Chapter 15: Developments

A Nen user's combat prowess depends on a multitude of factors.

If one considers the total quantity of manifested and potential aura as the hardware, then a well-developed tactical system for Nen abilities is the software. Neither can exist without the other.

Normally, hardware like potential aura requires time to settle; there is almost no way to fast-track it. However, after Moro’s death and subsequent rebirth, this was the one area he didn't need to worry about. Otherwise, he would have surely just given up and spent his final year of life in comfort. But now that he saw a chance, he had to do everything within his power.

Practice after practice... There were successes and there were failures.

When the enhanced power of the "Flying Stars" struck him, his defenses prevented any bruising or bleeding, but the pain was unavoidable. Yet, if this was the path he had to take to reach the end, Moro would not hesitate; he would only firmly take the next step.

Only when he was utterly exhausted did Moro stop and collapse onto the ground. Taking the time to rest, Moro reflected on his next steps.

He had earned his starting capital by picking up small scraps, then used that money to intercept the famous blade "Senra," turning a small investment into an 800 million Jenny profit. During this period, he had used those funds to sweep up some major items he remembered from his past life. Some were easy to offload, and he had sold them as quickly as possible, even if it meant taking a smaller profit. The harder-to-sell items had to be stored in a bank vault for a hefty fee.

After all this maneuvering, not counting the treasures in the bank vault, he now held 3.6 billion in funds. He had accomplished all of this in less than a month.

In truth, if he could slow his pace, Moro could focus entirely on the Yorknew City auction two months away. He could spend his time scouring for treasures and then sell them all at once in September. The returns then would be in the tens of billions.

However, Moro abandoned that thought. Money is certainly useful, but for the current Moro, having enough is sufficient. His fundamental goal is to improve his strength. Scavenging antique collectibles for profit was largely to recharge the "Annual Rings."

Moro raised his right hand and looked at the rings on the back of his hand. Recently, he had absorbed the Nen from twelve different Nen-imbued objects, yet the progress bar had barely touched 8%. The energy provided by all twelve objects combined didn't even match what he had gained from "Senra."

This result made Moro realize a problem: the difficulty of charging the second ring had significantly increased. As for why "Senra" had provided 4% of the energy in one go, it was simply because the intensity of its aura was far higher than normal.

"No use forcing it..."

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

Half an hour later.

Moro felt mostly recovered. He stood up, tidied himself briefly, and put on his hat, sunglasses, and mask. Once fully disguised, he left the private shooting range and returned to the heart of Yorknew City under the cover of night.

When he had sold "Senra," the late intermediary had given him a business card for an intelligence source. Moro had already resolved his identity issues, and the money he had earned since was all properly taxed. With clean funds and a legally valid identity, dealing with information—which often requires large capital flows—would become much simpler and save him a great deal of trouble.

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

As soon as the call connected, before Moro could speak, a synthesized mechanical voice came through: "164 Old Town Street."

The call cut off immediately after. Moro didn't mind; he put away his phone and headed to the address provided by the synthesized voice.

Old Town Street in Yorknew City was located on the outskirts. Comparing it to the city center was like contrasting high society with the lowest rungs of the underworld. The people living on Old Town Street were mostly those at the edge of society, struggling to make ends meet. It was the kind of place where drunks, gamblers, and even drug addicts were common sights. The environment was predictably dirty, chaotic, and claustrophobic.

Looking up, one could see the sky cut into pieces by a tangled mess of wires. Looking down, the ground was filled with sewage and trash. As Moro entered Old Town Street, the transition from looking up to looking down made him think, in a daze, of the Kowloon Walled City he had seen in movies before his transmigration. There were many similarities between the two.

*Splat.*

Stepping through the flowing sewage, Moro pushed aside his wandering thoughts and navigated the narrow alleys, eventually finding number 164 after quite some effort. He stood before the rusted iron door. Before he could even knock, a *click* sounded, and the door swung open on its own. Seeing the door open, Moro glanced at a button-sized object near a small lamp diagonally above. He wasn't surprised and walked inside.

The interior was a straight, five-meter-long corridor. At the end, there was a doorway covered by a curtain on the right. Moro pushed the curtain aside and saw the layout of the room, bathed in low-wattage red light. There was no standard furniture, just a row of computers and a desk with a chair. A person wearing a hoodie sat in the chair, and because they were facing away from the door, Moro couldn't immediately determine their gender.

"Are you Argo?" Moro asked, looking at the edge of the hood visible over the back of the chair.

*Creak.*

The chair suddenly spun around. Moro saw the person's gender and appearance. It was a woman with an ordinary face and heavy dark circles under her eyes. The hair spilling out from under her hood looked greasy, even in the dim red light.

"Ah, that's me."

Argo sat cross-legged on the chair, leaning forward slightly, studying Moro while scratching vigorously inside her hood with her right hand. "You brought enough money, right?"

Having confirmed her identity, her first question wasn't about the information, but whether he had enough money.

Moro nodded.

Seeing this, Argo got straight to the point. "What information do you want to buy?"

"I want the long-term tracking information on this person." Moro took a folded, hand-drawn portrait of Feitan from his pocket, unfolded it, and turned it toward Argo.

"Huh..." Argo saw the portrait and shook her head without hesitation. "Sorry, I'm not taking this job."

"That's fine. We can talk about it." Moro’s expression remained calm.

If Argo hadn't recognized the portrait of Feitan, he would have turned around and left immediately to avoid wasting time. But since she recognized him instantly, he was willing to pay more.

Argo frowned, pulled her right hand out from her hood, flicked some dandruff from between her fingers, and said coldly, "I said, I'm not taking this job."

"I'll pay more." Moro’s tone was calm.

Argo shook her head again.

Moro raised two fingers. "Two billion up front, and I can add more later."

"No problem!" Argo’s attitude changed in an instant. She said seriously, "It’s not that I love money, but your decisiveness impressed me."

"I can tell," Moro smiled.

Argo changed the subject. "I can take this job, but I have to warn you... everyone who has ever tried to buy tracking information on the Phantom Troupe has died a miserable death, without exception."

"Thanks for the warning, but that's irrelevant to our deal."

"Tch, go ahead and transfer the money then."

"Right."

A moment later, Moro transferred the two billion.

Once Argo confirmed the payment, she nodded in satisfaction and immediately put the value of the information fee to use. "Last Monday, at 20:06:24, someone posted a bounty for a certain member of the Phantom Troupe within a 'limited scope.' If you're interested in that information, I can follow up on it right now."

"Oh?" Moro's eyes widened slightly.