The door opened slowly.
The old host stepped inside.
At once, both adversaries halted, their movements suspended in mid-action, instinctively interrupted by his presence. Dust still floated in the air, fragments of stone and shattered shelves resting on the ground like the aftermath of a storm. The old man tilted his head slightly, a teasing smile forming on his lips.
"Well, well," he said lightly. "What if I joined you?"
Despite the playful tone, the atmosphere shifted instantly. His En expanded, vast and overwhelming, flooding the underground chamber with a pressure so dense it distorted perception itself. It was not merely powerful—it was refined, ancient, controlled to a terrifying degree.
Meruem felt it immediately.
This man was hiding far more than he had shown above. His aura rivaled those Meruem had only ever sensed once before, in another era, from another human whose name had been etched into history. There were still Hunters worthy of their title. Hunters as strong as the old chairman Netero.
What secret, then, could this library truly be hiding?
Meruem and the old host locked eyes for a long moment. Neither spoke. Between them, the manager remained frozen, barely standing, his body trembling yet stubbornly refusing to collapse. The Chimera Ant creature imprisoned behind reinforced glass seemed unconcerned by the tension. It had settled into a lotus position, eyes half-closed, as though meditating—its focus turned inward, away from the imminent clash.
The old host broke the silence first.
"Dear guest," he said calmly, taking a few steps forward, "I believe this place is, unfortunately, not permitted to you. You are not human… and judging by your presence, you are likely of the same species as that creature sealed over there."
He advanced again, his footsteps slow, deliberate, each one echoing with authority.
"You must already suspect that this library is not merely a library," he continued. "We are part of an organization far greater than the Hunters. We are called the Protectors. Our mission is simple—yet absolute: to protect humanity from calamities such as you."
His gaze sharpened.
"Your recent attack on the Republic of East Gorteau nearly forced our direct intervention. But Chairman Netero chose to confront you himself—out of pride for the Hunters, and also to ensure that the existence of the Protectors remained hidden."
As he spoke, the old host removed his upper garment, letting it fall to the ground. His body bore the marks of decades of battle—old scars, hardened muscle, the frame of someone who had tempered himself beyond human limits. His Nen surged outward in a violent pulse, a massive burst that shook the chamber. Yet he walked forward calmly, as if the pressure surrounding him were nothing more than a gentle breeze.
Behind him, the manager steadied himself, wiping blood from his mouth, his eyes fixed on the unfolding scene.
The old host continued, his voice unwavering.
"We were the first structure formed behind the associations of Nen practitioners. We are, by far, the largest. Yet we remain hidden in the shadows. Very few are aware of our existence. And yet… we are everywhere. In every region. If humanity were ever threatened with extinction—"
He stopped just short of Meruem.
"—we would be its final card."
Meruem observed him with growing curiosity. Not fear. Not anger. Interest.
"Do you see, dear guest," the old host said softly, "why I cannot allow you to leave this place alive?"
The manager took a step forward despite himself.
"No, master… I can still fight—"
Blood burst from his abdomen as his legs finally gave way.
The old host glanced back at him, then smiled gently.
"He did quite a number on you," he said. "Rest now. I'll take it from here."
Turning back to Meruem, his Nen surged again, concentrating around his torso and arms. Veins bulged beneath his skin, convulsing violently as his aura thickened, growing denser, heavier, almost tangible. His stance shifted naturally into that of an ancient martial artist—balanced, grounded, absolute.
One strike cut through the air.
Then another.
Each movement was precise, economical, devastating.
With every strike, his aura intensified, rippling outward like shockwaves. The very air screamed as it was torn apart by the pressure.
"I am a Reinforcement-type," the old host said mid-motion. "You noticed that already, didn't you?"
Meruem's lips curved faintly.
"We couldn't care less," he replied coldly.
His aura erupted in response—deep violet, violent, oppressive. His arms began to deform, muscles twisting and expanding grotesquely, hardening into curved, blade-like structures that extended from his elbows like the mantis limbs of a predator.
"Another ability inherited from Youpi," Meruem added calmly.
The Chimera Ant seated in lotus position was almost forgotten now, overshadowed by the titanic confrontation about to unfold.
The old host was suddenly right in front of Meruem.
Their faces were inches apart.
Two beings, carried by absolute determination, staring into one another without words. The air between them vibrated, crushed by the collision of their auras. Stone cracked beneath their feet. The underground chamber groaned, as though protesting the presence of forces far beyond its design.
Time itself seemed to hesitate.
Meruem could feel it clearly now. This man was not merely strong—he was prepared. He had lived his entire life for this moment, for the possibility of standing before something that threatened humanity itself.
And the old host, in turn, saw it.
Not a monster.
Not a beast.
A king.
A being standing at the threshold of a new evolutionary order.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
But the battle had already begun.
The first true clash between the King of the Chimera Ants and one of humanity's final guardians was inevitable.
And once it began—There would be no retreat.