A shadow-like aura seeped silently through the gaps in the window lattice.
Morrow focused his gaze, clearly sensing the presence of Post-Mortem Nen emanating from within. Yet...
Something felt off.
The shadowy Post-Mortem Nen seemed suppressed by some force, its aura fluctuating erratically between strong and weak.
It's as if it's being "restrained" by some sealing-type ability...
Morrow speculated silently, his eyes sweeping over the shrine's exterior once more.
Utterly dilapidated.
Not to mention anything else, just the densely packed traces of insect damage on the wooden pillars were enough to unsettle anyone.
Even if the shrine were to collapse into ruins the next moment, Morrow wouldn't be the least bit surprised.
"Menchi, the dagger you mentioned, it's inside here?"
He pointed toward the window lattice, where the shadows swayed faintly like tentacles.
Menchi stared at the unsettling Post-Mortem Nen aura and nodded.
Morrow glanced at her sideways. "My 'requirement' was for a weapon imbued with sufficiently strong aura, not Post-Mortem Nen."
If it were Post-Mortem Nen...
Forget about enhancing his offensive and defensive capabilities in the Starlight Convergence state, it might even take advantage of his already limited aura output, backfiring with a backlash.
Rather than relying on such a potentially hazardous force, he'd be better off converting it into energy for the Tree Rings.
Hearing Morrow's words, Menchi paused in surprise.
In her view, as long as a Nen user didn't enter a state of Zetsu, there was no fundamental difference between Post-Mortem Nen and ordinary aura, both could grant weapons extraordinary strength.
Her thinking wasn't strange.
After all, she didn't fully understand Morrow's true needs regarding a "Nen weapon."
"That dagger carries both Post-Mortem Nen and regular aura..."
Menchi met Morrow's gaze and suggested, "I'm not sure if it meets your requirements, but you can see it for yourself before deciding."
"Hmm."
Morrow responded absentmindedly.
Whether the dagger inside the shrine met his needs or not...
He wouldn't let this Post-Mortem Nen go to waste.
Tap, tap...
Just then, several figures emerged from the nearby ancient buildings, walking straight toward Morrow and his group.
Morrow and the others turned at the sound.
Leading them was an elderly man draped in gray-white robes, a wooden sword hanging at his waist.
The old man had long white hair, his face deeply lined with wrinkles, yet exuding a composed and steady presence.
Behind him followed three young men, roughly twenty years old.
They wore similar gray-white robes, though theirs bore several conspicuous patches, giving them a plain and worn appearance.
Morrow's gaze swept over the three youths, noting the aura swirling around them.
Not strong, but not weak either, barely passing the threshold.
But as for the old man at the front...
Morrow's eyes fixed on the elder's aura.
Steady.
Yet in terms of aura intensity, it wasn't remarkable, likely the result of average talent tempered by decades of training.
Even so, Morrow wouldn't judge someone's strength based solely on aura output.
In the world of Nen users, differences in aura output could only determine advantages, not the true outcome of a battle. What truly matters is often mindset, combat experience, and even insight.
These are more important than the intensity of aura output.
"It's you again."
The old man placed his right hand on the hilt of his sword, his sharp gaze fixed on Menchi.
The three young men behind him also paled instantly upon seeing her.
Morrow took in their reactions and cast a slightly puzzled glance at Menchi.
On the way here, she had clearly mentioned helping these people out of their near-starvation predicament. But now, it didn't seem that way at all.
Noticing Morrow's look, Menchi scratched her head and leaned in to whisper an explanation:
"When I first got here, they were so hungry they were about to pass out, so I thought I'd get them something to eat… I happened to see an old hen, so I killed it, stewed it with some bamboo shoots, and made a pot of chicken soup. They looked perfectly satisfied while drinking it, who knew they'd turn like this afterward?"
"That was a hen that laid two eggs a day!"
At her words, the three young men glared at Menchi with even more hostility.
Menchi huffed in annoyance.
"If it weren't for that pot of soup, you might not even be standing here talking right now! To help you recover faster, I even threw in several rare herbs. Instead of thanking me, you're nitpicking over this?"
"You...!"
The old man bristled, his beard quivering.
"'You' what? Am I wrong?"
Menchi planted her hands on her hips.
Truth be told, she still couldn't understand how these people had ended up starving to the point of dizziness.
What was the point of keeping that old hen?
With even the slightest common sense, they could've found food nearby instead of ending up in such a state.
She really didn't know how they'd survived this long.
The old man knew Menchi had killed the hen and made the soup out of goodwill, but he couldn't get over the loss of the hen, hence his reluctance to see her.
"Why have you come back?"
But he didn't dwell on the matter further, instead glancing at Morrow and the others beside Menchi.
Without hesitation, Menchi pointed at the shrine. "Old man, you said anyone who passes the trial can take the sword inside. Now my friend wants it."
"I did say that."
The old man frowned deeply, his voice grave. "But for your own good, I advise you to give up on this idea. I've seen too many overconfident people lose their lives for it."
"Then tell us, how did those people die?"
Menchi seized the opportunity to press further.
The old man gave her a sidelong glance.
Earlier, he had dissuaded her with the excuse of "gender," but that wasn't a rule he'd made up.
However, compared to the trial's conditions, the real danger lay in the trial itself.
He still felt some gratitude toward Menchi for her earlier help, so he didn't want to see her friends blindly throw their lives away for this.
"Even if I don't say it, you can sense it yourselves..."
After a moment's thought, he raised a hand toward the shadowy Post-Mortem Nen seeping through the gaps in the shrine's window lattice.
"That's the resentful thoughts left behind by the dead. But don't think that's all there is to it. It's only because of the scabbard crafted by an Onmyoji that most of the 'resentment' clinging to the blade is suppressed. If you want to take that sword, you must remove the scabbard."
At this point, the old man's expression turned deadly serious. "And once the scabbard's suppression is removed, the resentment of the deceased attached to the blade can break free, controlling anyone who dares to lay hands on it with an irresistible force, compelling them to commit suicide on the spot."
"Hmm?"
Menchi was startled by this revelation.
She had glanced at the dagger earlier but never imagined the blade within the scabbard could be so dangerous.
Given that it involved Post-Mortem Will, the old man likely wasn't exaggerating.
With this in mind, she immediately turned to Morrow.
"Morrow, maybe we should..."
"Old man, may I give it a try?"
Morrow, however, straightforwardly requested to test it.
Menchi was taken aback and quickly interjected, "Morrow, the old man doesn't seem to be fearmongering..."
"It's fine. Trust me."
Morrow gave Menchi a reassuring smile.
Nearby, Kurapika hesitated for a moment but ultimately remained silent.
He had noticed Kalluto's calm and composed reaction.
If even Kalluto, who cared so much about Morrow, didn't see this as a threat, it meant Morrow likely had the ability and confidence to handle it.
Seeing Morrow's confidence, the old man said nothing more.
He had only elaborated on the risks out of consideration for Menchi.
But this reckless young man clearly hadn't taken his warnings to heart.
The old man gestured for Morrow to proceed.
Morrow nodded at him and then walked straight to the shrine's entrance.
As he approached, the tightly shut wooden doors swung open on their own, allowing a beam of light to pierce the dim interior, illuminating the short blade named "Purgatory sword" resting on the altar.
The dagger lay quietly atop two bronze three-fingered stands, its scabbard adorned with intricate silver patterns and enveloped in a mist-like white aura.
Meanwhile, from the Möbius-strip-shaped black tsuba, tendrils of black Nen continuously seeped out.
The two auras intertwined like yin and yang, locked in balance, yet it was clear the black Nen, representing Post-Mortem Will, held the upper hand, weaving a net of shadows within the confined space.
Morrow studied the sheathed dagger.
After hearing the old man's explanation, he knew this trip hadn't been in vain.
However...
The dagger was a vessel for Post-Mortem Will.
This also meant he would be inclined to absorb the lingering Nen from the blade rather than turn it into a suitable weapon to replace the Poultry Scarlet Knife.
So, before beginning this so-called trial, he was more interested in how much Tree Rings energy this dagger could provide him.
Even the scabbard, used to restrain the blade's Post-Mortem Nen, might contribute some Tree Rings energy.
With this anticipation, Morrow unhesitatingly reached out and picked up the dagger.
His fingers touched the scabbard, slightly rough, with a chilling coldness that seemed to burrow into his skin.
It can be absorbed.
The moment he grasped the dagger, Morrow confirmed that the Tree Rings could assimilate the aura from the scabbard.
This also indicated the original owner of this aura was no longer among the living.
An Onmyoji... or perhaps an Exorcist skilled in sealing Post-Mortem Will.
Morrow mused silently before, under the watchful eyes of everyone present, gripping the hilt with his other hand.
Clang...
He drew the short blade named "Purgatory sword." As the blade was drawn, a surge of black Nen billowed out like thick smoke, resembling fiercely burning black flames that instantly clung to Morrow's body.
Menchi and Kurapika, standing nearby, tensed up at the sight.
Just as the old man had said...
Most of the Post-Mortem Will attached to the short sword had been restrained by the scabbard.
Now, freed from the scabbard's binding force, this Post-Mortem Will was exposed without restraint, radiating an astonishing aura.
The old dojo master had already silently gripped his wooden sword.
He had witnessed similar scenes far too many times.
So he knew what would happen next, Morrow would succumb to the erosion of the Post-Mortem Will, then use the Purgatory sword to slit his own throat.
But usually, before breathing their last, those controlled by resentful thoughts would wield the Purgatory sword to indiscriminately attack nearby living people.
The old man's role was to contain this indiscriminate rampage, which typically lasted no more than ten seconds.
Once the trial participant collapsed and died, he would use the scabbard to reseal the vengeful will within the Purgatory sword.
However, the expected scene did not unfold.
The old man's eyes widened in shock as he saw Morrow standing there calmly, showing no signs of being eroded by the Post-Mortem Nen.
Even more unbelievable was the sight of the Purgatory sword trembling violently in Morrow's grip, twisting and distorting before dissolving into a thick, ink-like black mist.
This was the first time he had seen the true nature of the "Purgatory sword", such pure malice that even he, a seasoned swordsman, felt as if his eyes were being sliced open just by looking at it.
Yet this terrifyingly powerful black Nen now appeared utterly helpless, drawn by a devouring force into Morrow's right hand, vanishing without a trace.
"This can't be..."
The old man's pupils contracted sharply as realization dawned.
The three young men behind him were left dumbstruck. Having witnessed countless trial participants meet their end before their eyes, this unprecedented scene struck them with indescribable visual impact.
Morrow paid no attention to their reactions.
At this moment, his focus was entirely on his right hand.
This so-called Purgatory sword was no mere Nen-imbued object carrying Post-Mortem Will, it was a weapon created through Conjuration by a Nen user before their death.
For unknown reasons, this Nen had grown stronger after death, manifesting as a physical remnant.
This was no longer just a Nen-imbued object but a genuine Nen tool.
Morrow only realized this as he began absorbing it.
This was his first encounter with a Nen tool left behind by a deceased Nen user.
Unfortunately, the absorption efficiency of Tree Rings was terrifying...
By the time he thought to stop, it was already too late.
As the Purgatory sword dissolved into Post-Mortem Nen and was drawn into Tree Rings, the energy of the second ring was instantly filled to capacity.
But the charging didn't stop there, blue streaks visibly appeared in the third ring's energy, rapidly increasing to 12%.
Simultaneously, a sharp, stabbing pain suddenly surged through him, as if dozens of blades were slicing through his nerves, the acute agony exploding relentlessly in his mind. Morrow, who had mentally prepared for this, simply closed his eyes and endured it without a sound.
Once the pain, so intense it felt like his skull was being split open, finally faded, Morrow had expected to receive memory fragments related to sword techniques or insights into Conjuration abilities…
But there was nothing.
What came with that Post-Mortem Will was an utterly pure intent to kill.
It inexplicably reminded him of the seductive whispers hidden within Orion's Post-Mortem Nen.
Without hesitation, Morrow did the same thing he had done back then, suppressing this dangerous bloodlust deep within himself.
He understood all too well.
If he embraced this murderous intent, he might refine a masterful swordsmanship capable of slaughtering countless.
But it would also gradually erode his reason, even his very core.
How could Morrow succumb to such temptation? He sealed this impulse into the deepest recesses of his mind, then slowly opened his eyes.
"You… are you an Onmyoji?"
The old man stared at Morrow, whose expression remained unchanged, his wrinkled face filled with astonishment.
"No… even an Onmyoji couldn't accomplish something like this…!"
Without waiting for Morrow's response, the old man muttered to himself, clearly shocked beyond measure.