Chrollo's Terms

The Troupe's hideout was in an abandoned warehouse deep on the fifth level.

The iron doors were covered in rust. Two guards leaned against the wall by the entrance, swords in their arms. When they saw the group approach, they asked no questions and stepped aside.

Inside, a few kerosene lamps cast a dim light. The air smelled of machine oil and tobacco. Shelves lay toppled on the floor, and dust was everywhere.

Chrollo sat on a wooden crate at the back, dressed in a black fur coat. He was leafing through an old book, with a silver flask hanging from his waist.

Feitan and Shalnark stood behind him. Nobunaga leaned against a nearby pillar, one hand resting on his sword hilt.

Their gazes swept over the newcomers at once, and the air turned tense.

Kurapika took two steps forward and stopped.

"I'm here. Tell me what it'll take for you to release them."

Chrollo closed his book and looked up at him. His voice was calm.

"A map of the inner vault's routes, and the exact location of the Egg in the Pot.

Give me those, and you can take all three back unharmed. Refuse, and I'll send up another corpse tomorrow."

Leorio gripped the strap of his Medical Kit.

"You're asking too much. Who can even get into the inner vault? We only have access to the outer area."

"That's your problem." Feitan stepped forward, spinning a short blade between his fingers. His eyes were cold as ice. "If you can't deliver, don't expect to take anyone away."

Killua tugged Gon's arm, signaling him not to act rashly.

He could sense that everyone here had powerful Nen. If a fight broke out, they wouldn't have the advantage.

The two sides stood at an impasse, neither willing to yield.