Fanfics Hub
patreon
243 HxH: Tombbound Power
🕑 Added 2024-12-05 06:03:01 +0000 UTCMiluki nodded, his tone tinged with helplessness.
"In the past, games were all virtual experiences on the internet, but Greed Island requires personal participation. This is the first time I've heard of such a concept."
At 18 years old, Miluki was born in 1982. By the time Greed Island was released in 1987, he was just five. Having been raised under Kikyo's strict training regimen, he remained oblivious to the game's existence during its debut.
Even when he eventually heard of it, he dismissed it as an outdated relic from over a decade ago. Technology was advancing rapidly, and he saw no reason to pay attention to something so old.
It wasn't until Killua approached him about it that his interest in Greed Island was truly piqued. Unfortunately, his financial situation at the time made it unattainable.
"Well, do you know what the clearance rewards for the game are?"
"Clearance rewards?" Miluki blinked, momentarily stunned. He had always played games for the joy of the journey, rarely giving thought to the rewards.
As someone from a wealthy family, he didn't particularly care about prizes, unless they were rare collectibles.
"Why do you ask? Are the rewards for Greed Island supposed to be special?"
Ronnel's gaze glinted with amusement as he watched Miluki's curiosity stir.
"Oh, they are indeed. Think about it—this is an immensely expensive game, designed specifically for Nen users, with people vying fiercely to acquire it. The clearance rewards must be something extraordinary."
He leaned in, a smirk playing on his lips.
"After clearing Greed Island, you can select three cards to bring back to reality as your reward."
Miluki frowned, unimpressed. "That's it? Doesn't sound like much..." He poured himself a cup of oolong tea, swirling it idly.
Ronnel's grin didn't waver.
"Oh, is that so? Then consider this: it's a game that consumed the aura of 800 Nen users—many of whom paid for it with their lives. With stakes like that, what do you think those cards are worth?"
Miluki's hand froze mid-pour. His eyes narrowed in thought, and after a moment, they widened with a spark of realization.
Greed Island consisted of 100 types of cards, each occupying a game card slot. Four slots were available for each player, with a large expansion slot allowing additional cards. In total, it supported up to eight players simultaneously and required the combined aura of 800 Nen users to operate.
The game's development cost an astronomical 5.8 billion Jenny, with only 100 copies ever produced. The cards themselves were designed with the principle of Nen's equivalent exchange: immense effort, risk, and sacrifice in exchange for the ability to bring three cards into reality.
For someone like Ging Freecss, a top-five Nen user globally, the game was a masterpiece of ambition and ingenuity. It wasn't just a game—it was a testament to his brilliance.
Ronnel couldn't help but admire the sheer scale of the endeavor. Ging had orchestrated everything, even to the point of paving a path for Gon to grow and strengthen as a Hunter. Every detail of the game was tailored to both challenge and nurture his son.
Of course, others besides Gon could benefit from the island's rigorous trials, but Ging believed Gon would be the one to truly rise above the rest.
"Each card in Greed Island has a unique function," Ronnel explained, his tone now softer. "Take Angel's Breath, for instance—it can heal any serious injury or incurable illness with just a single use. Or Golden Dictionary, which can help you make decisions by weighing future benefits."
He listed more examples, each card sounding more fantastical than the last. The more Ronnel spoke, the more Miluki's small eyes gleamed with interest, though his face remained impassive.
Finally, Ronnel mentioned, "Sleeping Girl. A card that summons a girl to sleep on your behalf, allowing you to stay awake and active for 24 hours straight."
Miluki's expression instantly changed. His eyes stopped darting around, fixed on Ronnel with newfound determination.
For a self-proclaimed "shut-in," the thought of uninterrupted online time was a dream come true. The allure of surfing the web 24/7 was more tempting than he could resist.
