Flames consumed the rotting flesh, burning steadily due to the gasoline. The fire didn’t go out. Ron could almost hear the faint screams echoing from within the blaze—until all that remained was ash.

The monster was dead.

Under normal circumstances, a creature like that would not have been killed so easily. But after being weakened by the cockroach swarm from the Rotten Life Blade, its condition had deteriorated significantly.

The black-haired youth, sensing the monster’s death, glanced casually in that direction.

On another rooftop, Oster narrowed his eyes.

“They actually managed to kill that thing? Looks like the other members of your Phantom Troupe do have some skill. No wonder those earlier specimens failed. Never mind—I’ll just take all of you back as new experimental material.”

Shalnark’s eyes widened. “That monster… it was killed that easily?” He could hardly believe it. “So this is Ron’s strength?”

He had never even considered a way to handle such a creature. Yet Ron had done it with apparent ease and so quickly at that.

Pakunoda’s expression turned serious. “Ron used another ability—first the egg, then the larvae, and finally the cockroach. Shalnark.”

She turned toward him, as if something had just occurred to her. Shalnark nodded slowly. “That nen tool—it must have been made from one of the materials we collected from that disaster in Meteor City.”

Pakunoda hesitated. “Then was it really worth handing the material over to the Zoldycks? Maybe we should’ve tried using it ourselves.”

The Rotten Life Blade’s performance made her hesitate. It was hard not to feel tempted.

Shalnark shook his head. “The strength of a nen tool doesn’t just depend on the material—it depends on the user too. Even if we kept it, we might not have been able to raise it to the level Ron has.”

After killing the monster, Ron turned his gaze toward the two buildings nearby. Feitan and Phinks were still being overwhelmed by the black-haired youth—but the more urgent situation was on the other side.

While Chrollo and Hisoka launched a relentless assault on Oster, Nobunaga had silently closed in, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Finally, it came. As Oster focused on defending against Chrollo and Hisoka’s attacks, he left a window open—just enough for Nobunaga to strike.

Nobunaga was confident. He had analyzed the moment carefully—Oster had no time to spare for him. And after Uvogin’s death, Nobunaga had undergone a shift. His anger had changed something inside him. He felt stronger now. He believed his attack would land—and that it would deal real damage.

But Oster shattered that belief instantly.

A violent blow struck Nobunaga before he could even bring his sword down!

His body was sent flying like a ragdoll.

Boom!

He crashed into a massive pillar.

Crack!

The impact was so intense that the thick stone cracked and collapsed. Nobunaga’s body slammed into the wall behind it, embedding him deep into the surface.

Puh!

A spray of blood arced several meters. He passed out on the spot.

With Nobunaga incapacitated, Chrollo and Hisoka’s battle became even harder. Oster’s strength was overwhelming.

Chrollo’s face was grim. “We’re both A-rank… so how is this guy this strong? It’s absurd. Why does the Underworld Mafia even have someone like this? And if they’ve had him all along, why didn’t he show up when Meteor Street pushed them back? Why the ruse about the Shadow Beasts being their strongest? Were they baiting us?”

While Chrollo’s mind raced with questions, Hisoka felt something very different—excitement. The power Oster displayed, the thin thread of possibility that he might still win—it all thrilled him.

“This is exhilarating,” Hisoka murmured, blood pumping fast. “But I can’t afford to die here. I need more power.”

At that moment, Hisoka’s aura surged.

Oster noticed. “You’re getting stronger mid-battle? Impressive… looks like if I turn you into an experimental subject, the result will be quite something.”

Shalnark quickly contacted Franklin and Bonolenov. “They’re all here now. Just three of them. Ron already took one down. You two—move to support.”

“Got it.”

The moment they received the call, the two moved out—Franklin headed to support Feitan, and Bonolenov to Chrollo.

“Feitan, Phinks—buy me some time!”

Bonolenov’s form appeared, already cloaked in his bizarre conjured armor. He began his ritual dance—a key component of his ability, which acted as both restriction and vow.

Without the dance, his power wouldn’t reach its peak. Like Phinks and his Ripper Cyclotron, but with even stricter conditions. So even if Bonolenov wasn’t as physically strong, his attack potential could rival—or even exceed—Phinks.

“Understood.”

Phinks and Feitan knew Bonolenov’s ability well. They increased the pace of their attacks on the black-haired youth.

The black-haired youth turned slightly, watching Bonolenov. “Restriction and vow, is it? And you’re doing it right in front of me? Do you think I’m stupid?”

In the blink of an eye, he vanished.

Phinks and Feitan froze. “Where’d he go?!”

By the time they realized what had happened, he was already behind Bonolenov.

Squelch!

His arm pierced through Bonolenov’s back and out his stomach.

He withdrew it slowly—now holding a length of intestine in his hand.

Bonolenov’s eyes widened, disbelief etched across his face. His body crumpled to the ground.

“Feitan,” Phinks said, stunned. “Did you see that?”

“I think I did… but I’m not sure.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep