Hunter x Hunter: The Strongest Zoldyck

Chapter 115 The Lone Traveler at Night

Glug...

He gulped down a mouthful of mineral water, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down twice. The cool water slid down his throat into his chest, taking away some of the residual heat from the arena and bringing Roy a brief moment of comfort.

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and felt the coolness spread from his chest to his limbs like a small stream flowing over a dry riverbed...

"If there's another battle tomorrow, I should reach the 200th floor, right?"

After closing the bottle cap, Roy casually tossed the empty bottle behind him into the trash can.

"Thump!

""

The empty bottle traced a clean parabola in the air before landing precisely at the mouth of the bucket with a crisp sound.

Roy's seemingly muttering tone was as calm as if he were asking whether or not to bring an umbrella tomorrow.

Fica paused for a moment.

He stood beside Roy, still clutching the few coins he'd received as change from buying water, his fingertips rubbing the edges of the coins back and forth.

Upon hearing this, he paused for a moment, a fleeting look of worry crossing his eyes, but he couldn't completely hide it.

"Hmm, that should be about right, boss..."

""

He paused, as if hesitating whether he should say the next sentence.

The coin tapped lightly against my palm, producing a soft metallic clanging sound.

"But... Boss, are you really capable of handling him?"

Fica pulled a neatly folded tissue from his pocket and handed it to Roy.

The tissues were clean, and the edges still carried the scent of lavender.

"I always felt... that he didn't use his full strength when he fought me."

Fica's voice lowered, so low it sounded like she was talking to herself.

His hand remained in the gesture of handing over a tissue, his knuckles slightly clenched, leaving a shallow crease on the tissue.

Roy took the tissue, but instead of wiping his sweat, he turned it over in his palm and looked down at the white cotton pulp surface.

"All out?"

He raised his head, his gaze falling on Fica's face. There was no mockery or disdain in those silver-gray eyes, only a calm that was almost cruelly clear-headed.

"Fika, you overestimate ourselves and underestimate him."

Luo Yi pressed a tissue to his forehead and slowly wiped away the sweat remaining on his temples.

"He didn't even use his full strength, probably not even a third of it."

Fica's pupils contracted slightly.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something.

The coin slipped from his palm, fell to the ground, bounced twice, rolled under the seat, and made a series of crisp, fading sounds.

No one picked it up.

Roy folded the used tissue into a neat little square, placed it on the armrest of the seat, and then turned to look Fica in the eye.

"You know, he's Hisoka Moro."

The name came out of his mouth slowly and deliberately, but each word was enunciated clearly, as if each syllable was engraved with an invisible crack.

"Hisso...Moro?"

Fica frowned, his eyes showing obvious confusion.

He tilted his head slightly, his red hair slipping down his shoulder, looking like a cluster of cold flames under the light.

"Boss... do you know him?"

There was a hint of cautious probing in his tone, as if he was afraid of stepping on something he shouldn't.

Roy did not answer immediately.

He turned his head and looked at the half-open window at the end of the corridor.

Outside the window, the night was deep, and the lights of the Sky Arena dyed half of the sky a murky orange-red, obscuring both the stars and the moon.

"I don't know him."

He spoke, his voice very soft.

"But I understand him."

Fica remained silent and waited quietly.

"Hisso Moro, a genius Nen user born in Meteor City, whose age is unknown, has a Transmutation Nen type. He was able to kill the legendary circus ringmaster Moritonio when he was twelve years old. Since then, he has been walking on the edge of the dark zone. He is a powerful, fierce, and unapproachable lone wolf."

Roy's voice was like reading from a file, steady, calm, and without any superfluous emotion.

"His fighting style is mainly playful and oppressive, rarely serious, but every time he gets serious, his opponent ends up seriously injured or dead."

"He enjoys fighting, enjoys chasing the strong, enjoys watching his prey grow stronger little by little, and then, when it's at its sweetest, he devours it in one bite."

At this point, Roy paused.

"So he's holding back on you not because you're not strong enough, but because you're not sweet enough for him to want to pick."

Fica's expression changed slightly, and his fingers unconsciously clenched the seam of his pants.

Roy withdrew his gaze from the window and looked back at Fica.

There was no fear or anxiety in those silver-gray eyes, only a heavy calm that came from having calculated everything.

"He won't go all out against me from the start."

Roy stood up and patted off non-existent dust from his trousers.

"But we won't keep too much."

He walked deeper into the corridor, his pace unhurried, his back straight like a newly sheathed sword.

Fica stood there for two seconds, then bent down to pick up the two coins that had rolled under the seat, clenched them in his palm, and quickly followed.

The coin, warmed by my body heat, pressed against my palm, causing a slight pain.

Night falls.

The lights of the Sky Arena wove an orange-red curtain outside the window, casting a soft, warm hue on the white walls of the room.

But Roy didn't turn on the light.

He sat on the floor in the center of the room, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees, palms facing up, fingers naturally relaxed.

His short, silvery-white hair gleamed with a cold, faint light in the darkness, like a small patch of frozen moonlight.

The door is already locked.

Fika was sent back to his room, muttering before leaving, "Boss, you should go to sleep early," but Roy silenced him with a look.

The room was so quiet that only the low, noisy electronic buzzing outside the window and his own heartbeat could be heard.

Boom!Boom!Boom!

Regular, steady, like a precisely operating machine.

But Roy knew that the inside of the machine was not as peaceful as it appeared on the outside.

He closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into his body.

Thoughts are flowing.

It wraps around the whole body, evenly and stably, like a thin, silvery-white water film adhering to the skin surface.

After the past two days of competition and previous training, the membrane has become thicker and denser than it was two days ago.

He could feel the energy emanating from his limbs and bones, without any stagnation or break, evenly covering every inch of his skin.

Huff... Huff...

With each breath, Roy's thoughts rose and fell with his breath, neither too much nor too little, neither too fast nor too slow.

The entanglement has stabilized.

Silently making a judgment in his consciousness, his thoughts continued to sink, touching the second level... firmness.

He did not relax his maintenance of the entanglement, but continued to deepen his intention, layering it on top of the original entanglement.

Allow more thoughts to become fixed throughout the body, forming a thicker defense.