The Troupe members who retreated quickly regrouped.
And in the middle of them was Bonolenov—wrapped in black flames.
At first, Bonolenov hadn't taken Amaterasu seriously. He paid for that mistake almost immediately.
Those black flames burned anything.
And they couldn't be extinguished.
Water couldn't put them out.
Trying to block them with Nen only made the Nen catch fire as well.
Bonolenov thought and thought, and the only method he could imagine was this:
Have someone strip all of his conjured equipment off him in an instant—maybe then the black flames would be torn away with the equipment.
Otherwise, if he simply canceled his armor normally, the flames clinging to it would drop onto his exposed body in the same moment.
And then it would truly be beyond saving.
Only one person could do it:
Machi.
And it had to be fast.
Right now, Bonolenov felt like the armor protecting him was like foil around a baked potato—every second was agony inside it.
After testing and confirming that canceling Nen threads quickly wouldn't cause the black flames to spread along the threads onto her, Machi finally began treating him in earnest.
Countless Nen threads shot out like spider silk, wrapping around Bonolenov's battle armor.
Then Machi yanked—
With a ripping sound, all of Bonolenov's equipment was torn away.
But along with it, his skin came off too.
Under that brutal heat, Bonolenov had only barely kept himself alive with aura; he couldn't stop his armor and flesh from bonding together.
Now, with the armor ripped away, he was a naked, blood-soaked human figure—horrific to look at.
Bonolenov sucked in a sharp breath, then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed—only to jerk awake again before he fully hit the ground.
It hurt.
It hurt too much.
Even the Troupe—people who had seen everything—found it hard to look at Bonolenov now.
But there was nothing to do except endure. Even Chrollo didn't have any healing ability.
"I'll kill him… I'll kill him!" Bonolenov howled, voice tearing apart, his hatred for Ronin sinking into his bones.
Chrollo's eyes fell on the pile of conjured equipment still wrapped in black flames.
Without Bonolenov continuously feeding it aura, the armor burned quickly. Only once it turned to ash did the black flames finally begin to fade.
"Leave this place first," Chrollo ordered, having Machi carry Bonolenov. "He used our identity to set a trap. We lost this round. And the three pairs of Scarlet Eyes in Yorknew are probably already in his hands."
Only Machi could carry Bonolenov now. Anyone else touching him would likely make him scream from pain.
Shalnark had once searched for ways to heal Uvogin's missing arm—now it seemed that information would be needed for Bonolenov instead.
As for Isri…
Chrollo had done what he could. Since they hadn't managed to kill the employer in time, Isri's death was probably inevitable.
Damn Zoldycks.
They would have to guard against that angle too.
And Ronin's strength, once again, had shattered Chrollo's expectations.
The only explanation for something this "wrong" was that the Troupe had still been one step behind.
Ronin had murdered one of the Ten Dons and impersonated him. The benefits from that were enormous.
And the fact that he could find a Ten Don, replace him, and stay undiscovered also proved Ronin wasn't just bold—he was meticulous.
Kurapika… Chrollo already knew his name and identity.
The Kurta member who hadn't been in the village on the night of the massacre.
Kurapika had likely exposed the location deliberately and prepared many layers in advance.
The corpse outside the hotel hadn't been Kurapika's at all.
Because when that corpse appeared, the real Kurapika was still inside Room 1801—alongside mercenaries already on standby to evacuate him at any moment.
The same "stone" mercenary group.
The team that had stopped the Troupe from hunting Ronin at Heavens Arena.
Still, Chrollo didn't understand Kurapika's purpose. Was it provocation? Or did he want to ask why the Kurta were slaughtered?
A childish move.
That was Chrollo's judgment, remembering Kurapika's expression.
A thief didn't need "reasons." The Kurta massacre was done because it produced enough value for the Spider.
The only pity was that they hadn't finished the job.
Two little rats escaped.
And those two rats found a way to grow fast enough to flip the board.
Chrollo had to admit: Ronin at this stage had become a serious threat to the Troupe.
Someone who needed to be eliminated as soon as possible.
…
When Ronin found Neon, there was a woman beside her—someone he'd never met.
She had long wine-red hair, slightly upturned phoenix eyes, and fiery lipstick. On top she wore a black camisole with a black jacket slipped off her shoulders; just standing there, she radiated raw sensuality.
On the bottom were black athletic pants that showed off long, straight legs perfectly. Her mature charm leaked out with every casual glance and smile.
"Let's go," Neon said. "Kurapika prepared a new room for us at Cemetery. He said to meet there. Oh—and she's Delilah. She's the one who disguised Kurapika's 'corpse.'"
"Hello," Delilah said. "Don't blame me. I'm just doing a paid job."
Delilah didn't know Kurapika's plan, but she had seen the massive flood near Adan Hotel from afar.
And the one who caused a flood like that seemed to be the handsome young man standing before her.
Delilah had no desire to offend a monster like that.
"Alright." Ronin nodded.
He had also seen Kurapika and Muherr on the rooftop. With Muherr protecting Kurapika, Ronin didn't need to worry about Kurapika's safety.
And now that Neon had someone with her too, it confirmed everything had been inside Kurapika's calculations.
"Are you also with the mercenary group?" Ronin asked.
"No," Delilah said. "I'm a doll hunter—Milia's friend. Milia asked me to come help."
Her vibe was completely different from Milia's cool, icy style.
Neon tugged Ronin's arm. "Come on. This isn't a place for chatting."
"I'm done here," Delilah waved. "See you next time at Heavens Arena!"
She didn't follow them.
…
About ten minutes later, Ronin and Neon arrived at Cemetery.
Kurapika was already waiting. But when Ronin entered the top-floor room, he didn't see the mercenaries.
They must've left as soon as the job was done—fast and clean.
Ronin looked at Kurapika with complicated emotions. "I'll admit… your plan was correct. But it didn't feel good."
"Sorry," Kurapika said sincerely.
Yet in Kurapika's honest eyes, Ronin could tell: if it happened again, Kurapika would still choose the same plan.
Ronin sighed. But he couldn't deny the result was good.
"Thanks."
"Hm?"
"Thanks for being alive, Kurapika," Ronin said—and his eyes shifted into Mangekyō.
Kurapika's lips curved slightly upward. "And thank you too, nii-san Ronin."