Developments

A Nen user's combat strength depended on many factors.

If the total amount of manifested aura and latent aura was hardware, then a complete Nen ability tactical system was software.

Neither could be dispensed with.

Normally, hardware such as latent aura required time to accumulate, with almost no way to achieve rapid results.

But after dying and being reborn, Moro no longer had to worry much about improving in that regard.

Otherwise, he would have simply given up and enjoyed the last year of his life.

Now that he could see an opportunity, he was bound to give it everything he had.

Practice, again and again...

There were successes, and there were failures.

When the strengthened Flying Star struck his body, it would not leave bruises or draw blood if he had prepared defenses, but the pain was unavoidable.

But if this was the road he had to travel to reach the finish line, Moro would not hesitate in the slightest. He would only take the next step with resolve.

Moro did not stop until he was utterly exhausted, then lay flat on the ground.

As he rested, Moro considered his next plan.

He had earned his initial capital through small bargains, then used that money to snatch up Famous Sword Senra and turn a small investment into 800 million Jenny.

Over this period, he had also used the money to sweep up several valuable items from his memories.

Some of those valuable items were easy to sell. He did not mind making a little less, so he had sold them off as quickly as possible.

As for the difficult-to-sell items, he could only pay exorbitant fees to store them in bank vaults.

After all that, excluding the few treasures in the bank vaults, he now had 3.6 billion in cash on hand.

And Moro had accomplished all that in less than a month.

If he could slow down, Moro could have focused entirely on the Yorknew auction two months from now.

He could first scour the market for all kinds of overlooked treasures, then sell them all at the September auction in one fell swoop!

The profits then would be measured in tens of billions.

But Moro ultimately abandoned that idea.

Money was certainly useful.

But for the current Moro, having enough was enough.

His fundamental goal was still to become stronger.

Making money by picking up antique collectibles was mainly to charge the Annual Rings.

Moro raised his right hand and looked at the Annual Rings on the back of it.

He had recently absorbed the aura of twelve Nen objects, yet the charging progress had barely reached around 8%.

The energy provided by all twelve Nen objects was actually less than what Senra had given him.

This result made Moro realize something: charging the second ring of the Annual Rings was clearly much more difficult.

As for why Senra had provided around 4% of the energy at once, it was simply because Senra's Nen intensity exceeded the norm.

"Don't force it..."

Moro muttered to himself, lowered his hand, and closed his eyes.

Half an hour later.

Moro had recovered more or less. He got up, tidied himself up a little, and put on a hat, sunglasses, and a mask...

After disguising himself thoroughly, Moro left the private shooting range and returned to downtown Yorknew City beneath the night sky.

When he had sold Senra, the now-deceased broker had given him a business card connected to an intelligence network.

Moro had already resolved his identity issue, and all the money he earned afterward had been properly taxed.

With clean money and a legally valid identity, transactions involving large sums of money, such as intelligence purchases, would become much easier and save him considerable trouble.

Following the number on the card, Moro contacted an information broker named "Argo."

As soon as the call connected, before Moro could say anything, a mechanical synthesized voice said, "164 Old Town Street."

The call ended as soon as the voice fell silent.

Moro did not mind. He put away his phone and headed to the address given by the synthesized voice.

Old Town Street in Yorknew City lay on the outskirts.

Compared to the city center, Old Town Street was like an extreme contrast between the upper class and the bottom rung.

The people living on Old Town Street were mostly impoverished people struggling at the margins of society.

Drunks, gamblers, and even drug addicts were common sights in a place like this.

The environment was, in a word, filthy, chaotic, and cramped.

When he looked up, he saw a sliver of sky cut apart by a tangle of electrical wires.

When he looked down, sewage and garbage covered the ground beneath his feet.

As Moro entered Old Town Street, he was struck by how much it resembled the Kowloon Walled City he had seen in films before crossing over.

The two had many similarities.

Splat.

Stepping onto the sewage-covered ground, Moro stopped letting his thoughts wander. He made his way through the narrow alleys and, after considerable effort, found number 164.

Moro stood before a rust-covered iron gate. He did not even need to knock before, with a click, the gate automatically swung inward.

Seeing the gate open on its own, Moro glanced at a button-sized object beside a small lamp above him. He was not surprised and walked inside.

Beyond the gate was a straight passageway about five meters long.

At the end, there was a door on the right with a curtain hanging over it.

Moro lifted the curtain and saw the room's layout beneath dim red lighting.

There was no ordinary furniture, only a row of computers and a desk with chairs.

Someone in a hooded sweatshirt sat in a chair with their back to the door, and Moro could not immediately tell their gender.

"Are you Argo?"

Looking at the brim of the hood visible above the chair back, Moro asked.

Creak.

The chair suddenly turned around.

Moro immediately saw the person's gender and appearance.

A woman. Her face was utterly ordinary, and the dark circles under her eyes were severe.

The greasy hair spilling from beneath her hood could not be concealed even by the dim red light.

"Ah, that's me."

Argo sat cross-legged in the chair, leaning slightly forward as she sized Moro up. At the same time, her right hand reached beneath her hood and scratched vigorously.

"You bring enough money?"

After confirming her identity, her first question was not what intelligence he wanted, but whether he had enough money.

Moro nodded.

Seeing that, Argo went straight to the point. "What intelligence do you want to buy?"

"I want this person's long-term whereabouts."

Moro took a folded hand-drawn portrait of Feitan from his pocket, unfolded it with a few motions, and held it toward Argo.

"Huh..."

Argo took a clear look at the portrait and immediately shook her head. "Sorry, I'm not taking this job."

"That's fine. We can discuss it slowly."

Moro remained calm.

If Argo had not recognized Feitan from the portrait, he would have turned around and left without wasting any time.

But if she recognized him at a glance, he was willing to pay more.

Argo frowned, withdrew her right hand from beneath her hood, picked at the dandruff beneath her fingernails, and said coldly, "I told you, I'm not taking this job."

"I'll pay more."

Moro's tone remained calm.

Argo shook her head again.

Moro raised two fingers. "Two billion paid upfront. I can add more afterward."

"No problem!"

Argo's expression changed instantly. She said seriously, "It's not that I love money. Your decisiveness moved me."

"I can tell."

Moro smiled.

Argo abruptly changed her tone. "I can take this job, but I have to warn you... everyone who has tried to buy intelligence on the Phantom Troupe's whereabouts has died horribly without exception."

"Thanks for the warning, but that has nothing to do with the transaction."

"Tch. Then transfer the money."

"Mm."

A moment later, Moro paid two billion.

After confirming the payment, Argo nodded in satisfaction and immediately demonstrated the value of the intelligence fee.

"Last Monday, at 8:06:24 p.m., someone posted a bounty on one member of the Phantom Troupe within a 'limited scope.' If you're interested in this information, I can follow up on it right away."

"Hm?"

Moro's eyes widened slightly.