Hunter X Hunter: I Got Stronger After I Died

This facility, repurposed from an ancient tomb, serves as the "Menu Organization's" virus research base.

The choice of location is neither due to preference nor secrecy.

Rather, it is because the viruses being studied here originate from within this ancient, untraceable burial chamber.

More precisely, they are extracted from the corpses within the coffins.

The man in the black suit watched the screen displaying Sambika, who was meticulously preparing a potion. After a brief moment, he shifted his gaze to the central monitor.

The screen showed the inside of a coffin.

A fresh, emerald-green cloth nearly covered the entire bottom of the coffin.

On top of it lay a peculiar-looking mummified corpse.

The left half of the corpse had undergone prolonged natural dehydration, giving it the dark brown, shriveled appearance typical of desiccated flesh.

However, the right half was entirely different.

Or rather, it could no longer even be called a mummy…

The right half of the body still retained distinct muscle tissue, with faintly visible veins running through it.

The only similarity to the mummified portion was that the remaining moisture in the muscle tissue made it appear aged, resembling the withered bark of an ancient tree.

One half desiccated, the other with visible veins.

As if two entirely different corpses had been sewn together.

The man in the black suit stared at the image on the screen, his eyes flickering with aura that resembled small flames.

Utilizing the enhanced perception of "Gyo," he could see wisps of black smoke-like aura swirling between the corpse and the cloth, slowly drifting toward the edge of the coffin.

The researchers around him, busy with their work, remained oblivious to the black aura emanating from the coffin.

Yet, the viruses extracted from the corpse utterly fascinated them.

Some things defy scientific explanation, yet they forcibly intrude upon human understanding.

The man in the black suit glanced at the researchers immersed in their work, then turned and left.

"How's the progress?"

As he walked, he inquired of the subordinate following him.

The subordinate quickly replied, "The transmission problem of OG has yet to be solved, but we're making headway. However, the 'white mice' in the cocoons are running low. The pharmacist has been requesting more live test subjects as soon as possible."

"How many does he need?"

The black-suited man entered a corridor on the right.

"He didn't specify, just said the more, the better."

"He sure doesn't hold back."

The man in the black suit frowned coldly. "Does he not realize how much a single dissected piglet costs? Last time, he shamelessly demanded twenty and even required compatible blood types. Because of that ridiculous request, our blood supply nearly fell short."

His subordinate lowered his head, not daring to speak.

The man scoffed but knew that regardless of his grievances, this matter was a high priority. He had no choice but to endure it.

"Go apply for a shipment now and include a justification. If the boss deems this matter important enough, we should receive some from 'The Table.'"

"Understood."

The subordinate immediately set off to carry out the order.

Meanwhile, the black-suited man entered another burial chamber.

Though, at this point, it could hardly be called a burial chamber anymore.

All original funerary objects, along with the items from the wall niches, had been completely cleared out.

In their place were pipeline lighting fixtures and rows of glass containers filled with liquid.

Suspended in the pale green fluid were various human organs and tissue samples.

Nightfall.

In Shanni Village, inside a simple house made of mud and tiles, there was barely anything besides a bed, a table, and a few pieces of furniture.

On the bed against the wall lay an eight- or nine-year-old boy.

His face was pale, his eyes tightly shut, and his breathing rapid as his small chest rose and fell erratically.

Patches of his exposed skin appeared withered and darkened, as if stitched together with pieces of aged flesh.

Standing by the bed was a slightly older boy, his face filled with concern.

However, the right side of his face and two of his fingers looked as if all cellular activity had been drained, appearing similarly withered and lifeless.

Across from the bed, Sambika placed collected medicinal herbs into a mortar. Instead of crushing them immediately, she placed her right hand over the mouth of the mortar.

Drip, drip…

Blood seeped directly through the skin of her palm, dripping onto the herbs.

Seconds later, the wound on her palm closed and healed automatically.

Sambika withdrew her hand and observed the faintly glowing blood as it visibly merged with the herbs.

Her blood could enhance the medicinal properties of herbs and improve their neutralizing effects.

This gave her a unique advantage in making medicine.

Thump, thump…

She picked up a pestle and began grinding the herbs into a paste.

"This will only slow down the virus replication… It's not enough. Reta won't last much longer."

As she ground the medicine, she contemplated her next move.

If time ran out, she would have no choice but to risk using her ability…

Outside the mud-brick house.

Leaning against the outer wall, Moro's brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

Was it poor vigilance, or was she simply too focused?

He had tailed her from the forest all the way here, wary that his "Zetsu" might not be good enough to avoid detection.

However, she seemed so preoccupied with her thoughts that she never noticed his presence.

Even now, with him right outside the house, her awareness remained lacking.

Moro even suspected that he could activate "Ren" without her noticing.

"She seems… weak."

He mused to himself.

Since he hadn't seen her use "Nen", he couldn't determine her level.

But based on her "Ten", her fundamentals seemed solid.

She must be a non-combat type.

Among Nen users, some focused their abilities on fields other than fighting.

Even within the Hunter Association's Zodiac Twelve, there were non-combatants like Cheadle.

Still, this was the first time Moro had encountered a Nen user who felt this weak in terms of pure presence.

Pulite Town.

At night, many parts of town remained brightly lit.

Bars, casinos, and other establishments were bustling with activity.

This town, like a gold mine, produced endless profits—ensuring there were just as many places to spend money.

Walking down the street, Hisoka glanced toward a tavern.

Beep, beep.

The phone in his hand vibrated.

Hisoka tapped the screen a few times.

A transaction confirmation popped up.

His once-flush bank account was now nearly empty.

To track down Moro as quickly as possible, Hisoka had just blown all his savings.

But he didn't care.

"One year of cold war…"

Hisoka narrowed his eyes. But rather than immediately going after Moro, he headed toward a casino in the distance.

His money was nearly gone—he needed to get some back.

Otherwise, if Moro ran again, he wouldn't even have enough to pay for transport to chase him.

And that would be such a hassle.

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