Ryker didn't care about every Spider's ability.
Some were useful. Some were trash. Nobunaga's Iaijutsu was technically impressive—a masterclass in swordsmanship honed over decades—but to Ryker, it was redundant. He was walking the path of the body. Why use a sword when your fist hits harder than a missile?
Still, free loot is free loot.
[DING! Random Plunder Successful!]
[Acquired: {Enhancement Talent} (Gold), {Iaijutsu Mastery} (Double Gold).]
[System: {Enhancement Grandmaster} (Red) detected. Absorbing traits for XP...]
Information flooded Ryker's brain. Thirty years of muscle memory. The weight of a katana. The precise angle of a draw. In an instant, Ryker became a sword saint.
Not bad. Double Gold.
It was a pity Nobunaga didn't drop his En. But then again, Nobunaga's En was only four meters. Ryker's En, copied from Zeno Zoldyck, was already over 700 meters. Comparing them was like comparing a puddle to an ocean.
Nobunaga was T2 at best.
Ryker looked at the smoldering crater where Nobunaga used to be.
"Rest in pieces, Samurai. You ate a nuclear blast to the face. That's a warrior's death."
The Valley Ruins.
The smoke cleared, revealing a scene from hell.
The Phantom Troupe was in shambles.
Nobunaga was gone. His legs were vaporized. His upper body was a charred husk. The explosion had erased him.
Feitan, Franklin, Machi, Shizuku, and Shalnark were alive, but barely. They were scorched, bleeding, and stunned. Franklin had taken the brunt of the blast to shield the others, his back a mess of burnt flesh.
"Nobunaga..." Machi whispered, her hands trembling as she healed Franklin.
They couldn't process it. Minutes ago, they were the predators. Now? Two of their founding members were dead (Pakunoda and Nobunaga), and their strongest fighter (Uvogin) had been kidnapped.
"HE'S A MADMAN!" Franklin roared, coughing up blood. "HE BLEW HIMSELF UP! WHO DOES THAT?!"
"It was a clone," Feitan hissed, his voice dripping with hate. "He used a clone as a bomb."
Feitan's own ability, Rising Sun, could create similar devastation, but seeing it used against them was a bitter pill.
"We need to tell the Danchou," Shalnark said, his face pale. "This isn't a heist anymore. It's a war. And we're losing."
The Hideout.
Chrollo Lucilfer sat in the shadows of a ruined church, a book in his hand.
"Don't worry," Chrollo smiled at Hisoka. "Once we find the mastermind, the truth will come out. You'll be cleared."
Hisoka leaned against a pillar, silent. His right arm was reattached—a "borrowed" limb from a random civilian, hidden with Texture Surprise. It would do until Machi fixed him properly.
Beep.
Chrollo tapped his earpiece.
"Danchou... Nobunaga is dead."
Chrollo froze. His smile didn't just fade; it evaporated.
"Nobunaga... dead? Did he kill the enemy? Wait... what did you say?"
For the first time in years, the Head of the Spider looked shaken. His composure cracked.
"Explain," Chrollo's voice dropped fifty degrees. The gentleman was gone. The monster was awake.
Shalnark relayed the report.
Nobunaga: KIA via suicide bombing.
Uvogin: Captured.
Pakunoda: KIA.
And then, a photo.
Chrollo looked at the screen. A blurry image of a young man with black hair, smiling amidst lightning.
"Him?"
Hisoka glanced at the phone. His eyes widened.
"You know him?" Chrollo asked, his gaze snapping to the magician.
"Yes," Hisoka admitted, realizing lying was pointless now. "He's from Whale Island. A rookie. It took him six months to reach this level. He... has potential rivaling Netero."
Chrollo took a deep breath.
"Six months? Rivaling Netero?"
This was a nightmare scenario. A prodigy with the power to kill Spiders and the tactical mind to outplay them.
"Danchou! We need revenge!" Franklin's voice screamed over the comms. "We need to find Uvo! We need to kill that brat!"
"Can any of you beat him?" Chrollo asked coldly.
Silence.
"Uvo lost. Nobunaga died. Can you do better?"
No answer.
"Return to base. All of you. I will handle this personally."
Chrollo hung up. He stood, his coat billowing in the wind.
"Hisoka. Come with me. It's time to prove your loyalty."
The Aftermath.
Chrollo didn't know one crucial detail.
The survivors of the blast weren't just injured. They were marked.
Ryker's Thunder Mosquitos—microscopic traces of aura left by the explosion—clung to their clothes and skin.
To Ryker, they were glowing beacons on a radar screen.
Three Kilometers Away.
Ryker stood on a high cliff, watching the Spiders retreat.
His En and Thunder Marks gave him a 50km detection radius. He knew exactly where they were going.
"Go on," Ryker smiled, his eyes glowing in the dark. "Run back to your hole. Lead me to the rest of the rats."
"Cherish your time together."
Ryker turned, sensing new arrivals approaching his position.
"Because starting today... one of you dies every day."
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