Hunter x Hunter: The Strongest Zoldyck

Chapter 131 Hisoka’s head is severed! ! !

"It's a pity... you haven't had enough time to grow. If you had more time, you would definitely have given me the ultimate experience."

"Experience..."

""

As he spoke, Hisoka licked the corner of his mouth, as if reminiscing about Roy after he had grown up.

"However... I can't take it anymore..."

Snapped!

With a flick of his thumb, the red Ace playing card flipped over. He slowly squatted down, his long, narrow golden eyes staring straight at Roy, his gaze filled with barely suppressed killing intent: "Such a delicious fruit of yours, I really can't bear to part with it."

hiss.....

Clamping the flipped red A, his right hand slid across Roy's neck, drawing a thin red line. A few drops of blood appeared, dark red in color, conspicuous and dripping...

"Do you have any new... methods?"

"If... there isn't..."

Hisoka pressed his red A-shaped mark against Roy's neck, pressing it a little deeper, and the dripping blood was no longer just beads of blood, but lines of blood.

A sharp, razor-sharp touch came from his neck, mixed with the slight stinging of a cut and the warmth of flowing blood, which gave Roy's weary spirit a slight jolt.

"means?"

"Of course there is, but... are you sure you can handle it?"

With a slight shift in his gaze, Roy remained motionless, his eyes, which had faded to a silvery-gray color at some point, fixed on Hisoka.

Click!

With a crisp cracking sound of a finger bone breaking, Roy closed his eyes.

Then... I opened my eyes again...

In an instant, the world changed in his eyes—no, that's not right, it didn't change, it stood still.

The wind stopped, the lights froze, and dust particles floating in the air hung suspended in mid-air, like countless stars sealed in amber.

The referee's stopwatch stopped, the gaping mouths in the stands froze, and even the sound of his own heartbeat was stretched into a long, low, continuous hum.

In this static world, Roy's mind was active. In a flash, he discovered the difference between when his body was 60% liberated and before it was 50%.

Previously, when he unleashed his maximum power, the world was in slow motion.

There are gaps between each frame, and you can still see the trajectory of the movement. You can also use your brain to calculate, predict, and catch up.

But 60 percent is different; now, 60 percent of the world has become a frozen painting in his eyes.

But this wasn't because he became faster; rather, it was because his thoughts and perceptions were accelerated—accelerated a hundredfold...

Is this the world where the physical body is 60% liberated?

Overwhelmed by his thoughts, Roy looked at Hisoka, whose pupils had not yet contracted, whose fingers had not yet lifted, and whose playing card was still pressed against his neck. He could feel the card blade still embedded in his skin, and the blood beads that had just emerged from the wound, not yet having had time to flow down.

He felt that all of this was like a book waiting for him to open, with each page waiting for him to read.

"Then... let's settle this with a winner!"

Roy raised his right hand from his side.

His movements are not fast, in fact, they can be described as slow, but he doesn't need to be fast; he has plenty of time.

In Hisoka's world, perhaps only a blink of an eye has passed.

But in his world, that blink of an eye is enough for him to do everything.

He could see the curve of Hisoka's eyelashes, count the folds in his collar, and see the slightly raised flakes of skin at the edge of the dried bloodstain on the bridge of his nose.

He could even see each finger of his right hand go from curled to straight, and feel the bones at the knuckles sliding under his skin...

Everything was presented to him in its truest and most minute detail.

Then... in the still world, his right hand pressed against Hisoka's throat... fingers together, fingertips pointing upwards, palm heel downwards.

Without any spiritual energy, the iron-gray light had already extinguished, several minutes ago.

The last wisp of iron-gray smoke seeping from the wound dissipated completely when he threw his final punch.

He's using muscles, bones, ligaments—pure, primal human power that bypasses the limitations of the brain... raw instinct...

cut!

Pale, dragon-like fingers with bulging veins cut into Hisoka's throat from the left and out from the right.

There was no breath, no light, no sound.

Only the power of muscle contraction, the precision of skeletal transmission, and the speed of ligament stretching are required.

In that instant, Roy's right hand didn't feel like a hand; it felt like a knife that had been tempered countless times, without a blade, yet more deadly than any blade.

Then... Hisoka's head slid off, like a fruit plucked from a branch, slowly sliding down from the top of his body, drawing a short arc in the air.

Crack!

The frozen time shattered before Roy's eyes, and the world began to move again. The wind stirred, the lights began to flicker, and everything in the square was reflected in his eyes once more... including Hisoka... his headless half-body, yet no blood gushing from it.

"That's really... impressive."

Hisoka's head, which had rolled to the ground, uttered a sentence through its thin lips.

"If I hadn't given myself a heads-up beforehand, I probably would be dead..."

It turns out that long before the match started, Hisoka had already predicted that Roy would use the same power he used to save Fica. Hisoka had imagined countless ways to deal with this almost teleporting-like performance, but he found that he was almost helpless because he lacked information and understanding of this power and had no countermeasures.

In this situation, after much deliberation, he chose a solution that was not a solution at all: to take action in advance, choosing between the head and the heart.

In his estimation, there were only two ways for Roy to completely eliminate him in that state: either rip out his heart or sever his head.

Both of these possibilities are fifty percent.

.

Fortunately, he made the right choice... He put all his eggs in one basket...

The instant his head was severed from his neck, he activated the suggestion he had given himself, and countless pink Nen energies surged out from his severed wound, simultaneously blocking all the ruptured blood vessels.

Looking at Hisoka, who was still able to move freely despite being separated from his body, Roy stood still, his right fist in the position after the slash, his five fingers together, fingertips pointing forward, and the back of his hand facing outward.

But he only held the position for two seconds before collapsing from exhaustion.

His body fell forward, not as a fall, but more like a collapse, like a tower whose supports had been removed, cracking from the top down, piece by piece, from standing to kneeling, from kneeling to lying down.

Boom!

His forehead slammed against the ring with a dull thud.

As his head hit the ground, his eyes remained open, his silver-gray pupils reflecting the few drops of dark red blood on the floor and Hisoka's head, which was still open.

He still wanted to move, still wanted to deliver the final, fatal blow, but he couldn't move anymore.

It's not that he doesn't want to move, it's that his body won't allow it.

He pushed himself to the limit, exhausting every inch of his body, from bones to muscles, from ligaments to nerves, to the limit of what he had achieved.

His little finger was already broken, the ligaments in his right arm were torn, and his spine was making a fine, sandpaper-like sound.

"Huh? You haven't given up yet, and you want to kill me?"

Hisoka's head blinked.

It wasn't a metaphor; his eyes really blinked.

The golden pupils went from unfocused to focused, from focused to clear, and from clear to alive.

His lips moved, but no sound came out. However, you could tell from his lip movements that he was saying...

...a love that can stretch and contract freely.

Immediately, pink Nen energy began to flow out from the severed neck and weave like a spider web, thread by thread, line by line, from his blood vessels, trachea, esophagus, muscles, and bones, intertwining, entwining, and weaving in mid-air, connecting the seam between his head and body.

His head bounced off the ground.

It wasn't played by itself; it was pulled up by those pink threads, like a puppet on strings, bouncing off the ground, tracing a short, curved path in the air, and landing steadily on the severed neck, without missing a beat.

Then pink Nen continued to flow from the broken end, not to repair, but to fix, like glue, like bandage, like something more primitive than medicine, to reattach his head and body.

Click click...

He twisted his neck, raised his right hand, held it in front of his eyes, turned it over, and put his palm up.

A white rectangular handkerchief suddenly appeared.

despair!....

He gently draped the cloth over the red line connecting his head and torso. The corners of his mouth curved slightly, revealing a strange expression—not a smile, but an expression of...almost death.

Then he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket with his left hand.

It's not a flip phone, it's a candybar phone, black, with a few scratches on the screen.

He pressed a key on the keyboard with his thumb, dialed a number, and held the phone to his ear.

The waiting tone was as monotonous as a heartbeat, beep...beep...beep...beep!

The call was connected.

"It's me." Hisoka's voice was a little hoarse and rough, like sandpaper scraping against an iron plate.

"My neck is broken, I need you."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"6

"...You're not dead yet?" March's voice was neither loud nor soft, carrying a faint, crisp sound like ice being shattered—clear, cold, and devoid of warmth.

"Almost there, maybe I can hold on for another minute."

Hisoka felt the swelling and congestion in his neck and calmly said something.

"address."

The voice on the other end of the microphone remained completely still.

"How heartless...Machi..."

"address."

The cold voice on the other end of the microphone repeated what it had said before, sounding very impatient.

This should be the last thing she said. If Hisoka continues to flirt, then the only thing she will do is hang up the phone.

If Hisoka truly doesn't want to die, then there's only one thing he can say...

"Come down, F-3 arena."

beep!..

The call ended as soon as he finished speaking, as if the person on the other end didn't want to say another word to Hisoka.

"Heh... It's still so cold..."

'

With a laugh, Hisoka awkwardly stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

Then......!

Hisoka lay down, face up, with his right hand under his neck, as if he were resting on an uncomfortable pillow.

His eyes were fixed on the ceiling. The light was bright, the incandescent light was blinding, and it made his eyes sting.

But the corners of his mouth still held that curve, not a smile, but an expression of desire being satisfied.

A moment later... footsteps echoed from the passageway to the arena.

Not fast, not slow, very steady.

A soft, rhythmic sound, tap...tap...tap..., came from the passageway, accompanied by a purple figure with medium-length hair that curled outwards at the ends, phoenix eyes, and a cold expression.

She was wearing a modified purple kimono with a wide obi decorated with skulls around her waist, her right hand hanging at her side with her fingers slightly spread.

Yes... Machi.

Tap tap...

She knelt down beside Hisoka, glanced at the wound on his neck, and frowned slightly, not out of worry, but because of the trouble.

"You broke it again."

Her voice was very soft, so soft that it sounded like she was talking to the wound.

Hisoka's lips curved into a slight smile.

"Um.

""

"This is such a hassle."

With an impatient grumble, Machi stretched out her right hand, fingers spread, fingertips pointing at Hisoka's neck.

A pale blue aura seeped out, as fine as a hair and as sharp as a steel needle.

*Sizzle!*

Pale blue Nen threads pierced Hisoka's skin, passing through muscles, blood vessels, and nerves, traversing, suturing, and fixing between the broken cervical vertebrae.

The pale blue Nen lines intertwined with Hisoka's pink Nen lines, like two rivers of different colors flowing into the same sea.

Hisoka frowned slightly.

It wasn't because of pain, but because of itching, that kind of itch that went deep into the bones, like countless ants crawling on you.

call...

He let out a soft breath, his fingers curled slightly at his side, then opened again.

Machi's fingers lingered on Hisoka's neck for a long time, so long that the stunned spectators in the ring finally began to breathe, so long that the referee's hand was lowered from the stopwatch and then raised again, so long that Bisky in the stands stood up and then sat down again.

"alright."

Machi withdrew her finger, and the pale blue Nen energy dissipated from her fingertip.

She stood up, looked down at Hisoka, and said, "Don't move your neck for three days. If you do, the threads will snap and you'll die."

Hisoka sat up from the ground and touched his neck with his right hand.

The wound was still there, but it had stopped bleeding. The pink and light blue spiritual threads intertwined under the skin to form a fine net, like a bandage buried in the flesh, but without the stiffness that came with being reattached.

Then... he stood up and looked at the white-haired boy who was still lying on the ground in the center of the arena.

Her silver-gray hair was spread out on the floor, and her face was buried under her arms, so her expression was not visible.

There were dozens of fine, dark red bloodstains on his back, and the wounds from the playing card shards were still oozing blood, drop by drop.

Hisoka stared at it for a long time.

It took so long that Machi turned and walked towards the tunnel, so long that the referee finally raised his right hand, and so long that sparse applause rang out from the audience.

The corners of his mouth curved slightly.

It wasn't a smile; it was an expression that said, "See you next time."

He turned around and walked towards the passageway.

Barefoot on the ring, he took each step very lightly, yet his neck remained perfectly still...

"Sigh...it just feels a little tight."