Silva's hands gathered a huge amount of aura as he dropped, and he landed on the stretch of street where Isri had just barely escaped the flood and where the water hadn't fully swept through yet.
Isri sensed the danger too.
A revolver was already in his hand. Wrapped in Nen, the gun didn't misfire despite the water.
He pulled the trigger repeatedly—bang bang bang—emptying the cylinder straight upward.
But before the bullets could travel far, a dragon head suddenly burst out nearby, lunging through the air and swallowing every bullet in an instant.
Isri detonated the bullets midair under his control, but the explosions still couldn't tear apart that dragon head made entirely of aura.
Alarms screamed in Isri's mind, yet his body wouldn't move.
If that dragon head hadn't gone for the bullets and had instead gone for him, he would've been bitten into three pieces in an instant.
Isri strained with all his strength and still couldn't shift even a fraction. He felt the space around him become thick and rigid, as if he'd been frozen inside it—he couldn't even move his pinky.
Silva came down.
In Isri's view, it wasn't just Silva—Zeno was also nearby, hands posed in front of him, controlling that dragon head.
The dragon head had already turned toward Isri again, as if ready to devour him if Silva's strike didn't finish the job.
But none of that was what truly made Isri despair.
What made him despair was that he now knew his feeling wasn't wrong.
Space really was being restrained.
And the one causing it… had to be Ronin, staring at him from not far away.
Amenomahitotsu no Kami.
That was the name of Ronin's left-eye ability.
Its effect: freely immobilize a region of space within his line of sight.
Isri couldn't even pull the trigger anymore because Ronin had used Amenomahitotsu no Kami to lock the space around him.
The range seemed too wide. Ronin felt warmth at the corner of his eye—blood, likely.
He wasn't sure if it was because the immobilized region was too large, or because Silva had also been briefly halted in midair the instant he entered that region.
But Ronin knew one thing:
The moment he canceled Amenomahitotsu no Kami, Silva's strike would land on Isri.
Silva, suspended in the air, felt a flash of disbelief.
He hung less than half a meter from Isri. He could feel the aura on his fists draining rapidly, and his body continuing to fall at an extremely slow rate.
This state lasted less than a second.
Silva immediately locked onto who was causing it.
Then his motion returned to normal. His fists, wrapped in massive aura, smashed into Isri under Isri's hopeless stare.
BOOM!
A crater formed where Isri stood. Blood sprayed. Only two revolvers—with a torn piece of hand still clinging to them—shot out of the pit.
Silva didn't even glance at the paste that used to be Isri. He straightened and turned toward Ronin.
But at that moment, two figures appeared near the crater—
Nobunaga and Phinks.
They moved in perfect unison, attacking Silva in the pit. At the same time, two other figures rushed to surround Ronin.
Zeno's Dragon Head hadn't dissipated. With a flick of his hands, he redirected it, slamming it into Nobunaga and Phinks at even higher speed.
Nobunaga's blade cut into the dragon head, but couldn't sever it—each cut instantly rejoined.
And then the dragon head smashed Nobunaga away.
Phinks' strike arrived at Silva as Nobunaga flew back. But Silva mirrored him—raising his fist and meeting Phinks' punch with a burst of aura.
They both staggered back, but Silva looked completely at ease.
He had just unleashed a killing blow on Isri, and still matched Phinks' charged punch evenly—proof that Silva's level was at least two or three tiers above Phinks.
On the other side, Ronin's body was again wrapped in crimson skeletal chakra.
Only half a torso, but with a raised hand and ribs shielding Ronin: one hand grabbed for the small figure rushing him, while the ribs effortlessly blocked the incoming Nen bullets.
The short one was Feitan.
Feitan had already seen that skeletal hand's power from a distance before. He didn't dare let it touch him.
He retreated repeatedly, barely keeping ahead of the hand's not-so-fast reach—but that also forced distance between him and Ronin.
Franklin realized his "double-handed machine gun" was useless against Susanoo. He simply twisted his arm and ripped off his left hand.
A dark cannon muzzle was revealed, and even more aura began gathering inside it.
One-Arm Cannon.
But before he could fire, a bullet struck his forehead. Sparks flew. Franklin stumbled back.
The aura he'd gathered on his left wrist burst out anyway, but the shot went off-target.
A volleyball-sized aura blast grazed past Susanoo and smashed into a nearby building.
An explosion roared. A hole several meters wide tore open in the structure.
Franklin lifted his gaze toward the source.
A sniper rifle was set up there.
Behind the shooter stood a red-eyed boy.
Kurapika—and the mercenary Muherr.
"Retreat!"
Chrollo's voice echoed from far away, as if something had happened there that forced him to give the order.
The Troupe members exchanged looks, their unwillingness written in their eyes.
But at that moment, armed mercenaries were already pouring into the street.
They didn't hide their aura at all. And in the center of their formation stood a metal mech more than four meters tall.
The Troupe's hearts tightened. They regrouped and withdrew together.
The moment the mercenaries arrived, they knew the situation was lost.
The mercenaries didn't chase the retreating Troupe aggressively. Instead, they rushed to Ronin's position and formed a protective screen around him.
Zeno and Silva also had no intention of continuing the fight. Their target was Isri.
Now that Isri was a puddle of meat, their contract was fulfilled—and there was no reason to keep attacking the Troupe.
Killing outside the contract wasn't what assassins did. If they were going to kill more, the employer would have to pay extra—otherwise Zeno would feel he was taking a loss.
And Zeno hated taking losses most of all.
Silva was the same—he wasn't the type to slaughter for fun.
His gaze instead lingered on Ronin.
Ronin's strength intrigued him, especially the strange and ever-changing nature of his abilities.
Still, Silva didn't approach. He simply nodded to Ronin—a wordless thanks for the brief immobilization that had saved Silva time and ensured Isri couldn't escape.
Then Zeno and Silva turned and left.
"These young ones are really starting to become frightening," Zeno's voice wasn't loud, but Ronin—sharp-eared—still caught it, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
That was recognition.
And praise.
~~~
Patreon(.)com/Bleam
— Currently You can Read 70 Chapters Ahead of Others!