Undercurrents

Nen was an ability that anyone could master; it lay dormant within every person.

Yet the vast majority of people in the world had no idea Nen existed.

Even so, some people who had devoted themselves to their respective fields and shone brilliantly could unconsciously use Nen abilities.

It seemed to be the manifestation of extreme concentration, or perhaps of intense emotion poured into exquisite craftsmanship...

Therefore, any object made by hand could potentially be imbued with Nen by its creator.

Moro collectively referred to such objects as Nen objects.

The residual aura on Nen objects was usually extremely faint, requiring "Gyo" to be seen clearly.

Yet what was remarkable was—

That aura, faint as it was, could withstand the erosion of time and endure for centuries, even millennia.

Even if the person who released the aura had been erased by time, even if the vessel had decayed beyond recognition, it remained.

They were like the natural enemies of time itself, a thought that was profoundly awe-inspiring.

Moro stroked the scabbard of the katana.

Shinra was the name of this sword.

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

Even without using Gyo, he could directly see the fluctuations of its aura.

Had he not learned of Shinra's history from an associate before his rebirth, he never could have secured this opportunity at such a low price.

If he remembered correctly, Shinra's final sale price had reached 1.26 billion Jenny.

If Shinra had not been implicated in a murder case, making it far harder to sell, it should have fetched an even higher price.

Moro did not immediately attempt to absorb the aura. He wrapped Shinra back in the black cloth.

The masked man roughly checked whether the bills were genuine. Without even counting them, he closed the briefcase and looked at Moro.

"No problem?"

Holding the briefcase, he swept his surroundings from the corner of his eye as he spoke, while keeping his other hand behind his back.

Moro noticed the masked man's movements but did not care.

Because Shinra's origins had always skirted the line, the masked man was naturally jumpy about everything.

Moro nodded to indicate there was no problem.

"Fine."

Facing Moro, the masked man took several steps backward before turning directly into the intersection.

Moro watched him go, then heard hurried footsteps gradually fading away. The masked man was presumably worried something might happen, so he had fled the scene at full speed.

To Moro, the masked man's furtive behavior and hair-trigger wariness were perfectly normal.

That was Yorknew City's defining trait.

Opportunities lay everywhere, but so did every kind of human malice.

The footsteps soon faded into silence. Carrying Shinra, Moro left in the opposite direction.

After returning to the hotel where he was staying, Moro removed the black cloth wrapped around Shinra.

Shinra's scabbard featured intertwined red-and-white stripes, while its hilt and guard were grayish white. The entire sword carried a faint sense of age.

Moro pushed up the guard with his thumb.

As the blade slid from its sheath, smoke-like aura poured out in billowing waves before quickly dispersing and 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 from the perspective of a miscellaneous antiques appraiser before slowly sheathing it again.

Unsharpened, unstained by blood.

Yet a remarkably conspicuous aura clung to the sword.

It was hard to imagine just how intense the emotions of the person who forged this sword had been at the time.

Moro stared at the sheathed Shinra. With a thought, he tried to absorb the aura attached to it.

At once, the aura surged toward Moro's right hand at a speed visible to the naked eye.

In only a few seconds, the aura was completely absorbed by Annual Rings.

Moro lowered his head and looked at the back of the hand holding the sword. Within the second ring of Annual Rings, a green energy bar had grown by a small amount.

Judging by the length of the energy bar, it was roughly 3–4%.

Previously, absorbing this much energy would have required around five or six Nen objects.

This showed that Shinra's Nen intensity truly was exceptional. His special trip to intercept it had not been in vain.

"Annual Rings can still absorb aura, but..."

Moro released Shinra and raised his hand before his face, a thoughtful look appearing in his eyes.

After the first ring of Annual Rings had filled, it allowed him to temporarily escape death and return to the starting point, while also loading some related information into his consciousness.

But that information was limited to the first ring and revealed nothing about the other rings.

Thus, only after absorbing Shinra's aura did he truly confirm that Annual Rings could still absorb aura.

So he could not be certain either...

Once the second ring of Annual Rings was fully charged, would it grant him another chance to be reborn after death?

Moro lowered his hand and gave a slight shake of his head.

Compared with the still-unknown matter of charging Annual Rings, his other goals remained the higher priority.

Still, as long as he could sell Shinra successfully, he could accumulate funds while constantly gathering all kinds of Nen objects.

That would naturally increase the efficiency of charging Annual Rings as well.

With that in mind, Moro began considering how to sell Shinra.

At present, he only knew that Shinra was connected to a murder case, and that after vanishing into obscurity for a time, it had suddenly sold for a staggering 1.2 billion.

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

What he could be sure of was that selling it would inevitably come with risks.

Moro understood that, but he would not be overly conservative.

The bold feasted; the timid starved.

To obtain generous returns, one had to face equivalent risks.

Having worked in the antiques and miscellaneous goods trade for more than half a year, he understood that principle better than anyone.

"Hmm?"

Moro suddenly looked up toward the door.

At the same time.

In the corridor outside, two burly men crept along the wall.

They quietly positioned themselves on either side of the door. They first exchanged a glance, then both looked at the door.

In a brightly lit kitchen.

Under the concentrated lights, a young man lay naked atop the kitchen counter.

Beside him stood a handsome man in a white suit.

Holding a scalpel, the man focused intently as he sliced open the young man's chest cavity.

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

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

If Moro had been there, he would likely have recognized the young man on the counter. He was one of the human cargo who had been locked in the cage of the delivery truck with him.

The suited man suddenly stopped and asked, "How many haven't been brought back?"

"One."

A group of people stood watching nearby, and one of them answered the suited man's question.

The suited man looked up and asked, "Number 11?"

"Yes."

That person bowed slightly, his demeanor respectful.

The suited man narrowed his eyes and said blandly, "If you can't bring him back, kill yourself."

"Understood."

The person answered calmly, as though he was not worried about his own life.

Hotel room.

A corpse lay on the floor beside the door.

Correspondingly, another burly man still clung to life beside the living room sofa.

Moro crouched halfway down and looked at the blood-covered man, idly playing with the handgun he had just confiscated.

"Bloodhound, huh... You came running the moment you caught the scent."

After a pause, a trace of coldness flashed through Moro's eyes.

"Perfect. I need your help with something."

"!!!"

Hearing the cold intent in Moro's voice, the burly man's eyes immediately filled with terror.