Fills Family

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 dead for ages, hahaha..."

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

Whoosh! Several shrill whistles tore through the air. Caught completely off guard, several figures standing outside the bus were struck as though by bullets, hit precisely in vital spots! The man who had stepped onto the bus had barely lifted his back foot when his head burst in a spray of blood, and he fell stiffly to the ground.

Thud, thud...

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

The invisible weapons that fell to the ground were small bloodstained stones...

Swish! The mafia members were startled and raised their guns.

Their own men had died just like that... Yet the gold-rimmed-glasses man leading them remained unmoved, not even a ripple crossing his face. He flicked away the cigarette butt between his fingers. "As expected... he won't be that easy to deal with..."

He noticed that the three cars behind the bus had turned off their headlights.

It seemed they had already been taken out! Under the gaze of countless eyes, accompanied by footsteps, a blurred figure strolled over from the distance. One hand was in his pocket while the other continually tossed a small shard of stone.

Oboro, completely unharmed, glanced at the bus where he had slept all the way here and sighed at the scent of grilled meat drifting through the air.

The instant he saw the mafia... he understood that he had been exposed. They had found him.

Over less than two years, he had relied on his ability to control match outcomes at Heavens Arena to amass a fortune. He now possessed tens of billions... Although he had spread the money across casinos of all sizes, trying to avoid notice... the longer it went on, the greater the chance of being discovered.

Most entertainment businesses like casinos were backed by criminal organizations... and they often held monopolies over a given region. In other words, even if he placed bets at separate casinos, he was ultimately winning money from the same house.

Tens of billions was no small sum. It was like he had grabbed hold of one sheep and was desperately shearing its wool.

Oboro's method of winning money could avoid trouble within a certain amount and over a certain period... But he had been a little too greedy.

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

For the past few years, Oboro had remained focused on training. Even at Heavens Arena, he had not truly interacted much with this society or this world... His understanding of gangs came only from his memories of the original work, but now... he had seen them firsthand.

This was also the mafia's "gift" to welcome him into this world.

"You may have put some thought into it, but the casinos' outgoing funds are substantial and perfectly clear in their ledgers. They are all connected to your matches as well... With a one-hundred-percent winning rate, it's hard not to become suspicious." Seeing that Oboro was alive, the glasses-wearing man was not flustered in the slightest. He had a heavy smoking habit, so he tapped a pack of cigarettes against his hand, took 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 surpassed bullets, and the row of gunmen standing in front of the glasses-wearing man were almost all shot through the head before falling backward.

"Kill him!"

The glasses-wearing man ordered.

They held the advantage. Even if a few had fallen, it would not stop their counterattack.

Pistols, rifles... all erupted in muzzle flashes.

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

Clack, clack, clack...

The gangsters' bullets struck Oboro and fell 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 his face.

As the distance steadily closed, the number of gangsters dying increased as well... The glasses-wearing man's gaze darkened.

"Stop! You can't handle him..."

At that moment, a voice rang out from the crowd. The gang members stopped one after another and parted to either side, opening a path.

A man with messy short hair and a striking scar on his face stepped out of a sedan. He wore a cold smile and flicked a butterfly knife in his hand. The small weapon spun around his fingertips with such dexterity 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.

"I'm counting on you."

The glasses-wearing man said to him, raising a hand to have all his companions retreat.

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

He had used up all the stones 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 slightly. "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 but a place where a bunch of nobodies play house. Don't think trash like them can stand on equal footing with someone like me, someone who has spent years walking in darkness and living 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 he spoke, the man 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 smile appeared on the man's face. "So... which piece of your flesh should I cut off first...?"

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

Scarface's pupils abruptly contracted...

He had not blinked once from beginning to end. His gaze had remained fixed on his target without shifting in the slightest... Yet now, his opponent had strangely appeared before him. He had noticed nothing, received no warning, and had not even seen Oboro's trajectory or movements during the ambush.

Cold sweat immediately trickled down the man's face.

"I only said your strength was barely worth looking at... I wasn't praising you."

At such close range, Oboro did not attack immediately. Instead, he leaned forward and brought his face close to Scarface's, only a few centimeters between them as their eyes met.

Watching his trembling pupils and the terror and unease he was desperately trying to hide, Oboro spoke softly.

"Ahhh!"

The man screamed, and the blade in his hand became a streak of silver as it slashed toward Oboro's throat.

Smack! But Oboro's palm also thrust into the afterimage with incredible speed. He did not even need to look as he caught the other man's wrist. With a tightening of his fingers, Scarface's wrist snapped with a crack.

"Ah!"

The man screamed again.

His face twitched wildly.

"No way... A master like you, who walks the edge of death, can feel 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 apart the Nen user's neck, shattering his head.

Not even a whole corpse remained.

Some Nen users who had operated underground for years were indeed different from those at Heavens Arena. While not every Heavens Arena fighter was a "flower raised in a greenhouse," at least most of them lived in relatively healthy environments... Environment had a tremendous effect on a person.

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

Every battle they experienced was a fight to the death. They often faced desperate situations, and most of their enemies were desperadoes as well. The energy and willpower a person could unleash between life-and-death choices could not be underestimated... This level of danger far surpassed the 200th floor of Heavens Arena.

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

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

Blood still sprayed from the wound in Scarface's neck, quickly staining the ground red and pooling into a puddle.

Oboro shook the filth from his hand, his gaze passing through the silent gang members before settling on the steady glasses-wearing man.

The latter remained exceptionally calm and did not panic... Completely unlike the other subordinates, who had begun to show fear.

He even met Oboro's gaze openly...

As mafia members, such bloody scenes and deaths might not have been an everyday sight, but they had long become part of their lives.

"Yes... he's dead."

"Sorry, Boss... We failed to deal with him."

The glasses-wearing man was on the phone.

"Alright, I understand."

A moment later, he put down his phone.

Then he walked toward Oboro step by step.

Oboro's eyes held amusement... He found it interesting.

Ordinary people would certainly be terrified when facing death. It was instinct... So many had died, and he had assumed they would scatter in panic or make one last desperate attempt, but... they did not. This group of mafiosi possessed discipline and mental fortitude far beyond his expectations.

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

The glasses-wearing man walked close to Oboro and said calmly.

So arrogant...

Oboro was slightly surprised.

"Even if you kill everyone here... myself included, it will be useless..."

The glasses-wearing man exhaled smoke and said coldly, "There are rules underground. Once word of what you did 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 just the right moment.

He took it out and glanced at the caller ID.

"Hello."

"Master..."

A familiar voice came from the other end.

The bald Charles.

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

He had also been the lackey who initially ran around helping Oboro visit various casinos.

Charles had left Heavens Arena over half a year ago. Oboro had briefly taught him a body-tempering training method, and Charles had prepared to restart his training.

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 glasses-wearing man crushed his cigarette butt beneath his shoe and turned to get into a car first.

Oboro ended the call.

"No wonder..."

"The mafia... They're 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 gang member, he casually wiped the bloodstained hand he had not fully shaken clean on the man's well-tailored clothes.

The man's expression darkened with anger, but he did not dare say a word.