Chapter 106: The Dark King's Curtain Call
"What's the difference between the prey and the hunter?"
Yamucha asked Kastro.
"Who seizes the initiative?" Kastro replied.
"Who hides the deepest?" Yamucha persisted.
"Who uses the most tricks?" came another attempt.
Each answer earned only a faint shake of Yamucha's head.
"The difference is in strength—how could you not know that?" Yamucha said.
Kastro fell silent.
"To forge iron, one must be strong oneself. No matter how many schemes you devise, I need but a single punch."
"If you can do that, you will always be the hunter who laughs last."
Upon hearing Yamucha's answer, Kastro nodded seriously.
It was like Superman, blessed with both super-intellect and super-strength. In danger, Superman habitually consults his super-brain, which invariably responds, "Use your super-strength!"
Strength is king; everything else merely support.
"Now, let me put on a show," Yamucha said—both to Kastro and to DarkWarGreymon.
"A performance called…the Dark King's Curtain Call."
September 4, nighttime still reigned.
Did the Ten Elders truly believe the Phantom Troupe had been wiped out? A few did, but most did not. One thing was certain: the sole survivor of the ten-man mission, the sinister Nightowl, was even less believable.
Why should he alone live while the rest died? He wasn't even a combat specialist—had he secretly struck a deal with the Troupe to spare him? This suspicion had fueled a previous exchange between Nightowl and the Ten Elders.
Tonight was decisive.
The Ten Elders had hired top professional assassins at great expense. Whether the Troupe was truly dead or only feigning, after tonight they would be truly gone.
Yet even world-class killers paled before the Phantom Troupe's skill. Their leader, Chrollo Lucilfer, single-handedly dispatched the elite hit squad with ease. Then, under a disguised identity, he effortlessly stole Neong's prophetic Nen ability. Finally, he led the remaining Spiders in their long-awaited revenge.
The Grand Mausoleum skyscraper—center of the Youkexin City underworld—was thronged with gang leaders from across the globe.
Except for the Mojito Family.
Boom! Flames roared skyward and deafening explosions shattered the night.
"It's the Phantom Troupe!" someone screamed. "But—they were dead! How can they be here?"
The gangsters' return fire was pitifully ineffective. Calls for reinforcements died as heads rolled.
Nearly two thousand armed men held out less than fifteen minutes before being wiped out. Then the slaughter began.
The Troupe initiated a "Great Purge." Their comrades had died; two Spiders even lost their feet. Now they were furious. Blood debt must be repaid with blood.
Those high-and-mighty crime bosses before the Troupe fell like lambs to the slaughter, spouting no last words. A mere flick of a finger sent them crashing into pools of their own blood.
Chrollo Lucilfer stood atop the building's roof, on a platform littered with the bodies of fallen assassins. His hands moved gracefully, as if conducting a symphony.
He called it the Gangster Requiem.
Until two figures—one tall, one short; one old, one young—arrived, snapping him out of his composure. Chrollo's relaxed stance vanished; he focused intently on the newcomers.
"They invited you too, I see," he said.
They were Silva Zoldyck, the current head of the Zoldyck family, and his predecessor, Zeno—father and grandfather of Illumi—both among the world's strongest assassins. Without a word, the three sprang into action.
Silva and Zeno exchanged a few blows with Chrollo; even the gusts from their strikes grazed Chrollo's cheek. He knew that unless he revealed his true power, he'd die here.
A simple book appeared in his hand—his Nen ability, Skill Hunter, a Specialization power that stole and stored other people's Nen techniques, akin to Yamucha's Pawn Shop #8 in its Specialization class but focused on theft rather than trade. It was overwhelmingly powerful.
Even deploying multiple potent abilities, Chrollo remained on the back foot against these two top-tier assassination masters.
"Teacher, is he cheating? I count at least six different abilities." A faint whisper drifted over.
All three combatants paused and stepped back, eyes flicking toward the source: three more figures had appeared against the wall, as if from thin air.
"Who are you?" they demanded, tense.
"Don't mind us—please continue," Yamucha said, spreading his hands and shrugging. "I just brought my students to learn something, and to meet Mr. Silva and Old Man Zeno."
Though he said not to mind them, how could they not? The trio subtly slid aside, wary.
Of the three newcomers, only the scar-faced man radiated a palpable aura; the others were inscrutable—especially the one cloaked in a wide hood, whose presence made one's hair stand on end. A truly dangerous individual, they thought—assassins' instincts never lie.
"I warned you this gig would be a loss—too many troublesome folks," Zeno grumbled.
Beep, beep, beep—the device at Silva's waist chirped. He answered, eyes still on Yamucha's group. A faint voice spoke: "Understood."
Silva nodded, glanced at Chrollo for less than half a second, then turned to his father. "Client is dead. Mission aborted."
(End of Chapter)