"Prison break, huh…"
Roy flicked his fingers, and the napkin in his hand crumpled into a ball, tracing a neat arc through the air before dropping into the wastebasket.
The word "prison" instantly brought to mind a huge, tank-like man in a sleeveless shirt and shorts, dressed like a volleyball player all year round.
Razor.
A signature powerhouse among Emitters—and one of Roy's clearest examples of what kind of "privileges" and "status" a Hunter like Ging could enjoy.
Why is it that a death-row inmate like Razor can live freely, just because Ging trusts him?
Why can Ging break into a prison and walk out with a condemned man, and not only escape punishment, but be treated as above the law?
In the end, Hunters—and the Hunter Association—do not act based on morality or conscience. The Association that countless elites revere as a supreme institution is, at its core, just a puppet organization set up by the V5 to herd and manage all the world's nen users.
If there were no tacit approval and backing from major nations, Ging, Razor, Elena, List, and the others who helped build the Greed Island game would've long ago been branded an "A-class criminal organization" like the Phantom Troupe and slapped on every global wanted list.
That alone proves: individual will can never truly override state will.
Just like Grandpa Zigg had written in the West Continent Notes now open in front of him—Roy flipped to page 18 and saw, in bold strokes:
"If man wishes to transcend, he cannot escape nature. In the end he must draw on the power of the masses and negotiate with 'nature'—to obtain 'authority' or steal it. One way or another…
If you rely only on yourself, no matter how long you train or how great your talent, you cannot escape natural law. You will age, you will die, and in the end your body will return to dust and fall back into nature's embrace."
"Young Master…"
"Young Master?"
Gotoh's gentle call pulled Roy out of his thoughts.
The butler adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, then carefully asked:
"Should we agree to her terms?"
The woman's tone had been rude—using conditions to pressure his Young Master. In Gotoh's view, once they had the intel, they should kill her immediately and remind her: not just anyone gets to make demands of the Zoldycks.
But he had to admit, in this world there were a handful of people who had the qualifications to do that.
Ging Freecss, one of the "World's Five Greatest Nen Users," was one of them.
Roy spread West Continent Notes open again and, without looking up, said:
"Time, place—wait for her message. Then book the tickets."
He had no interest in the jailbreak itself. Razor wasn't important. What mattered was the elephant tapir.
Even if it weren't for Tanjiro's father, just as a Conjurer, if he could fully grasp a true "reverse-materialization" technique, that alone would be worth the trip.
"Yes."
Gotoh cleared the tableware away and pushed the cart toward the door. As he reached it, Roy's voice drifted over from behind:
"Your breathing's coming along nicely."
Gotoh's steps faltered for a moment. A small smile touched his lips. He bowed, then left, his footsteps noticeably lighter than usual.
The door clicked softly shut.
Roy sat alone at the table, turning pages in West Continent Notes, searching Zigg's notes for how to use Faith—some clue on how to wield "faith power."
Perhaps there really was such a thing as fate.
Far from the Republic of Batokia, on the eastern shore of Greed Island, a man with slight stubble on his chin, black boots, baggy lantern pants, and a black scarf around his neck sat cross-legged on a reef facing the sea, rod jammed in a crack of rock, bobbing gently in the breeze.
His bright brown eyes were locked on the battered book resting on his knees.
Dawn's first light slid up over the horizon, brushing him and the book's weathered cover with a wash of soft gold.
On that cover, one could just make out the words: New Continent Travelogue.
"Elephant Tapir: phantom beast class. Normally dwells in Winter-Hanging, near the Kolora Grand Canyon bordering the Tungus Empire. Its diet consists mostly of ants and small crustaceans…"
"Though it possesses exceptional talent for materialization, its lack of intelligence makes it prone to falling into the gap between 'materialization' and 'reverse-materialization', between 'real' and 'illusory'… It's easy for it to lose itself and drop out of the Dark Continent, manifesting in minor secret realms or sealed zones…"
"Most recently verified sighting: a sea-floor secret realm off the west coast of the Yorbian Continent…"
Ging narrowed his eyes in thought.
His "ancestor's latest verified sighting" was at least three hundred years old. In three hundred years, dynasties rise and fall, civilizations vanish. Whether an elephant tapir would still appear in that west-coast sea-floor ruin was anyone's guess.
Still…
"Having a lead is better than having none," he said with a crooked smile.
At that moment, he heard footsteps behind him, and glanced back.
Elena was walking toward him, a translucent blue panel floating before her.
She stopped five meters behind him and said:
"Ging, he agreed."
"You were right—the Zoldyck kid does have some skill. I dug around just now. Turns out the examiner this year is Botobai you like so much."
"Yeah?" Ging wasn't surprised—just a little regretful.
"Shame Botobai won't stay tied to one spot. With him guarding Greed Island, things would be a lot safer."
"And the prisoner you want to bust out—Razor?"
"Very strong. But compared to Botobai, he's a step behind…"
14 Devils were just fourteen men. One-Man Army—that was a real army.
Emitters live and die by nen volume. In raw numbers, Razor simply came up short.
Elena nodded. "If that's the case, I'll send the boy a reply."
"Tell him this," Ging said, closing New Continent Travelogue and standing up. Dawn had fully broken; the sky and sea were awash in color. "A month from now. Yorbian west coast. The Port City."
"Why not now?" Elena frowned. "Greed Island's at a critical stage. You should go and come back as quickly as possible."
Ging smiled, eyes softening.
"A month from now, Gon will be born. I want to see him first."
Elena thought of Vivian—the pregnant woman who ignored everyone, cold as ice. Her due date was at the end of the month.
Suddenly, it all made sense.
~~~
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