Nen is an ability that anyone can potentially master—it resides within every person.
However, the vast majority of people in the world are unaware of its existence.
Even so, some individuals, by dedicating themselves to their craft and achieving extraordinary focus, can unknowingly use Nen abilities.
It seems to be a manifestation of extreme concentration or the result of pouring intense emotion into their exceptional skills.
Thus, anything created by hand may carry Nen energy from its creator.
Moro called these items Nen objects.
The residual aura in these items was usually faint and required "Gyo" to see clearly.
But the fascinating part was—
Even though the aura was so weak, it could withstand the erosion of time, lasting for centuries or even millennia.
Even after the person who released the Nen was erased by time, even after the object itself had decayed, the Nen remained.
It was as though these auras defied time itself, evoking a sense of awe.
Moro gently ran his hand along the katana's sheath.
The sword was named Senro.
Among all the Nen objects Moro had encountered, Senro's Nen energy ranked among the top three in intensity.
Its aura was so strong that it could be seen without using Gyo.
If Moro hadn't known Senro's history from his previous life, he wouldn't have been able to seize this opportunity at such a low price.
If he remembered correctly, the final transaction price for Senro was a staggering 1.26 billion Jenny.
The only reason the katana didn't sell for an even higher price was that it was tied to a murder case, making it difficult to find a buyer.
Moro didn't attempt to absorb the aura right away. Instead, he wrapped the katana back in the black cloth.
The masked man gave the money a quick glance to confirm its authenticity but didn't bother counting it. He closed the briefcase and looked at Moro.
"No problems, right?"
He held the briefcase and kept glancing around nervously. One hand remained behind his back.
Moro noted the man's actions but wasn't bothered by them.
Given Senro's shady history, it was natural for the masked man to be on edge.
Moro nodded to indicate there were no issues.
"Alright."
The masked man stepped back a few paces, then quickly ducked into an alley.
Moro watched him leave and soon heard the sound of rapid footsteps fading into the distance—the masked man was likely running away to avoid any trouble.
The man's thief-like movements and jumpy behavior were typical of people in Yorknew City.
In this city, while opportunities were everywhere, so was human malice.
As the footsteps faded into silence, Moro hefted Senro and left in the opposite direction.
Back at his hotel, Moro removed the black cloth wrapping Senro.
The katana's sheath was patterned with intertwining red and white stripes. The hilt and handguard were a pale gray. The overall appearance gave off a sense of age and history.
Moro used his thumb to push against the handguard.
As the blade slid from its sheath, wisps of smoke-like Nen energy surged out, spreading across the surface of the blade before settling into every corner.
The blade was clear and bright, reflecting Moro's face.
But it was an unsharpened katana.
Moro, assuming the role of an appraiser, admired the blade for a while before slowly returning it to its sheath.
Unsharpened. Unsullied by blood.
And yet, the blade was enveloped in a strikingly strong Nen aura.
It was hard to imagine how much emotion the creator must have poured into forging this sword.
Moro stared at the sheathed katana. He focused his will and attempted to absorb the Nen energy attached to Senro.
Instantly, the aura flowed into Moro's right hand at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Within seconds, all the Nen had been absorbed by The Yearring.
Moro lowered his gaze to his hand holding the sword, noticing that the green energy bar in the second ring of The Yearring had extended slightly.
Judging by the length, the absorbed aura accounted for about 3-4% of the bar.
In the past, absorbing that amount of energy would have required five or six Nen objects.
This confirmed how exceptionally potent Senro's Nen aura was—his effort to intercept the sale had been well worth it.
"The Yearring's ability to absorb Nen is still intact, but…"
Moro released his grip on Senro and raised his hand to his face, his eyes filled with contemplation.
When the first ring of The Yearring was fully charged, it had allowed him to escape death temporarily, returning him to his starting point. It had also loaded some relevant information into his consciousness.
But that information only pertained to the first ring. Nothing about the other rings was revealed.
Thus, even after absorbing Senro's aura, he had only now confirmed that The Yearring's energy absorption ability still worked.
So, he couldn't be certain…
Would the second ring, once fully charged, also grant him another chance at rebirth?
Moro lowered his hand and shook his head slightly.
Compared to the unknowns surrounding The Yearring's energy mechanics, there were more pressing priorities.
Still, if he could sell Senro for a profit, he could use the funds to acquire more Nen objects and continue increasing the energy stored in The Yearring.
This way, he could increase the efficiency of his energy collection.
With this in mind, Moro began contemplating how to sell Senro.
All he knew was that Senro was tied to a murder case and that after being missing for some time, it had suddenly sold for an astronomical sum of 1.26 billion Jenny.
However, he had no idea what twists and turns were involved in that process.
What he did know was that selling Senro would be risky.
Moro understood this but wouldn't be overly cautious.
"The bold succeed, the timid starve."
To earn great rewards, one had to face equally great risks.
After spending over half a year in the antique and collectibles trade, Moro understood this principle better than anyone.
"Hm?"
Moro suddenly looked up at the door.
At the same time—
In the hallway outside, two burly men moved silently along the wall toward his room.
They stood on either side of the door, exchanged glances, and then simultaneously focused on the door.
In a brightly lit kitchen—
Under the harsh lights, a young boy lay naked on the kitchen counter.
Beside him stood a handsome man dressed in a white suit.
The man held a scalpel, his expression focused as he cut into the boy's chest.
As the skin and veins split open, blood sprayed onto the man's white suit, staining it a vivid red.
If Moro had been present, he would have recognized the boy on the counter as one of the "pigs" who had been caged with him in the transport truck.
The man in the white suit paused and asked, "How many are still unaccounted for?"
"One."
A group of people stood nearby, observing the scene. One of them answered the man's question.
The man in the white suit looked up and asked, "Number 11?"
"Yes."
The person bowed slightly, showing respect.
The man narrowed his eyes and said coldly, "If you don't bring him back, you can end your life."
"Understood."
The person responded calmly, as though unconcerned about their own life.
In Moro's hotel room—
A corpse lay on the floor near the door.
In the living room by the sofa was another burly man, still alive.
Moro crouched beside the man, who was bleeding heavily, idly twirling a pistol he had taken.
"Bloodhounds, huh… you followed the scent right to me."
Moro's eyes glinted coldly as he paused.
"Perfect. There's something I need your help with."
"!!!"
Hearing the icy tone in Moro's voice, the burly man's face filled with fear.
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Powerstones?