Liam honed in on the audio frequencies. Through the Listen application of his divine script, he caught every syllable of the distant phone call effortlessly, requiring only a fraction of his concentration to maintain the eavesdropping. He waited in the grass as Bisky navigated the opening exchange, confirming Netero was asking for their coordinates, before turning his attention to Nanika.
Nanika, he said. Could you help me? The old man talking to Bisky right now. I would like to bring him here.
Bisky shot a sharp glance away from her phone screen, her brow furrowing as she rapidly reassessed the situation.
Killua reacted faster. His shoulders locked, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. He stared at Liam in total disbelief. Negotiating with Nanika's wish mechanics was not a casual transaction; it was a lethal, unpredictable gamble where the entity held absolute leverage. Bringing a light tone of consultation into her proximity usually ended with someone losing pieces of their anatomy.
Liam reached into the invisible currents of the clearing. He pulled the ambient natural energy into his palm, compressing it into a dense, vibrating sphere. To anyone with their natural perception open, the sphere radiated a heavy, warm saturation. From Nanika's perspective, the concentrated ambient field resembled a massive, exquisite meal.
He extended his hand. Does this work? he asked.
Nanika stared at the glowing mass hovering above his skin. She shifted her dark eyes up to Liam's face.
Emm, she murmured.
Killua stood frozen.
Nanika stepped away and moved into the center of the clearing. The atmospheric pressure dropped in an instant. A cold, sudden draft swept through the trees, snapping twigs and rustling the heavy canopy above, signaling a violent spatial distortion without any prior buildup.
Back in the city, Netero had been perched on a slab of shattered concrete alongside Kite, dryly assessing the destruction of their afternoon. He was halfway through a syllable when the urban rubble vanished. He materialized standing on the damp soil of the woods, seamlessly finishing his spoken word without a single twitch of surprise or loss of balance.
He swept his gaze across the thick tree trunks, the dappled sunlight, and the assembled group. His eyes locked onto Nanika. The deep lines around his mouth settled into a hard, focused assessment.
I thought, Liam's voice sounded from behind him, that the Hunter Association President would be more direct when asking for assistance. It seemed highly inefficient to make you trek out here to find us.
Netero clicked his tongue against his teeth, producing a low, abrasive sound that conveyed deep annoyance. Asking a junior for a favor is not a hobby of mine. However, given the objective is to crush opponents who currently outclass me, I am severely lacking in alternatives.
He pivoted on his heel.
Shizuku released a condensed sphere of natural energy straight at his temple.
The projectile tore through the air far faster than a standard physical throw. Unlike aura, the natural energy bled absolutely no aggressive intent. It simply moved through space. Netero caught the subtle atmospheric displacement at the absolute final millisecond. His neck snapped sideways, his feet carrying him two meters backward before conscious thought even registered the evasion.
He stared at Shizuku.
When did Jingyang's student learn that trick, he muttered, his tone making it clear he did not expect an answer.
Bisky let out a sharp, resonant laugh. She clapped her hands together and took a long, slow breath. The dense ambient field rushed into her small frame. Her frilly pink dress fluttered violently as 150,000 units of her internal aura forcefully merged with roughly 60,000 units of raw natural energy. A fifty-year lifetime dedicated to mastering Transmutation flawlessly bridged the gap, instantly translating her extensive knowledge into the seventh category.
Behind her, a towering, translucent silhouette of the 100-Type Guanyin Bodhisattva erupted into existence, woven entirely from natural energy.
It was not the perfectly internalized, muscle-memory version Netero summoned. It was a structural replica, built solely from Bisky observing the technique and filling the architectural gaps with raw power. Dozens of massive, glowing palms crashed down simultaneously toward the old man.
Netero, his muscles already fatigued from the brutal city brawl, found his evasion margins alarmingly tight. He slipped through the heavy barrage, the massive impacts shaking the dirt directly beneath his sandals. He cleared the final palm by a fraction of an inch.
Before he could plant his feet, Shizuku engaged.
Her raw capacity was a fraction of Bisky's, generating a significantly scaled-down Bodhisattva behind her back. She compensated for the lack of mass with lethal specialization. Drawing on her personal Hatsu, the edges of the golden arms vibrated with a vicious, high-frequency hum. A dozen chainsaw-bladed palms carved through the air toward Netero from a blind angle.
The old man twisted his torso, pushing his joints past their natural limits to clear the lethal buzzing arc. His boots dug deep trenches into the soil as he landed, his balance slightly compromised.
Bisky raised a hand, cutting the assault short. Her lips curled upward into a wide, victorious smile.
Well, she chirped. How about it, old man? That is the natural system.
Netero brushed a stray leaf from his sleeve, straightening his posture. Then I will ask directly. Using this method, can a practitioner deploy their absolute maximum aura without the usual physical restrictions?
Exactly that, Liam answered, raising his hands slightly.
The massive volumes of energy Bisky and Shizuku had just expended were already flowing back into them. Liam had not commanded this cycle. The forest simply replenished the deficit on its own, the ambient field breathing into their pores at the exact speed of respiration. Liam held his aura steady, allowing Netero to read the flawless, immediate recovery rate.
Netero exhaled a long, measured breath.
Kid, he said, injecting the word with a rare, heavy respect.
What about Kite? Killua demanded. He had been shifting his weight, waiting to drop the question since the old man arrived.
Netero turned his attention to the boy.
You look relaxed, Killua pressed. Which means you won, or at least survived. So?
Lost, Netero stated, entirely devoid of shame or frustration. Was not even a contest. The guards are exceptional. He cracked his neck. Kite is functional. I am old but sturdy, and Kite is significantly harder to kill than the situation warranted.
Killua narrowed his eyes. The old man had lost, survived, and stood here casually analyzing his defeat while formulating his next strike. He tucked the strange anomaly away for future processing.
Now, Netero demanded, looking back at Liam. What is the procedure? You obviously have a method.
Nothing complicated, Liam said. He stepped forward and pressed his palm flat against the side of Netero's head.
Netero froze, suppressing the deeply ingrained reflex to counter the blind spot contact. The natural energy flooded from Liam's palm. For Shizuku and Bisky, the pathway had required deliberate carving. For Netero, the energy flooded into a vessel that had spent a century preparing for it. One hundred years of absolute Enhancement mastery synchronized with the seventh category upon contact. The absorption rate skyrocketed, the pressure building inside the old man's frame like a deep-sea submersible.
Liam dropped to the grass, crossed his legs, and let the process run.
Less than three hours later, Netero opened his eyes.
The clearing sat in profound silence. The sparrows that had returned after the initial teleportation had fled the moment Netero began his internal circulation.
Estimate? Liam asked quietly.
Netero rotated his shoulders, rolling his neck as he cataloged the new currents running beneath his skin. Around nine percent.
Bisky shifted her stance. Her silence communicated exactly what she thought of that low number.
But you cannot break fifty either, Liam noted.
It is not an inability, Netero corrected. He raised his hands, inspecting his calloused palms. Nine is where I choose to halt. He curled his fingers into fists. Nine percent of my capacity is the exact proportion I require. Taking more would skew the internal equilibrium and dismantle the martial technique I have spent a century refining.
So the fifty percent threshold is a legitimate wall, Liam concluded. Not just a personal limitation.
Perhaps. Netero flattened his right hand. The ambient energy instantly pooled above his skin. He shifted its state effortlessly, transforming it from a clear, flowing liquid to a thick, heavy sludge, then to a low-burning blue flame, and finally into a dense, indescribable mass. He manipulated the medium with terrifying casualness before crushing it back into nothingness.
You realize, Netero started, his voice dropping an octave, the concept of ambient environmental energy interacting with Nen is not a new discovery. Practitioners have unknowingly brushed against it for generations, entirely outside of your framework.
I considered that, Liam replied. I read a log from Greed Island where a user manipulated the forest's ambient field to suppress other abilities. It was filed as an anomalous Conjuration technique. But the mechanics never aligned with standard Conjuration.
Precisely. The mechanics clashed, yet no one investigated the discrepancy, Netero said, his gaze drifting up to the ancient canopy. Because the moment you try to categorize the ambient field's relationship with Nen, you encounter a question nobody wants to sit with.
Netero let the silence stretch.
Can matter and consciousness truly be separated? There are scholars who argue consciousness is merely an emergent property. They claim that once a biological network achieves sufficient complexity, a sense of self assembles out of necessity, much like a traffic jam forms from individual cars unaware of the whole pattern. The self is just the system managing its own chaos. Netero locked eyes with Liam. If that holds true, what exactly are we breathing in?
The wind died down completely.
Consider this, Netero pressed, opening his hand to let a wisp of shapeless energy dance across his knuckles. Every living organism contains a spark. As they age and decay, that spark dissipates into the environment. We have been pulling from this accumulation since the dawn of Nen. No one bothered to ask what it was made of. He crushed the wisp in his fist. If consciousness is just complex matter experiencing itself, then this natural energy we are harvesting is simply the residue left behind when that complexity breaks down. We are practicing our arts using the lingering echoes of every life that has ever ended.
Netero's dark eyes bore into Liam.
You knew this, Netero stated. Didn't you.
Liam held the old man's stare.
I had a theory, he said.