faint sense of age.

Moro pushed up the guard with his thumb.

As the blade slid from the scabbard, Nen surged out like smoke, then quickly dispersed, flowing into every corner of the sword.

The blade was clear and bright, reflecting Moro's face.

But this was an unsharpened katana.

Moro admired the blade for a moment in his capacity as a miscellaneous appraiser, then slowly sheathed it.

Unsharpened, unstained by blood.

Yet the sword bore a Nen with a remarkably distinct presence.

It was hard to imagine just how intense the emotions of the person who forged this blade must have been at the time.

Moro stared at the sheathed Shinra, focused his mind, and attempted to absorb the Nen clinging to it.

Instantly, the Nen surged toward Moro's right hand at a visible speed.

In just a few seconds, all the Nen was absorbed by the Annual Rings.

Moro looked down at the back of his hand gripping the sword, and saw that a small green energy bar had grown within the second ring.

Judging by the bar's length, it was roughly 3 to 4%.

Normally, absorbing this level of energy would require five or six Nen objects.

This showed just how outstanding Shinra's Nen intensity was, making it well worth his trouble to intercept it.

"The Annual Rings' ability to absorb Nen is still intact, but..."

Moro released Shinra, then raised his hand to his face, a contemplative look settling in his eyes.

After the first Annual Ring was fully charged, it allowed him to temporarily escape death, return to the very beginning, and load some relevant information into his consciousness.

But that information was limited to the first Annual Ring; it revealed nothing about the others.

It wasn't until now, after absorbing Shinra's Nen, that he could truly confirm the Annual Ring's ability to absorb Nen was still intact.

So he actually couldn't be certain...

Whether, after the second Annual Ring was fully charged with energy, it would grant him another chance to die and be reborn.

Moro lowered his hand and shook his head slightly.

Compared to the still-uncertain matter of charging the Annual Ring, other goals ultimately took higher priority.

Still, as long as he could successfully sell off Shinra, he could accumulate funds while continuously gathering various Nen objects.

In that way, he could also incidentally increase the efficiency of the Annual Ring's charging.

With that thought, Moro began to consider the matter of selling Shinra.

Currently, all he knew was that Shinra was involved in a murder case and, after a period of silence and disappearance, had suddenly exploded with a transaction price as high as 1.2 billion.

As for what twists and turns had occurred in that process, he knew nothing.

What he could be sure of was that the sale would inevitably come with risks.

Moro understood this, but he wouldn't be overly cautious.

The bold eat, the timid starve.

To reap generous rewards, one must face equivalent risks.

Having spent over half a year deeply entrenched in the antique and miscellaneous goods trade, he understood this principle best.

"Hm?"

Moro suddenly looked up, staring at the door.

At the same time.

In the hallway outside the door, two burly men crept along the wall.

They moved lightly, taking positions on either side of the door, exchanged a glance, and then both looked at the door.

A brightly lit kitchen.

Beneath a concentrated beam of light, a naked youth lay on a kitchen counter.

Beside him stood a handsome man in a white suit.

The man held a scalpel, his expression focused as he sliced open the youth's chest cavity.

As the skin and blood vessels split, blood sprayed toward the handsome man under the pressure.

In an instant, the man's white suit was stained with large patches of crimson, glaringly conspicuous.

If Moro were here, he would recognize the youth on the counter as one of the piglets locked in the transport truck's cage with him.

The man in the suit suddenly stopped his work and asked, "How many still haven't been retrieved?"

"One."

Not far away, a group of people were watching, and one of them answered the man's question.

The man in the suit looked up and asked, "Number 11?"

"Yes."

The person gave a slight bow, his demeanor respectful.

The man in the suit narrowed his eyes and said flatly, "If you can't retrieve him, take your own life."

"Understood."

The person replied calmly, as if not worried about his own life at all.

Hotel room.

A corpse lay on the floor by the door.

Corresponding to it, another burly man, still alive, was beside the sofa in the living room.

Moro crouched, looking at the blood-covered man, idly playing with the pistol he had just confiscated.

"Bloodhound, huh... You come sniffing out the scent as soon as it's here."

He paused, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

"Perfect timing. There's something I need your help with."

"!!!"

Hearing the ruthlessness in Moro's tone, the burly man's eyes filled with terror.