"So, do I belong to the Emission category or the Specialist category?"
Vega frowned, feeling a little puzzled.
"Can it really work like that?"
Just now, when he used that ability enhanced by experience points and mental energy, it had actually corroded the cup. That kind of destructive power... was incredible.
And then there was that agonizing scream—could that experience point energy really be the transformation of a soul?
Vega rubbed his forehead.
"Forget it. The system is too mysterious. No point in overthinking it."
He began recalling the traits he'd just observed during the Mizumi style test.
In the anime Hunter x Hunter, he remembered only one character who exhibited two Nen categories while using Mizumi-style water divination—Kurapika, the one with the scarlet eyes.
At first, Kurapika's Mizumi test showed he belonged to the Conjuration category. But once his scarlet eyes were activated and the test was repeated, he switched to the Specialist category.
And as a Specialist, Kurapika was insanely powerful. He had the rare ability to fully utilize the strengths of every Nen category, enhanced further by his vows and restrictions. Kurapika had become the Phantom Troupe's nightmare.
Vega contemplated,
"So when I use only my aura, it shows as Conjuration. But if I channel experience points with it, it transforms into a Specialist ability—and a terrifying one at that. That corrosion effect alone is deadly.
If I combine strong intent with the power of experience points, even elite Nen users probably wouldn't be able to withstand such an attack."
He realized this method could be his secret trump card.
With that in mind, Vega turned to coldly observe a building in the distance.
It was the same building he'd used to ambush the Shelby family's gunmen. But instead of fleeing to a new hiding spot after the attack, Vega had stayed hidden inside a tall building at the end of the street—watching, waiting.
He had no intention of running like a coward.
From now on, he would be the hunter—and the Shelby family, his prey.
After wiping out those gunmen, Vega had devised a trap. He pretended to be a bounty informant and sent false intel that Pengelle had been spotted in that very building.
As expected, the Shelby family took the bait. Excited by the news, they quickly responded and promised him a handsome reward if it turned out to be true. They also demanded real-time updates in case anything changed.
Vega waited patiently.
Sure enough, after about half an hour, more than a dozen vehicles rolled up to the area. Armed men poured out, surrounding the building with their guns drawn, expressions cold and menacing.
Soon after, a sleek, high-end car pulled up outside the perimeter and stopped at a safe distance. From it stepped a man in his forties with a scar across his face—Griffin, a senior member of the Shelby family, his expression full of fury.
A subordinate rushed over and reported,
"Lord Griffin!"
Griffin waved him off impatiently.
"Status?"
"Sir, the building is surrounded. No one's getting out. We're ready to storm it at your command."
Griffin scowled.
"Then what the hell are you waiting for? Get in there and send that Pengelle brat straight to hell!"
"Yes, sir!" shouted the captain, rallying the first squad.
A dozen gunmen rushed into the building.
Griffin lit a cigarette, and the captain, ever the bootlicker, quickly helped light it.
He smirked and said,
"Lord Griffin, you won't even finish that cigarette before they drag that little rat's corpse out."
But before he could finish that thought—
BOOM!
A deafening explosion shook the entire building. Rubble and debris flew everywhere, hitting several gunmen and spilling blood on the ground. The building groaned, then began to collapse in on itself with a violent rumble.
Thick smoke and dust blanketed the area.
From above, several grenades dropped into the chaos.
Bang!
Bang!
Explosions erupted again and again, echoing through the street as screams filled the air.
Griffin, now bloodied and cut by shrapnel, roared,
"It's a trap! Ambush! Everyone fall back!"
"Retreat! Get out of the smoke! We're sitting ducks in here!"
While shouting commands, Griffin made a beeline for his car. He threw himself into the driver's seat, shifted into reverse, and prepared to escape—planning to use his men as human shields to draw fire.
Gunshots and cries echoed in the distance.
Seeing his chance, Griffin slammed the gas and began reversing down the street.
But just as he exited the smoke and turned a corner—
Thunk!
A grenade landed right in front of him.
BOOM!
The blast flipped his car. Bleeding and dazed, Griffin tried to unbuckle himself, but with his legs shattered, he couldn't crawl out.
Then—footsteps.
Slow and deliberate, drawing closer.
Through the blood in his eyes, Griffin saw a boy—no more than fifteen or sixteen—emerge from the shadows, pistol in hand, casually executing each fallen enemy.
The boy paused, looking down at him.
"Griffin. Number three in the Shelby family," he said coldly.
Griffin writhed helplessly, like a dog trying to crawl away.
Vega said nothing more.
He raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
A body collapsed. Blood poured out, painting the ground a vivid, gruesome red.