Hunter x Hunter: The Strongest Zoldyck

Chapter 135 Meteor City and the Ten Old Men

Tap tap tap.....

Tap your fingers lightly on your knees, once, twice, three times.

It was exactly the same rhythm as the tall, thin man tapping his sleeve.

This wasn't Roy deliberately imitating; it was his instinct.

The Zoldyck family doesn't need their brains to learn muscle movements; they only need their bodies.

Once they've seen a movement once, their muscles will naturally remember it.

Whether this special learning ability is a talent of the Zoldyck family or something passively developed through years of training, it doesn't matter.

In short, this has become an essential quality for every Zoldyck, and Roy is one of the best among them.

As he unconsciously tapped away, he mentally replayed the images he had just seen.

The tall, thin man's posture, the fat man's center of gravity, the bamboo-skin man's breathing rate, the number of times the man with the thick beard pinched his palm, and the angle at which the small eyes wearing gold-rimmed glasses turned.

Five people, five points, like a net being stretched out, with each knot tied in a crucial position.

Roy didn't know their names, nor did he need to.

All he needed to know was that they were Yin Beasts, and that they had the ability to obtain the information he needed.

The intelligence network of the Shadow Beasts is directly under the Ten Elders, and the Ten Elders and Meteor City have a deeply bound, interdependent symbiotic relationship.

The Phantom Troupe, on the other hand, comes from Meteor City.

To deal with the Brigade, he first needs to know where the Brigade members are.

The reason why the Ten Elders were assassinated in the previous life's story was that they did not know the relationship between the Phantom Troupe and Meteor City, and did not prepare in advance, so they died so cleanly and without any ability to resist.

But... if I told them about the relationship between the Phantom Troupe and Meteor City beforehand, I believe they wouldn't die helplessly like in the previous story.

Once this is known, conflict between the two is inevitable, and that conflict presents his opportunity...

Roy picked up the water glass on the table and took a sip.

The water was cool, and as it slid down his throat into his stomach, it made him feel much more refreshed.

Thump...

Roy placed the glass back on the table, his fingers lingering on the glass for a moment, feeling the cool touch of the glass as he silently waited for his opportunity.

He's waiting for things to go wrong.

Auction houses are never peaceful places, especially those run by gangsters.

The fourth member of the brigade is about to make a move, while the Shadow Beast is about to defend. When the two groups collide, it's a mess.

What he had to do was to show off his skills in the muddy waters so that the Yin Beast could see them.

It's not about approaching him to strike up a conversation; it's about letting them come to him.

A capable stranger who helped them in the chaos—they will remember such a person, investigate him, and test him.

Then... there will be a second contact.

That was his chance.

Bang!

The auctioneer on the stage struck his gavel once, the clear sound echoing through the hall.

The first item was brought up, and when the red cloth was lifted, it was a bronze statue, rusted and its value was unknown.

Some people in the audience were raising their paddles, some were bidding higher, and some were whispering to each other; everything seemed normal.

Roy did not look at the statue.

His gaze slid over the men in black suits, from the profile of the tall, thin man to the round belly of the fat man, from the long, thin arms to the thick beard of the man with the bushy beard, and finally settled on the man wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

The man's hands were still behind his back, his fingers interlaced, and his knuckles were white.

He was exerting effort, not out of tension, but out of restraint.

Restrain what?

Roy didn't know.

But he knew that if that person took his hand out from behind his back, something would come out with it.

After scrutinizing him for a second, Roy averted his gaze and closed his eyes to rest before the person with the gold-rimmed glasses could notice him.

He had to seize the opportunity before that sudden moment arrived.

We need to catch up with the Phantom Troupe, otherwise we don't know when the next one will happen, since the Phantom Troupe's modus operandi and timeline are too difficult to predict.

Just as Roy was deep in thought, the lights in the hall suddenly dimmed.

It wasn't completely dark, it just flickered, like someone slapped the power source.

The moment the lights came back on, the bronze statue on the platform disappeared.

The red cloth is still covering it, but what's underneath is gone.

There was a moment of silence in the audience, then it erupted into chaos.

Some people stood up, some screamed, and some pushed their chairs over.

But... Roy didn't move.

It's not that I don't want to move, it's that I can't move.

It's too early now. He has to wait, wait for those people in black suits to make the first move, wait for the Shadow Beast and Number Four to clash, and wait for them to reach a stalemate before his chance comes.

And indeed, things unfolded exactly as Roy had predicted.

A tall, thin man sprang from the side of the stage, like a snake darting out of the grass, heading straight for the red cloth on the stage.

The fat man rolled out from the back right corner of the hall, curling up into a ball and knocking over two tables.

Behind him, a bamboo pole was swung out from the left, its arm stretching out in the air like a whip being flung out.

A man with a thick beard rushed in from near the entrance, his beard bristling under the lights, looking like an enraged wild boar.

The man with the gold-rimmed glasses took his hand out from behind his back.

The tips of his ten fingers were seeping with black spiritual energy, like ten charred needles.

He didn't rush out, but stood in the center of the hall, scanning his surroundings.

Of the five members of the Yin Beast Squad directly under the ten old men, four went after them, while one stayed behind.

The response must be both quick and accurate.

Unfortunately... it's still too slow.....

Roy shifted his gaze from the man with the gold-rimmed glasses to the entrance of the hall.

I wasn't watching the door; I was watching the few shadows moving quickly near the doorway.

The darkness was pitch black to others, but for Roy, who had night vision, it was only a slight discomfort and had no effect on him at all.

So he naturally saw it. During the sudden darkening of the venue, he easily spotted several people slipping out of the door at an unusually fast speed.

That must be someone from the Phantom Troupe... No, that's not right... It's not from the Phantom Troupe. The Phantom Troupe members aren't that weak. Their style isn't to run away; they'll eliminate anyone who stands in their way, regardless of gender or age.

Treat everyone equally, cold-blooded and ruthless...

So... those people must have been part-timers hired by number four?

Is it a part-time job?

As Roy watched those departing figures, he asked himself the same question again.

It must be.....

And number four might still be at the venue...

Those who left were most likely just bait.

As he asked and answered his own questions, Roy confirmed his guess.

He had never seen Number Four, but he knew that Number Four would definitely not run away.

This is a basic judgment of a Zoldyck.

He guessed that Number Four would be hiding somewhere, waiting for everyone else to chase after him before he came out.

This way, they can avoid risks and quietly take away the bronze auction item.

That's right, take it. In Roy's guess, those people who just ran out probably didn't have any auction items in their hands. They were just bait, bait to lure the fish out.

The real anglers should still be in the venue, waiting for the perfect moment, the best opportunity.

They waited to quietly take the auctioned items away.

Boom!

Roy touched the ground with his right foot.

It's not "chong" (沖), it's "hua" (滑).

His body slid off the chair, like a leaf blown away by the wind, silently passing through the chaotic crowd, between overturned chairs, and out of the blind spot of the man with the gold-rimmed glasses.

His target was the doorway.

He needs to make that person see him.

I saw him helping, I saw his intentions, I saw his usefulness.

As he entered through the door, iron-gray Nen energy seeped from his palms, not burning, but compressed, forming a thin, metallic-like armor on his right hand.

His white hair gleamed silver under the lamplight, his pale face was expressionless, and his silver-gray pupils reflected the wary gaze of the man wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

The man looked him up and down, from head to toe, as if measuring his length with a ruler.

She didn't ask "Who are you?" or "What are you doing?" She just stared at him, the black spiritual energy at her fingertips still lingering, like ten needles ready to be shot at any moment.

"I'm here to help... The one who went out was just bait... He should still be at the venue."

As Roy walked over from the auction floor, he only said three sentences. His voice was not loud, but it was very steady.

Each of the three sentences was like a nail driven into the air, without any superfluous embellishment, explanation, or request.

He seemed to be simply stating a fact, like a scout reporting the situation, without emotion or bias.

The person wearing gold-rimmed glasses glanced at him, their small eyes squinting behind the lenses, like two pairs of scissors closing together.

The black spiritual energy seeping from his fingertips did not dissipate, but it also did not attack.

His gaze moved scrutinizingly from Roy's face to his hands, then to his feet, and finally to his stance.

That location blocked the passageway on the left side of the hall.

That location was no coincidence.

A person in that position is either an expert or someone who just happened to be lucky.

People who wear gold-rimmed glasses clearly tend to prefer the former.

How did you know?

He pushed up his slightly slipped gold-rimmed glasses, and the sound of his fingers scraping against glass reached Roy's ears, carrying a chilling quality.

Roy did not answer, "How would I know?"

He simply tilted his head, his gaze fixed on another part of the hall, behind the stage, where the bronze statue had originally stood.

The red cloth was still covering it, bulging and bulky, as if there was something underneath.

But Roy knew that it was empty underneath.

What he just saw was not someone "taking" something, but someone "exchanging" something.

The flashing of the lights wasn't a natural power outage; someone had tampered with the power supply.

Only insiders, or those who were already hidden in the meeting room, could do this.

"Your attention is all on the door."

Roy's voice was very soft, so soft that it sounded like he was talking to the wind.

"But the items didn't leave through the door. When the lights went out, someone changed the items on the display stand."

"Underneath the red cloth now is an identical replica."

At this point, Roy paused, his silver-gray pupils shifting from the back of the stage to the ventilation ducts on the ceiling.

Have you checked the ventilation vents?

The person wearing gold-rimmed glasses did not speak immediately.

His gaze shifted from Roy to the ceiling behind the stage.

There is indeed a tiny gap in the ventilation duct's grille, which is barely noticeable unless you look closely.

Instantly, his expression changed; not his facial expression, but his demeanor.

The process has changed from "examining" to "confirming".

hiss..

He raised his right hand from his side, and black Nen energy shot out from his fingertips. This was not his attack, but merely a signal.

A thin, black line, as fine as a hair, stretched from his fingertips into the shadows behind the stage, like a searching tentacle.

Roy observed him calmly.

He stood there, leaning against the door frame, his hands hanging at his sides. Most of the iron-gray spiritual energy had dissipated, leaving only a thin layer, like a sheet of rice paper soaked in water, stuck to his skin.

His silver-gray pupils swept across every corner of the hall, from overturned chairs to broken wine glasses, from torn tablecloths to scattered number plates.

He was searching, searching for the person hiding in the shadows.

The information about the ventilation duct was also deliberately misleading. The person in that duct couldn't possibly be Number Four. Roy had never seen Number Four, but he knew that members of the Brigade wouldn't hide in ventilation ducts.

In the style of the Phantom Troupe, Number Four would either walk in with dignity or walk out openly and honestly.

The only person hiding in the ventilation duct could be an accomplice found by Number Four, a Nen user skilled in theft, and a minor character taking advantage of the chaos.

So... Number 4 didn't come today; he just sent someone to test the auction's reaction.

But he wasn't going to tell this conjecture to the man wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

Because... he needs to demonstrate his abilities, not his judgment.

The person wearing gold-rimmed glasses withdrew the black thread.

His expression darkened further. The ventilation duct was empty, but there was a fresh scratch on the grille, the dust on the metal surface had been rubbed away, revealing a shiny scratch.

These traces undoubtedly prove that Roy's judgment was correct; someone must have climbed out from there, and not long ago.

You're right.

The person wearing gold-rimmed glasses spoke very softly, so softly it was as if they were talking to the scratch.

His gaze shifted from the ventilation ducts back to Roy.

This time, there was less scrutiny and more calculation.

What do you want?

"I want to join the Shadow Beasts." Roy's lips curled up slightly, revealing a smile.

"I need the Shadow Beasts' intelligence network to help me find someone in Meteor City."

The person wearing gold-rimmed glasses twitched their lips slightly, not in a smile, but with an expression of "I knew it."

He put his hands behind his back, interlaced his fingers, and his knuckles were no longer white, indicating that the pressure had eased.

"You're not one of us, nor one of the Ten Elders. You're here to cause trouble."

He paused, his small eyes gleaming behind his glasses.

"You know we're from Meteor City..."

'

The man wearing gold-rimmed glasses said this with certainty.

Roy's pupils contracted slightly, not in surprise, but in a look that said, "You're not stupid."

Unfortunately... he didn't realize it...