The private guard accepted the order and left.
Guzman stared at the screen. The white-haired boy's fist was wrapped in flaming aura, and when he threw it, it was like a fierce tiger's roar burst out of nowhere. Guzman immediately caught the scent of faith on him. Even if that faith was still weak, it tightly connected the white-haired boy to Roy Zoldyck, who sat deep inside the church.
Just like the relationship between him and the Pope, between the bishops and the Great Creator of Truth—a firm structure of belief built through reverence and worship.
"Roar!"
The tiger's roar changed the wind and clouds.
Hisoka used the elasticity of Bungee Gum to disperse that first punch, but Kastro planted his feet and launched a heavy follow-up cannon punch like a human battering ram.
This move fused Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire with Tiger Bite Fist.
With one sharp thrust, Kastro's eyes flickered with Gyo, and it was as if a white-browed tiger made of flames and aura wrapped itself around him. The beast shook its body and lunged straight at Hisoka. The fierce, scorching aura-wind blew against Hisoka's face hard enough to make his skin sting.
"Hehehe… yes… that's it…"
To be born in battle, or die in battle—Hisoka suddenly threw his head back, his face twisting into a perverse, ecstatic smile. The corners of his mouth stretched up into a V-shape and refused to fall.
"Ken!"
He smashed a punch straight at Kastro.
Boom!
Fist against fist. Ken against Ten.
Kastro had not yet completed all four major Nen principles, so his application and understanding of Nen still lagged behind Hisoka's. But by relying on the boost from Breathing Techniques, along with the natural advantage of his Transmutation and Enhancement affinities—
when his punch met Hisoka's, he didn't lose a single inch!
"His breathing rhythm is strange!"
In the Kakin Empire's palace, inside the First Prince's luxurious private audience hall, the old brigade commander and several sharp-eyed Enhancers frowned. Watching the screen, they could vaguely tell from Kastro's every movement that something was off.
That difference was unlike an ordinary martial artist, unlike an ordinary Nen user, and unlike any of the major martial schools popular across the continent—such as Shingen-ryu or Aikido schools.
Instead, it looked more like an entirely new style.
A style created by this boy who wasn't even fifteen?
Disbelief spread through their minds, followed immediately by the refusal to believe it.
On the throne, Benjamin Hui Guo Rou watched Kastro expressionlessly without saying a word. His fingers tapped the armrest lightly. Now and then, a sharp gleam flashed through those stern, regal eyes—half greed, half appreciation—making him impossible to read.
Back in Meteor City, in the courtyard of the pale church,
the red-haired and white-haired youths clashed—fist against fist, knuckles against knuckles, force pouring through both bodies as they pushed against each other. Finally, with a bang, both were blown apart and staggered backward several steps, leaving deep footprints in the stone tiles.
At that moment, the fight had finally grown loud enough to spread outward.
Heads began to rise from the surrounding garbage hills.
"Someone's causing trouble at the church…"
"One of them is Kastro. Who's the other one?!"
Chrollo climbed up one of the trash mounds with Pakunoda, while an unwilling Shalnark followed behind. From the neighboring heap, Uvogin and Nobunaga shielded Sarasa as they climbed up and stared toward the pale church.
More silhouettes appeared from other nearby heaps—they were spies from the other Elders' factions.
Among them was the man Chrollo, Pakunoda, and Shalnark had all mentally identified as a boss figure—
Meteor City's Tenth Elder: "False Noble" Belrus.
The old man, around fifty, had black-and-white hair slicked neatly back. As Roy's "neighbor," living just one street away, he stood inside his villa with a long telescope in hand, silently observing the battle.
At first, when his men told him that someone had come into Meteor City to preach, Belrus thought the man had to be insane.
Later, when he saw that the man had casually slaughtered Ilya and Bolton, the two tyrants entrenched in Fourth Street, Belrus was shocked and started thinking about making contact.
But before he acted, he heard that Guzman's group wanted to use the power vacuum after Bolton and Ilya's deaths to start distributing their "powder" on Fourth Street. Knowing their background and how crazy they were, Belrus hesitated and chose caution.
That caution lasted until now.
Now he was trapped between worry and desire—between wanting to use Roy's influence to expand his scrap business into other districts and reshape Meteor City in his own way, and fearing that getting too close would drag him into the vortex.
In that regard, he was far less decisive than the younger ones like Chrollo, who had no problem walking in and out of the pale church.
"We're not like the boss. We're just there to pick up charity…"
The young Spiders were always good at finding excuses.
But as someone who had lived his whole life in Meteor City, Belrus saw more clearly than anyone that the "Spiders'" hearts were already leaning toward the pale church—faster and more decisively than his own. They just hadn't realized it themselves yet.
The fact of the matter was—
Chrollo, Shalnark, Pakunoda, Uvogin, Nobunaga, Sarasa, and the others had already, little by little, appeared on Roy's Believer Panel as potential reserve followers.
"Praise the Sun."
The young priest, back turned to the two still locked in battle in the courtyard, gently stroked the wooden box in his arms and said to Kastro:
"Kastro, look at the back of your hand."
In the courtyard, the two who had just separated moved again before Roy even finished speaking.
"Hehehe… Reverend, please respect the rules of the game. This is a duel, not a gang beating."
Hisoka's eyes curved into crescents. He flicked a glance toward the prayer hall, then suddenly tugged with his right hand. Before Kastro could follow Roy's instruction and use Gyo to check the back of his hand, his whole body lurched forward and was yanked toward Hisoka.
Bungee Gum: Hisoka can turn his aura into a gum-like substance and stick it to an enemy, restricting their movement. The farther the aura stretches, the stronger the pull when it snaps back—but if it extends more than ten meters away from Hisoka's body, it breaks.
In other words, this Nen ability had both elasticity and adhesion.
Once Hisoka touched someone, he could stick a transparent "aura gum" to the contact point and force them into being a controlled target.
"Whoosh!"
Kastro was dragged forward through the air. Hisoka, like a magician pulling props from nowhere, flipped a card out of his pocket, coating it in Ken so it became harder and sharper than a dagger.
He waited until Kastro flew right into range—
then drove the card toward his chest, aiming to tear through his heart.
But Roy had already warned him.
Even though he reacted a fraction too late and his body had already been pulled toward Hisoka, Kastro simply went with the motion and threw a punch.
"Muda… muda… muda…"
In an instant, he unleashed dozens of flaming Nen punches toward Hisoka.
His goal was simple: force Hisoka to either remove the aura gum from his fist or retreat and open the distance again.
This alone proved Kastro's talent wasn't bad at all.
In the original story, he had fought Hisoka on fairly even terms in Heaven's Arena, even forcing Hisoka to sever his own arm and reveal his second trick, Texture Surprise, to deceive him. Huashi only lost because he had no real guidance and was pouring his effort in the wrong direction.
"Boom… boom… boom…"
Dozens of flaming Nen punches tore through the moonlight and rained down on Hisoka's face.
Hisoka, his hair slicked back, looked up at them. He rapidly calculated the distance between himself and Kastro, then flicked his left hand.
The single card split into two, then four, then eight, then sixteen in the blink of an eye—becoming sixteen throwing-card blades.
He tossed them upward.
They met the incoming punches head-on.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
A chain of explosions burst out.
Under the shock of colliding aura, a figure was suddenly flung backward. Hisoka had yanked and shoved Kastro at just the right moment, then landed a high roundhouse kick wrapped in Ken straight under his jaw, launching him away.
"Kastro!"
From a trash hill outside the church, Uvogin and Nobunaga's pupils contracted. They had never expected that the white-haired boy who had once casually subdued both of them would be kicked flying by a red-haired youth who looked like some circus clown.
Uvogin immediately started to rise, but Nobunaga shoved him back down.
"Old man, why're you stopping me?"
"To keep you from going out there and getting killed!"
Sarasa's twin golden ponytails swayed behind her as she answered for Nobunaga.
Uvogin's breathing hitched. He huffed, clenched his fist, and finally forced himself to stay put.
Enhancers were reckless—but not stupid.
He liked solving things with his fists, not throwing his life away in a fight he knew he couldn't win.
"Hisoka Morow is still stronger than that boy in the end—both in aura quantity and in his understanding of Nen. He's ahead by more than one tier."
Inside the First Prince's audience hall in Kakin,
as Kastro was sent flying by that Ken-wrapped kick, the old brigade commander Grant narrowed his eyes at the screen and watched the white-haired boy crash like a snapped kite straight through a section of the pale church wall and land inside the prayer hall.
Grant cast a sidelong glance at Guzman.
Bathed in green light, the youth of Mental Morphine smiled with his eyes half-lidded, pressed his hands together, and murmured:
"Truth Above. With my Lord's protection, Hisoka is naturally beyond comparison to ordinary trash."
What he said made the hall fall into instant silence.
Grant and the private soldiers around Benjamin Hui Guo Rou all wanted to argue—but most of them fell into thought instead. They had to admit he was right.
The white-haired youth in the screen looked badly beaten after smashing into the church wall, but in truth his foundation was solid. Even against Hisoka, what he lacked was time and refinement, not talent.
At least that bizarre breathing rhythm clearly had tremendous potential.
"Tap… tap…"
On the throne, Benjamin Hui Guo Rou rested his chin on one hand and stared unblinkingly at Meteor City, at the part of the church wall that had collapsed, at Kastro half-buried in rubble.
Then, suddenly, his eyes flashed.
He saw him—
the young priest in a plain clerical robe. He put away both the wooden box and the scripture he had been holding as if with a magic trick—storing them in Sumeru Mustard Seed—then rose to his feet and slowly turned around.
His clear eyes, emotionless and still, pierced through the void and met Benjamin's gaze through the owl projection on Hisoka's shoulder.
For the first time, Benjamin Hui Guo Rou smiled.
A stiff, unnatural smile.
"Guzman."
"Your Highness."
"You were right."
Benjamin's eyes burned as he met Roy's gaze through the screen.
"I'm beginning to understand… he really is someone extraordinary."
The First Prince's fingers stilled against the throne.
Below him in the hall, Guzman's green hair gleamed. He smiled with narrowed eyes, staring at Roy on the screen.
"As Your Highness sees. And from here on…"
"You'll agree with me even more."
On the screen, the young priest's eyes moved calmly. He looked at Benjamin, then Guzman, then old Grant one by one, withdrew his gaze, stepped forward—
and then, in the instant Hisoka's eyes narrowed—
he turned into light.
A moment later, he stepped out of the moonlight across nearly a hundred meters of prayer hall and descended lightly beside Kastro.
"Whoosh…"
His sleeve swept through the air and a wind arose.
With one broad motion, the young priest sent a gust spinning through the rubble, clearing away broken bricks and exposing the blood at the corner of Kastro's mouth.
"Cough… cough… Young Master, I can still fight!"
The white-haired boy tried to push himself up—
but the wind gave him no chance. At Roy's slightest thought, it swirled around him and gently but firmly pressed him back down.
"Kastro. Rest."
"Leave the rest…"
"…to me."
~~~
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