Chapter 7: Human Nature

The iron bars of the cage had rusted, their hardness weakened and brittle.
Under the augmentation of his aura, Moro forcibly bent the vertical, parallel iron bars, creating an opening just large enough for him to slip out of the cage.
Ignoring the fearful gazes from around him, Moro bent down and stepped out of the cage. Hearing the sounds outside the compartment door, he quickly sidestepped and reached out, gripping an iron bar.
He tried to snap it, but lacked the strength to do so.
With time pressing, Moro noticed that the iron bars were not welded shut at the top or bottom, so he exerted force to pull the bent iron bar free from the cage frame.
At that moment, the compartment door swung open, sunlight flooding inside, revealing a tall figure—and a pistol!
Moro’s eyes abruptly changed.
At his current stage of aura control, even a small-caliber handgun could cause him direct harm.
Moreover, controlling aura comes from countless hours of practice, ingrained instinctively so the body remembers the habits.
Even if Moro succeeded in activating his aura, his body would need time to acclimate and adapt to its circulation.
Under these circumstances, the threat posed by the firearm was glaringly obvious.
Almost simultaneously upon seeing the gun, Moro acted without hesitation, hurling the bent iron bar.
Thanks to his proficiency in projection-type abilities, his aim was flawless.
The iron bar whirled through the air with a piercing sound, striking the person who had opened the compartment door with precision.
A scream pierced the air as the person was struck and sent flying backward.
But at that moment, accompanied by a faint sound, a flying knife wrapped in aura shot through the air, aimed straight at Moro’s leg.
It was an attack from another individual—
And an aura user!
In haste, Moro barely managed to shift his body.
The flying knife grazed his knee, spraying a jet of blood.
Moro’s expression tightened; he clenched his teeth against the pain that tugged at the wound and decisively retreated to the depths of the compartment, putting distance between himself and the iron door.
He knew there were two people responsible for transporting the cargo, so he had mentally prepared for that from the start.
But the sudden halt of the transport vehicle and the presence of an aura user among the guards caught him somewhat off guard.
More importantly—
Judging by the timing of the flying knife attack, the enemy likely had some knowledge of the compartment’s interior before the vehicle stopped, which is why the companion with the gun was ordered to open the door.
And judging by their lack of heightened alertness upon opening the door, it was clear the attacker had not disclosed critical information to the gun-wielding companion.
In other words, the gunman was deliberately made to open the door, serving as bait while heightening the threat.
The opponent…
was thoroughly cold-blooded.
Leaning against the side wall of the compartment, Moro’s expression grew grave.
He glanced upward at the dim corner of the compartment ceiling, barely making out a faint red light.
A surveillance camera.
Pulling his gaze back, Moro frowned.

He had failed to anticipate these circumstances—a lack of thoroughness on his part.
Especially the possibility that one of the guards might be an aura user...
But Moro never wasted energy in regrets or frustration; learning from mistakes and failures had always been his principle.
That principle was why, in less than half a year, he had managed to turn around an antique shop and stabilize its profits.
One must understand that the world of antiques and handcrafted artwork trading is rife with fraud, setups, and forgeries.
Moro had been deceived, and not just once fallen into traps.
Yet those experiences forged the invaluable expertise he now possessed to handle diverse situations.
Moro looked toward the compartment door.
Since the attack, the enemy had never revealed themselves.
And one thing bothered him deeply.
He was certain the attacker had a clear opportunity to seriously wound or kill him outright.
Yet, instead, they chose to target his leg.
This was someone who could coldly sacrifice their own companion without hesitation, yet here they deliberately held back.
What did that mean?
“Could it mean their priority is the ‘cargo’ over the risk of their companion’s death while acting as bait…”
Moro realized this.
The so-called cargo, of course, referred to their group of captives.
From this, Moro inferred the attacker must bear the responsibility to keep the cargo intact at all costs.
He couldn’t help but think of the consequences if the transport vehicle were attacked, leading to most captives perishing…
Was there some hidden reason behind this?
Could this also indirectly confirm the importance and value of this particular cargo?
Unfortunately, although he had survived by a stroke of luck, he had soon lost consciousness.
When he awoke, he was already aboard a spaceship bound for the country of Kakin.
At that time, he had no memories related to this world, and worse, no common language to understand the cause and effect immediately.
Afterward, he never bothered to investigate further.
Had he understood more then, he might have grasped far more now.
What was currently certain was that the attacker prioritized the safety of the cargo above even their own companions’ lives.
Perhaps this could be exploited…
Amid his vigilance, Moro instinctively glanced at the frightened, youthful captives inside nearby cages.
Having deduced such a crucial piece of intelligence from the enemy’s behavior, the next step was to leverage it.
How to use this insight? The simplest, most brutal method would be to release the nearby captives to force them to break out first.
This would shift the risk onto them and reduce the danger Moro faced in escaping.
But such a thing…
Moro’s heart inevitably wrestled with the moral conflict.
Should he stick to his principles and bottom line, or become like the aura user outside—cold, remorseless, and able to trample others’ lives without hesitation?
To recklessly cast aside humanity’s worst facets, treating lives as nothing, even dismissing individuals at a cognitive level—how was that different from the Phantom Troupe?
Yet, most people Moro had encountered in this world seemed much the same.
He took a deep breath.
No matter what, he refused to become like the Phantom Troupe.
Resolutely abandoning the idea of using captives as bait, Moro knew he had to find another way or take a desperate gamble…
With that thought, he swiftly checked his wound. It wasn’t deep, but without proper bleeding control, it posed a risk.
Time was running out.
“Hm?”
At that moment, Moro’s pupils contracted. He fixed his gaze on the silent compartment door, then quickly glanced back at the flying knife embedded in the wall.
Time…
The opponent undoubtedly held the initiative, yet showed no sign of expanding their advantage—not even revealing themselves.
Were they overly cautious or waiting for something?
Moro stared at the flying knife, seeing no immediate sign of movement and refrained from rashly pulling out the knife as a weapon.
Still, he sensed they could not remain in this stalemate much longer and that a decision was necessary.
He would take a gamble.
Moro suddenly surged toward the compartment door.
Outside his vision, Zazan heard the movement and instinctively raised his left hand. Aura surged, forming a flying knife out of thin air, ready to be thrown toward the sound.
Every motion and reaction was grounded in his combat training.
But reason intervened, forcing him to suppress the impulse to throw.
Because with the blind spot in his vision, his predictive attack could easily strike one of the captives by mistake.
That moment of hesitation allowed Moro to leap from the compartment, landing more than ten meters away. There, he saw Zazan standing beside the transport vehicle.
The gamble had paid off.
Seeing Zazan did not attack, Moro steadied himself and subtly glanced toward the position of the flying knife deep inside the compartment, then tensed, ready to adapt at a moment’s notice.
Zazan clenched his flying knife, his expression betraying surprise.
This kid… was too strange.
“Are you always this brave?”
Zazan said flatly, fiddling with the knife.
Moro said nothing, focusing intently on adapting his body to the flow of aura.
Seeing Moro’s silence, Zazan frowned and said coldly, “If I had struck earlier, you’d be dead or missing half your life.”
“You could have done that from the start, couldn’t you?”
Moro’s face remained calm.
“…”
Zazan’s expression shifted.