Soon, the flas died down.
The charred and twisted wreck of the bus was revealed…
"Careful!" soone from the mafia shouted.
"It's fine. He must've been dead Haze ago, hahaha!"
The man in charge of inspecting the wreck laughed and stepped forward to climb onto the bus.
Whssst!
Several sharp, whistling sounds tore through the air striking down the n standing outside the bus like invisible bullets, each hitting a vital spot.
The man who had just stepped onto the bus froze mid-step as blood spurted from his head.
He fell face-first onto the ground.
Plop, plop…
In the blink of an eye, five or six mafiosi were dead.
The invisible murder weapons fell to the ground a scattering of small, bloodied stones.
Whssst!
The mafia soldiers flinched and raised their guns.
One of their own had just been killed out of nowhere.
The leader a calm man with gold-rimd glasses remained expressionless.
He flicked away his half-smoked cigarette.
"Of course… it wouldn't be that easy."
He noticed that the three cars behind the bus had gone dark.
They'd been taken out.
Amidst the tense silence and the sound of approaching footsteps, a blurry figure appeared in the distance one hand in his pocket, the other casually flicking pebbles as he walked.
Unscathed, Haze glanced at the burning wreck that had once been the bus he'd slept in.
The air slled faintly of barbecue. He sighed softly.
The mont he saw the mafia, he knew.
He'd been exposed.
In less than two years, he had amassed a fortune at Heavens Arena by manipulating match outcos. Now, he was worth tens of billions.
Even though he had tried to launder the money through countless casinos, large and small, discovery was only a matter of ti.
Casinos and most entertainnt industries were backed by the mafia.
They monopolized entire regions.
So even if you bet at different places, the profit ultimately ca from the sa dealer.
Billions of dollars weren't sothing you could just take and walk away with it was like trying to shear a single sheep bare.
If Haze had kept his earnings small and spaced them out, he might have stayed under the radar…
But he'd gotten greedy.
And who doesn't love money?
The real issue was… he hadn't taken the mafia seriously enough.
Over the past few years, Haze had focused almost entirely on training. Even while at Heavens Arena, he had little contact with the outside world.
His understanding of the mafia ca only from what he rembered from the original story.
Now, he was facing the real thing.
And this was their "welco gift."
"You played it smart," said the man with glasses, watching Haze calmly. "But the casino's been losing too much money lately. The books show it clearly every loss connects to your bets. With a 100% win rate, suspicion was inevitable."
He lit another cigarette, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
"Our Fields Family welcos normal gamblers with open arms. But people like you…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…need to be greeted with a shotgun."
Whssst! Whssst! Whssst!
Before the gangsters could even fire, Haze had already moved.
As he walked, the stones in his hand shot out like marbles faster and harder than bullets.
Every gunman in the front row dropped dead, each with a hole through the skull.
"Kill him!" shouted the man in glasses.
They still had the numbers advantage. Even losing a few n didn't stop them.
Guns roared pistols, rifles, all blazing.
In an instant, the mountain road turned into a storm of bullets, raining down on the man walking steadily toward them.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The ground around Haze erupted with dust and debris.
But not a single bullet touched him not even his suit was torn.
One man with a shoulder cannon licked his lips and crouched, ready to unleash his attack…
A pebble pierced his face before he could even fire.
As Haze closed the distance, the number of dead piled up.
The man with glasses lowered his gaze.
"Stop! You can't handle him!"
A commanding voice echoed through the chaos.
The gangsters imdiately stopped shooting and parted to form an open path.
A man stepped out of a car disheveled hair, a Haze scar across his face, a wicked grin curling his lips.
He spun a butterfly knife between his fingers, and as it turned, the small blade seed to glow, transforming into a silver streak of light.
"A beast like this…" he said, voice low and confident, "…should be handled by a professional Hunter."
The man took a step forward.
"This is trouble," murmured the man with glasses, raising a hand to make his n fall back.
Haze stepped over the pile of shell casings and stopped.
The stones in his hand were gone all spent.
He'd heard what the scarred man said.
He looked at him sideHaze, a faint smile curving his lips.
"So, you're that confident you can kill ?"
He had sensed from the start there was a Nen user hidden among them.
"Heh… Heavens Arena is nothing but a playground for the weak," the scarred man sneered. "Don't think those clowns compare to people like who've walked the darkness for years, living on the edge of death. We're the real Hunters predators who live by the laws of the jungle!"
He lifted his knife, ready to strike.
"Judging by your Nen and that look in your eyes… you're not weak," Haze said with a grin.
A bloodthirsty smile spread across the man's face.
"Then… where should I start?"
But before he could act, his hand trembled.
His pupils contracted sharply.
He hadn't blinked once his focus had been perfect.
Yet sohow, his opponent had already moved, faster than sight without warning, without sound.
Cold sweat broke out across his face.
"I said your strength was barely enough," Haze whispered. "That wasn't a complint."
At arm's length now, Haze didn't strike imdiately.
He leaned in close their faces only inches apart, eyes locking.
Seeing the man's trembling pupils and the fear he was trying so hard to hide, Haze whispered softly
And the scarred man scread.
"Ahhhhh!"
His knife flashed, stretching into a silver thread aid straight at Haze's throat.
Crack!
But Haze's palm struck through the illusion, faster than sight.
Without even looking, he caught the man's wrist and with a light twist of his fingers, snapped it clean.
"Ah!"
The man cried out again, face twitching violently.
"Impossible… Soone like you, dancing so close to death, shouldn't even feel pain from sothing so small…" Haze narrowed his eyes and smiled.
Then he extended his other hand and with terrifying force, tore through the man's neck, ripping his head apart completely.
The Nen user's body fell limply to the ground, blood pooling fast.
So underground Nen users were far tougher than Heavens Arena fighters.
Though not all Arena contestants were "greenhouse flowers," most of them at least lived stable lives. Environnt shaped a person deeply.
Those who worked in the underworld assassins, rcenaries had every reason to be proud.
Every fight they faced was life or death. Their opponents were often madn and killers, and their desperation forged terrifying willpower.
But this scarred man… wasn't one of them.
His strength was just slightly above the trash on the 200th floor nothing more.
Blood continued to pour from his severed neck, staining the road dark red.
Haze dusted off his hands and turned his gaze toward the silent mobsters and then to the calm man with glasses.
He alone remained composed completely unshaken, unlike the others who were already trembling.
He t Haze's eyes evenly.
To the mafia, scenes of blood and death weren't shocking.
They were part of everyday life.
"…Yeah. He's dead."
"Sorry, boss," said the man with glasses, speaking into his phone. "We couldn't handle him."
"I see," ca the reply.
He hung up, exhaled smoke, and walked toward Haze.
Haze's expression turned curious amused.
Most people panicked after seeing death. That was normal.
With this many corpses around, he expected them to either run or go berserk but not these n.
Their discipline and ntal strength far exceeded his expectations.
"Congratulations," the man with glasses said quietly. "You've survived."
Such arrogance.
Haze raised an eyebrow.
"Even if you kill everyone here including it won't matter," the man continued calmly, puffing his cigarette.
"The underworld has its own rules. If your story spreads, it'll tarnish the reputation of our Fields Family."
He exhaled a Haze breath of smoke.
"Co with . The boss wants to see you."
Before Haze could respond, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out an incoming call.
"Hello."
"Master…"
A familiar voice ca through Charles the Bald.
The man who'd once begged to be his disciple and failed.
The sa man who had helped him during his early casino days.
Charles had left Heavens Arena over half a year ago. Haze had rely taught him so basic physical training thods before letting him go.
This call… made it obvious. Charles had been captured.
"Let's go," said the man with glasses, crushing his cigarette under his shoe and turning toward the car.
Haze hung up.
"No wonder…" he thought.
"The mafia… is sharper than I imagined."
Soone held a car door open for him.
Haze walked over slowly.
As he passed one of the gangsters, he wiped the blood from his hands onto the man's expensive suit.
The gangster scowled but didn't dare say a word.
(End of Chapter)
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