Fills Family

The fire was quickly put out.

Revealing the charred, damaged frame of the vehicle...

"Be careful!"

Someone from the gang warned.

"It's fine... He's probably been burned to death already, hahahaha..."

The man assigned to inspect it laughed loudly and stepped into the bus.

Whoosh! Several shrill whistles tore through the air, striking several figures standing outside the bus without warning. Like bullets, they hit their vital points with perfect accuracy! The man who had stepped onto the bus had only just lifted his back foot when his head burst into a spray of blood, and he fell stiffly to the ground.

Thud, thud...

In the blink of an eye, five or six gangsters were dead.

The invisible weapons fell to the ground—small bloodstained stones...

Swish! The Mafia members were startled and immediately raised their guns.

Their own men had died just like that... Yet the gold-rimmed-glasses man, their leader, remained unmoved. Not even a ripple crossed his face as he flicked away the unfinished cigarette between his fingers. "As expected... he won't be so easy to deal with..."

He noticed that the headlights of the three cars behind the bus had gone out.

It seemed they had already been taken out! Under the focused gazes of the crowd, accompanied by footsteps, a blurry figure strolled over from the distance. One hand was in his pocket, while the other continuously tossed a few small pieces of gravel.

Unharmed, Oboro glanced at the bus where he had slept the whole way, then at the smell of roasted meat permeating the air, and let out a soft sigh.

The moment he saw the Mafia... he understood that he had been exposed. They had found him.

Over less than two years, he had made a fortune in Heavens Arena by controlling match outcomes. He now possessed several tens of billions... Though he had dispersed the funds among casinos of all sizes to avoid drawing attention, the longer this continued, the greater the chances of being discovered.

Most entertainment businesses like casinos were backed by criminal organizations... and they often held a monopoly in a given region. In other words, even if he spread his bets across different casinos, he was actually winning money from the same house.

Several tens of billions was no small sum. It was like he had found one sheep and was desperately shearing its wool.

Oboro's way of winning money could have avoided trouble if kept within certain amounts and timeframes... but he had been a little too greedy.

It couldn't be helped... Who didn't love money? Besides... he truly hadn't taken the Mafia that seriously.

For the past few years, Oboro had focused entirely on training, including during his time at Heavens Arena. He had not truly interacted much with this society or this world... His understanding of gangs came solely from his memories of the original work, but now... he had seen them for himself.

This was also the Mafia's welcoming gift for his first steps into this world.

"You put some thought into it, but the casinos' outflow of funds is substantial and clearly recorded in the books. It's all connected to your matches as well... A one-hundred-percent winning rate makes it difficult not to become suspicious." Seeing that Oboro was alive, the bespectacled man did not panic at all. A heavy smoker, he tapped a pack of cigarettes against his palm, pulled one out, and lit it. "The Fills Family welcomes ordinary gamblers with open arms... but for someone like you, we can only use a hunting rifle!"

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

Before the gangsters could open fire again, Oboro had already made his move.

As he walked, the stones in his hand shot out like marbles. Their speed and power exceeded even bullets. Nearly every gunman standing in the row before the bespectacled man was shot in the head and fell backward.

"Kill him!"

The bespectacled man gave the order.

They held the advantage. Even if a few of them had fallen, it did not stop the rest from retaliating.

Pistols, rifles... All of them erupted with muzzle flashes.

In an instant, the highway was filled with gunfire. Dense bullets flew toward the man walking toward them step by step.

Clang, clang, clang...

The gangsters' bullets struck Oboro and dropped one after another, carpeting the road... They could not even damage his clothes.

A man carrying a rocket launcher licked his lips, preparing to give Oboro something big... But the moment he crouched down, a stone pierced straight through his face.

As the distance gradually closed, the number of deaths among the gangsters continued to rise... The bespectacled man's gaze darkened.

"Stop! You can't deal with him..."

At that moment, a voice sounded from within the crowd. The gang members stopped one after another and moved aside upon hearing it, opening a path down the middle.

A man with a head full of messy hair and a conspicuous scar on his face stepped out of a sedan. A cold smile hung on his lips as he spun a butterfly knife in his hand. The small weapon danced around his fingers so nimbly that it became a chilling ball of silver light.

"A beast like this should be handled by a professional hunter..."

The man stepped to the front.

"Sorry to trouble you."

The bespectacled man said this to him, then raised a hand to have all his companions retreat.

Oboro stepped over the spent shell casings covering the ground and stopped.

He had used up every stone in his hand.

Oboro had heard what the other man said as well.

Looking at the man blocking his path and even intending to kill him, he smiled faintly. "You seem very confident that you can kill me?"

He had sensed a Nen user hiding in one of the cars long ago.

"Hehehe... Heavens Arena is nothing more than a place for a bunch of nobodies to play at fighting. Don't think trash like them can stand on equal footing with someone like me, someone who has lived in the darkness for years and survived with a blade at his throat! We are true hunters who dwell in the Death Jungle and obey the laws of the food chain..." As the man spoke, he raised his knife and assumed an attacking stance.

"Judging from your Nen and your eyes... you're right. You should have some skill."

Oboro smiled.

A bloodthirsty grin appeared on the man's face. "So... which piece of flesh should I carve off you first..."

The instant his words fell, the hand gripping his knife became unsteady.

Scarface's pupils suddenly contracted...

He had not blinked once from beginning to end. His eyes had remained fixed on his target without shifting even the slightest bit... Yet at this moment, the other man had eerily appeared right in front of him. He had sensed nothing, received no warning, and had not even seen Oboro's trajectory or movements as he attacked.

Cold sweat immediately ran down the man's face.

"I only said you were barely worth looking at... That wasn't praise."

At such close range, Oboro did not attack at once. Instead, he leaned forward and brought his face within inches of Scarface's, their eyes meeting.

Watching his trembling pupils and the fear and unease he desperately tried to conceal, Oboro spoke softly.

"Ahhh!"

With a scream, the blade in the man's hand turned into a streak of silver light and slashed toward Oboro's throat.

Smack! But Oboro's hand shot into the afterimage just as quickly. Without even looking, he caught the man's wrist. As his fingers tightened, Scarface's wrist snapped with a crack.

"Ah!"

The man screamed again.

His face twitched violently.

"Seriously? A master like you, one who walks along the edge of death, still feels pain from such a minor injury? That shouldn't be the case..." Oboro said with narrowed eyes and a smile.

Then his other hand swung out.

The immense force tore open the Nen user's neck and blew apart his head.

Not even a corpse remained intact.

Some Nen users who had spent years active in the underground world truly differed from those at Heavens Arena. Although not every Heavens Arena fighter was a flower raised in a greenhouse, most at least lived in relatively healthy environments... Environment had a tremendous impact on a person.

From that perspective, those working underground as assassins, mercenaries, and the like did have some basis for their arrogance.

Every battle they went through was a fight to the death. They often faced desperate situations, and most of their enemies were also ruthless desperadoes. The strength and will a person could unleash in the face of life-or-death choices could not be underestimated... That level of danger far exceeded the 200th floor of Heavens Arena.

However, this Scarface... clearly did not belong among them.

He was somewhat stronger than the trash on the 200th floor, but only somewhat.

Blood continued to spurt from Scarface's severed neck. It quickly stained the ground red and pooled into a puddle.

Oboro shook the filth from his hand and looked past the silent gang members toward the calm bespectacled man.

The latter remained composed without any panic... completely different from his subordinates, who had begun to show fear on their faces.

He even met Oboro's gaze openly...

As Mafia members, bloody scenes and death were not exactly everyday occurrences, but they had long become part of their lives.

"Yes... He's dead."

"Sorry, Boss... I couldn't deal with him."

The bespectacled man was on the phone.

"Alright, I understand."

A moment later, he lowered his phone.

Then he walked toward Oboro step by step.

Oboro's gaze turned amused... He found it interesting.

Most people would be terrified in the face of death. That was instinct... So many had died. He had assumed they would either scatter and flee or fight desperately like cornered beasts, but... they did not. This group of Mafia members possessed discipline and mental fortitude far beyond his expectations.

"Congratulations... You've picked up another life!"

The bespectacled man walked near Oboro and spoke blandly.

So arrogant...

Oboro was slightly surprised.

"Even if you kill everyone here... including me, it will be useless..."

The bespectacled man exhaled smoke and said coldly, "The underground has its own rules. Once word of your actions gets out, it will damage the Fills Family's reputation."

"Come with me. The boss wants to see you."

Before Oboro could speak, the phone in his pocket rang at a remarkably fitting moment.

He took it out and glanced at the incoming number.

"Hello."

"Master..."

A familiar voice came from the other end of the phone.

The bald Charles.

The guy who had always wanted to become his disciple but had never succeeded.

He was also the lackey who had initially run around to various casinos for Oboro.

Charles had left Heavens Arena more than half a year ago. Oboro had briefly taught him some body-training methods, and Charles had prepared to resume his cultivation.

There was no need to say more about this call... Oboro already understood that Charles had been captured and was in their hands.

"Let's go."

The bespectacled man crushed the cigarette butt beneath his shoe and turned to get into a car first.

Oboro hung up.

"No wonder..."

"The Mafia really is more capable than I thought..."

He thought to himself.

Over there, someone had already opened a car door for him.

Seeing this, Oboro slowly followed.

As he passed beside a Mafia member, he casually wiped the blood he had not fully shaken off his hand onto the man's well-tailored clothes.

The man's face twisted in anger, but he did not dare make a sound.