The Phantom Troupe kept falling back, but when the dust finally cleared, Ronin's figure was gone from the sky—and there wasn't a trace of Uvogin's body on the ground either.
The only thing left was that massive rock monster, still standing there, raising its fist like it was about to come at them again.
Even though Uvogin's body had been torn to shreds, if Machi had gotten to him, she might've been able to stitch him back together—just barely.
But now? Blood and chunks everywhere. Even a miracle worker couldn't put Uvogin back together.
Up in the sky, Ronin knew exactly what this meant. The second he killed Uvogin, the hatred between him and the Troupe had turned into a blood feud—no turning back.
And it was the kind where the Troupe would do anything to hunt him down and end him.
He didn't regret it one bit. Hell, from his perspective, it'd been a death match between them for a long time already.
Killing Uvogin? Just collecting a little interest on the debt they owed.
Now it was the Troupe who should be worried.
Thanks to his Amaterasu flames, he could pick them off one by one if he played it right.
Even if he couldn't take them out solo, the flames could at least split the group up.
As long as any of them got cocky and went off alone—or even in pairs—Ronin saw an opening.
He'd just beaten Uvogin fair and square in a straight fight, even with the guy missing an arm. That gave Ronin a pretty clear picture of where he stood.
One-on-one? He wasn't scared of anybody right now.
There were still a few years before the main story kicked off, and the Troupe at this point wasn't nearly as strong as they'd get later.
Even the current Chrollo didn't feel like an overwhelming threat.
Maybe it was like what Killua's dad, Silva, said during that fight in the Cemetary Building—Chrollo had gotten a lot stronger in just a few short years.
But if this dragged on for a while longer? Ronin wouldn't be afraid of Chrollo at all.
Because with Kurapika helping him train and Neon able to read his fortune whenever he needed, he could pull the exact same trick Chrollo loved—stack the odds 100% in his favor before making a move.
That's what made Neon's ability so broken.
As long as he had her under his thumb, he could wait for the perfect moment to strike.
And if her fortune poem ever flashed a warning sign? He could just call it off or tweak the plan to dodge the danger entirely.
Neon's predictions weren't set in stone—Ronin had already proven that when he changed things with Omokage.
By the time he landed, his Sharingan chakra reserves were running on fumes.
But right where he touched down, Kurapika and Neon were already waiting in the car.
The second he hopped in, Kurapika's little-finger chain whipped out and wrapped around him.
Ronin didn't dodge. He let it coil tight.
A wave of relief washed over him as he slipped into Zetsu on purpose. His stamina started recovering fast.
He didn't have anything fancy to bring back, so he just tossed Neon the pair of eyes he'd stuffed in his bag—Uvogin's eyes.
He'd thought about giving them to Kurapika at first.
Then decided nah.
"These are Uvogin's," Ronin said, settling into a comfy spot in the back seat. "I got some payback. Neon, I'm counting on you to turn them into a nice specimen. Oh, and throw this in too."
He pulled out a patch of skin with the spider tattoo and tossed it her way.
Neon glanced at the blood on her skirt and shot Ronin a look, but she couldn't hide how much she liked the "gifts."
The Phantom Troupe's Number 11 spider tattoo, paired with a set of eyes bloodshot from rage, frustration, and pure hate.
Yeah, this was gonna be awesome.
"You really know how to harvest eyes," Neon said, impressed as she examined the perfectly intact pair.
"Extraction Jutsu," Ronin said casually. "It's technically a medical technique meant for pulling out toxins and pathogens, but it works great for organs too."
Only he really understood what that meant.
It was a B-rank medical ninjutsu—according to the scroll, it could remove any harmful substance from the body.
But once you mastered it, a little tweak to the target, and suddenly you're yanking out organs instead of poison.
It wasn't perfect—needed some cleanup afterward—but for ripping out Uvogin's eyes? Perfect. Ronin didn't care if they got a little roughed up. He just wanted them turned into art, just like the Scarlet Eyes.
A pair of eyes from a Troupe member, complete with the official spider "certification"? That oughta fetch a killer price on the market.
Back in the Gode Desert, the Troupe hadn't left yet.
Everyone looked grim. They'd taken care of the giant rock monster, but now a bunch of mafia vehicles were rolling up, surrounding them.
Hidden in the crowd were six figures who looked a little... off. Some throwback features, body parts that weren't quite human.
Those were the mafia's trump cards—the Shadow Beasts.
They hadn't rushed in yet. The Troupe outnumbered the Beasts that had shown up, and every single Troupe member was clearly a Nen user.
A few of them were giving off vibes strong enough to make even the Beasts hesitate.
Compared to the Beasts who could actually gauge the Troupe's strength, the regular mafia grunts who'd come along were basically cannon fodder.
They hopped out of the cars with assault rifles and pistols, cursing as they closed in.
Then the next round of slaughter began.
Chrollo didn't lift a finger. Ronin's power had completely blindsided him—especially that look in the kid's eyes right before he vanished. It sent a rare chill down his spine.
His gaze swept over the mafia crowd and quickly locked onto the Nen users among them.
The fight was totally one-sided. Once the Shadow Beasts realized how strong the Troupe really was, even the so-called "combat specialists" weren't dumb enough to charge in and die. They quietly started slipping back while the grunts soaked up the damage.
But the Troupe had come here hoping to ambush Ronin. Now that he'd slipped away? No way were they letting the Beasts and the rest of the mafia just walk.
As the six Beasts tried to retreat, someone stepped right in their path.
"Die." Feitan, short and cold as ever, looked at them like they were trash. That one word was all he said before he vanished from sight.
…
Ronin couldn't care less how many Shadow Beasts the Troupe killed. He only cared whether any of them could give Kurapika and Neon something useful.
As he'd broken out of the Troupe's encirclement, he'd felt eyes on him.
Someone tailing him—and like him, they could fly.
A Shadow Beast.