Late June wind slipped through the mountain trees, carrying a surprising bite of coolness.
The graze on his knee still felt cold, like the chill refused to leave the wound.
Way too close.
If he had any choice, Moro would never walk a tightrope over a canyon.
Bottom line: he was still too weak.
Weak enough that in the decisive moment, he had to bet his life as the only chip on the table.
Moro looked down at Zazan sprawled on the ground.
With the information he had, he couldn't be sure whether the knives were conjured or physical.
So he'd trusted the opponent's decision pattern and put the conclusion ahead of the deduction.
He guessed right, so the knife never finished its job.
Among the six Nen types, Conjuration was probably the one that demanded the most "stability."
Whether it was conjured items, beasts, or clones, the user had to maintain focus and concentration to keep them in existence.
A half-trained Conjurer could space out for half a second and watch their creation pop like a soap bubble.
Pain from a sudden injury was even worse.
That's why serious Conjurers trained specifically to ignore pain so it wouldn't break their constructs.
And this guy…
Cold-blooded. Cautious.
When playing it safe stopped working, he switched gears without hesitation.
But his training wasn't there yet. The moment the homing star slammed into his back, the knife dissolved.
If he'd held it together for even half a second longer, Moro wouldn't have died on the spot, but he'd have been crippled—and Zazan might have turned it around.
This fight gave Moro a much deeper understanding of Conjurers' weaknesses.
He absorbed the lesson, walked over to the dying man, and slowly gathered aura in his right hand.
His nodes had only just opened. Thanks to his unique circumstances he could already use a full ability, but raw aura volume couldn't be increased overnight.
That's why even a homing Deceitful Shooting Star hadn't killed Zazan instantly.
No big deal.
"Cough…"
Zazan hovered between awareness and blackout. He could feel the blade of aura hanging over his head.
I'm dead.
Fear and unwillingness both surged, but he couldn't even lift his head.
His eyelids rolled upward, then fell.
"You… monster…"
A whisper.
Even now he couldn't understand what the hell this kid was.
So in the final countdown, a strange resignation settled in.
If he hadn't taken this job, if there hadn't been an inexplicable monster in the cargo…
Pfft.
Moro fired an aura bullet straight through Zazan's skull.
The body jerked once and went still.
"Hm?"
The instant Zazan died, Moro felt a change.
Fatigue melted away. His vision sharpened.
Most obvious of all—his manifested aura volume had grown.
He looked at the back of his hand on reflex.
The Annual Rings.
At the very center:
Lv.1 → Lv.2
"Etude of Love…"
Seeing the level rise and feeling the physical improvement, a gleam flashed in Moro's eyes, followed by pure joy.
He still didn't know exactly how Morena's Etude of Love had fused with the Annual Rings…
But the tangible boost right in front of him was enough to make him grin.
He had one year to kill Feitan.
Even with an extra half-year of Nen training experience, it was absurdly difficult.
Forget the ability itself—
Feitan's speed and swordsmanship built on pure physical mastery were already gaps Moro couldn't close in twelve months.
Add decades of slaughter-honed battle sense, total manifested aura, total potential aura…
Stamina, physical toughness, reaction speed, burst thinking—the list was endless.
Everything tied to overall combat power needed time to stack.
And because of the Death Node, time was the one thing Moro had almost none of.
One year was brutally short.
Short enough that no matter how hard he pushed, he might not even match Feitan's raw aura volume or physical strength.
But now, with Etude of Love fused into the Annual Rings, his growth speed had just gone into overdrive.
It patched the exact hole he needed most.
Moro couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face.
To the kids near the cargo door, that smile looked like something else entirely.
Moro didn't care. He calmed his excitement and turned toward the middle-aged gunman lying a short distance away, iron bar still buried in his gut.
The throw hadn't hit anything vital. The man was bleeding out, but still breathing—for now.
Moro walked over and looked down at the pale face. Coldness came naturally to his eyes.
Morena's Etude of Love: kill one person, gain one level.
Each level increased total manifested and potential aura.
Past level 20, you could awaken a second ability perfectly suited to you.
The theoretical cap was 100.
At max level, he'd even be able to grant others the same "kill-to-level" power.
Whether his version was 100% identical to Morena's was still unknown.
Right now, the only thing that mattered was leveling.
A second ability would be nice, but secondary.
Raw aura volume came first.
With that thought, Moro reached down, wrapped fingers around the driver's neck, and squeezed.
Crack.
The head lolled. Dead.
Moro stood and checked his hand again.
Lv.2
No change.
His expression shifted slightly. Experience told him the answer instantly.
Only killing Nen users gives EXP?
Disappointment came and went in a flash.
If killing normal people worked, he'd have started worrying about hidden Limitations and risks.
Nen users only.
That actually made him feel safer.
Still, it hinted that difficulty would scale with level later on.
"Right…"
Looking at the corpse, a sudden idea struck.
If he forcibly opened someone's nodes, wouldn't that turn a normal person into a Nen user?
"Then I could just grab some wanted criminal or piece of trash and—"
Rustle.
A sound from the slope behind him.
Moro spun into combat stance, eyes snapping toward the noise.
Between branches and tall grass, a slim figure stepped into view.
Moro's brow arched.