Chapter 5: Nen After Death?
It was as if a movie screen had suddenly gone dark for a period and then lit up again… When Muse's self-awareness returned, he found that he was no longer pinned to the floor by the Pale Moon Tiger. Instead, he had stood up at some unknown point and was standing at attention, his nose pressed tightly against the wall, as if he were being punished.
There's a gap in my memory… I was controlled… Was it that little brat?
But how is that possible? I shot that brat clean through the neck. He should have lost consciousness quickly. In that state, he couldn't possibly continue to activate a Manipulation-type Nen ability…
Assuming it really was that brat's doing, it means he not only overcame the excruciating pain of a bullet passing through his neck through sheer willpower but also successfully activated the unknown Manipulation-type ability he had marked me with on my left temple earlier…
He's just a five-year-old brat! How could he achieve such a feat?
Muse couldn't control his own body at all. He could only face the wall, standing like a punished student, while his mind raced.
Even if I'm going to be killed, I must at least obtain information about this brat's Nen ability…
Right, when this brat set up his Manipulation ability on my face, it also fulfilled the activation condition for my own Manipulation ability—I touched him.
As long as I can get even the slightest chance for independent movement, I can attach the 'Rear Window Bird' to this brat…
As long as this brat shows even a tiny lapse…
So, I must wait patiently.
Muse emptied his mind and calmed down completely. Soon, he heard a hoarse, young voice from nearby to his side: "Come here."
Muse couldn't understand a single word of what the youth was saying.
But as the youth's voice fell, Muse, who was facing the wall, slid his feet into a right turn, his body involuntarily walking steadily towards the youth, Orson. And the Pale Moon Tiger that had previously suppressed him stood beside the youth like a bodyguard, eyeing him covetously, letting out low, warning growls.
Muse noticed that although the Pale Moon Tiger's eye was still matted with clotted blood, the wound on the side of its skull, pierced by the bullet, seemed to have already healed.
Even now, Muse couldn't figure out why he had lost.
He soon arrived in front of Orson involuntarily, then stood at attention again, like a puppet controlled by someone else.
"A bit tall, huh?" Orson gestured towards Muse with his hand, still speaking in that incomprehensible language.
The next second, Muse suddenly knelt before Orson. Thump!
What a powerful Manipulation ability… Muse thought, his gaze sweeping across the youth's neck. The spot previously pierced by the bullet had already healed—just like the wound on the side of the Pale Moon Tiger's skull! Apart from the bloodstains that remained even after being wiped, not even a scar was visible, as if he hadn't shot and hit him before.
Smack!
Orson slapped Muse hard across the cheek, interrupting Muse's thoughts.
Heh, such little strength, he really is just a five-year-old brat… Muse wasn't much affected, even feeling a little… His expression gradually changed. He couldn't smile at all.
Orson had gathered a tiny bit of Aura into his tender palm, then backhanded him again.
SMACK!!!
Muse was dazed by this much heavier slap. His other cheek instantly swelled up, and blood even seeped from the skin. His mouth corner and gums also started bleeding.
"Seriously, will this ever end? I, your buddy, inexplicably transmigrated, and I'm either chased by wolves or scared by a tiger, and then to top it all off, I almost got shot dead by you, who popped out of nowhere! Don't you think my life is too hard?" Orson shook his stinging hand, complaining in Mandarin. "Is there any justice? Is there any law? I'm still a child! I'm just trying to live peacefully, what did I do wrong?"
The more he spoke, the angrier he got. Orson kicked him hard a few more times.
He very impolitely tore open Muse's black suit and rummaged around, pulling out a pile of odds and ends: a pistol, a wallet, a mobile phone…
The pistol was out of bullets, and besides, Orson didn't know how to use it, so he casually tossed it aside.
He opened the wallet and looked. There were quite a few banknotes and coins, as well as various business cards with different identities. The photo was Muse, but the names were all different… Orson couldn't help but look up at Muse, whose mouth was full of blood from his slaps, and teased, "Who would've thought, you with your thick eyebrows and big eyes, you have quite a few aliases, huh?"
Unable to understand Orson's language, Muse remained silent, continuing to kneel involuntarily before him.
Finally, from the inner pocket of Muse's suit, Orson pulled out a card.
Just by the feel of it, he had a gut feeling he'd found something good.
Glancing at it by the moonlight, Orson flicked the card with his finger and said happily, "Well, well, a Hunter License? Didn't expect this bonus. Alright, such filial piety from you, your daddy here will gladly accept it. I'm in a good mood, so I'll reward you with a few more slaps! Haha."
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!…
Orson swung his tender palm, delivering a series of slaps until his own hand ached terribly. Still not feeling satisfied, he kicked the guy in front of him hard twice.
Damn it! He hadn't provoked anyone, yet life-threatening dangers came one after another. If Orson didn't practice a full set of military boxing on this guy, his thoughts would truly feel blocked and unfulfilled.
After venting for a while, he had given the man in the black suit a thorough beating—without actually causing major external injuries. Firstly, Orson's small arms and legs had limited destructive power. Secondly, if Orson seriously injured him, the "Star Mark" on the guy's left temple would trigger its passive self-healing, which would be tantamount to actively leaking intelligence to the enemy. Orson wasn't willing to do that.
Orson sat down on the floor with a thump. "So tired, so tired. Tiger Bro, finish him."
He waved his hand, then seemed to ignore Muse's fate, starting to play with the most precious of his spoils—the Hunter License.
"Roar…"
The Pale Moon Tiger stepped forward upon hearing this. One of its eyes was covered with a thick, dried blood scab, staining half its face. Combined with the patterns on its body, which were renowned by the world as one of the seven great marvels of beauty, it appeared ferocious and terrifying, yet with a hint of tragic allure.
Muse couldn't help but swallow.
He wasn't afraid of death, but dying like this, without any gain, was too meaningless, especially before completing his final mission for His Highness the Prince…
The Pale Moon Tiger's blood-red maw opened, moving to envelop the head of Muse, who knelt on the ground, completely unable to dodge or evade.
"The owner of this Hunter License isn't you, is it?"
Behind the Pale Moon Tiger, the question posed by the youth this time was, surprisingly, in the world's common language that Muse could understand!
Cold sweat appeared on Muse's forehead. He glanced up at the threatening, blood-filled tiger mouth, thought for a moment, and then signaled a willingness to cooperate, replying, "How did you know?"
Orson grabbed the nearby mobile phone and smashed it hard against Muse's face.
"I'm asking you now, not the other way around," Orson said coldly, looking Muse straight in the eye. Perhaps because language and literacy skills had been internalized as Muse's bodily instincts, after "Orson-wolf" successfully activated "Star Mark" and controlled Muse, Orson had naturally mastered the basic script and language of this Hunter world. In short, communication was no longer a problem.
And earlier, after that gunshot had sounded in the distant night, that familiar strange aura had drilled into his heart… Orson had already come to a preliminary conclusion from experience: whenever a living being died nearby, a strange aura would drill into his heart. These strange auras, both cold and hot, were the main culprits for his heart pain.
In other words, this guy in front of him had come looking for him after gunning someone down.
Either this man was a licensed Hunter, or the one he killed was. A fifty-fifty chance. Orson had first guessed the latter, that was all. However, he had no interest in explaining things to the enemy.
At this moment, the Pale Moon Tiger had already padded a few steps and retrieved the phone that had been knocked away.
Orson was exasperated. Are you a feline or a canine?
Suddenly, a thought struck him. Although he didn't know if there were positioning satellites in the Hunter world, it was better to be safe… He took the phone, removed the back cover, and took out the battery, SIM card, memory card, and anything else removable. Finally, he threw them one by one out of the cabin window into the dark sea.
"The license is mine. You can take it," Muse knelt and asked, "Who exactly are you? And that woman's son?"
"Listen to you. As if I wouldn't take it if it wasn't yours?" Orson asked with a deadpan expression. "Who was that woman, and who is this son?"
"That son is you," Muse said, risking it, but saw no unusual reaction on Orson's face.
Did I guess wrong? Muse remained outwardly calm, continuing to look at Orson's clothes: the waistband of his pants was loose, tied with a rope to keep them from falling, and the pant legs were rolled up quite a bit. The short-sleeved shirt he wore was also ill-fitting, almost like a long-sleeved shirt on him… These were clearly makeshift clothes.
Muse said slowly, "My guess is, that woman, on the verge of death, was filled with worry and unwillingness about the fate of her infant son who was also about to be killed… So, after her death, her body gave birth to a peculiar Nen, which parasitized you, causing you to grow rapidly and become what you are now…"