Chapter 53: A Cruel Lesson
Uvogin stood in the center of the carnage, his massive chest heaving. Sweat and the blood of his enemies ran down his bulging muscles. He looked like a lion after a hunt, standing atop a mountain of corpses.
He surveyed the broken bodies he had torn apart with his bare hands. There was no exhaustion on his rugged face—only a pure, savage joy. A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his throat.
Chrollo and the others walked silently through the wreckage, approaching Uvogin.
Their boots squelched in the thick, sticky blood. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of iron. Yet, none of their expressions changed. They glanced at the massacre with indifferent eyes, as if this hellscape were just another roadside view. For the Phantom Troupe, this was just Tuesday.
Chrollo looked past Uvogin to the massive ship docked at the pier.
It was an older vessel, built from heavy, dark timber. The hull was scarred with scratches and dents, telling stories of the storms it had weathered. The main mast was tall, the massive sails currently furled. It lay there like a sleeping beast, waiting to wake.
It was about fifty meters long. In the dying light of the sunset, it cast a long shadow over the bodies on the pier.
"Danchō!" Nobunaga's voice called from the deck, raspy but relaxed. "I checked it out. The hold is packed! Food, water, medicine, even booze. Enough to last us months at sea."
Chrollo nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes.
"It seems this was a pirate crew that had just resupplied and was about to set sail," he said calmly.
It was the perfect outcome. They had skipped the tedious work of searching for supplies and simply inherited everything.
"Prepare to sail."
The Troupe boarded quickly, their boots clacking on the wooden deck.
Chrollo immediately took command, his orders concise and absolute.
"Shalnark, you're the navigator. Analyze the charts and set our course. Uvogin, raise the sails. Phinks, take the helm. Keep us steady."
"Everyone else: while we are at sea, focus entirely on training Haki. Do not slack off."
The Spiders moved instantly.
Uvogin grinned and grabbed the thick ropes of the main sail. His biceps bulged, and with a single, mighty heave—WHOOSH—he hauled the massive canvas into place without any mechanical aid. The ship shuddered as the wind caught it.
Phinks gripped the heavy wheel, his eyes locked on the horizon.
Feitan, Machi, and the others found spots on the deck, closed their eyes, and began to meditate, faint auras flickering around them.
Chrollo knew that to survive in this world, strength was the only currency. And Haki was the fastest way to get rich.
The ship pulled away from the pier, leaving the blood-soaked beach and the terrified survivors far behind.
Only when the ship—the symbol of death and terror—had vanished over the horizon did the people of Dream Island collapse.
They stared at the red-stained sand and the scattered limbs. The shock of the violence mixed with the relief of survival, and many began to retch or weep uncontrollably.
The news of the Phantom Troupe's massacre and their theft of the ship would soon spread across the seas on wings of fear, drawing the eyes of the world.
The Grand Line. Fifth Route. Unknown Waters.
Hisoka stood alone on the deck of his small boat, the wind rustling his bright red hair.
He slowly raised a hand. A dense, elastic aura gathered at his fingertips.
Then, his fingers turned pitch black.
This power felt different from his usual Nen. It was tighter, denser, more solid.
He savored the new sensation, watching the black energy flow over his skin. His mouth twisted into a euphoric, chilling smile. His narrow eyes shone with the excitement of a hunter who had spotted the ultimate prey.
"Mmm... getting more and more excited to see you again..." he purred, his voice trembling with pleasure.
In his mind, the image was crystal clear: Chrollo Lucilfer, in his fur-collared coat, the cross on his forehead...
To Hisoka, that figure was the ultimate delicacy.
Meanwhile, Kyle was in living hell.
Chairman Netero's attacks were a storm from every direction.
The deserted island had become their arena. All that could be seen was Kyle frantically dodging, and the constant, dull thud of impacts.
"Too slow! Too slow! At that snail's pace, I could hit you with my eyes closed!"
Netero sounded relaxed, almost playful.
And true to his word, he closed his eyes.
It changed nothing.
No matter how Kyle tried to predict, dodge, or weave, Netero would appear like a ghost at his blind spot a split-second later. A seemingly light palm strike or a casual kick would land with unerring precision.
occasionally, Kyle's dynamic vision would catch a blur of movement, but his body was too slow to react. He could only watch the hit land.
BAM! SMACK! THUD!
The beatings continued.
Kyle was battered and bruised, his handsome face swollen into a colorful, lumpy mess.
He felt incredibly aggrieved. After coming to this world and mastering Nen and some Haki, he had thought he was hot stuff. He thought he could exchange a few moves with Netero.
But fighting the Chairman was a reality check. There was a massive chasm between them.
The old man hadn't even used his 100-Type Guanyin Bodhisattva. Just with basic martial arts and ridiculous speed, he was crushing Kyle.
"Is this... supersonic speed?" Kyle thought, terrified. "Without top-tier Armament Haki, who can stop this?"
"Haa... haa..." Kyle finally collapsed, sitting on the ground, gasping for air.
Every bone in his body felt loose. His face burned.
He had specifically asked Netero not to hit him in the face. But after he mentioned it, Netero seemed to make it a point to land 80% of his "cruel lessons" right on Kyle's nose and cheeks.
Kyle looked up through eyes swollen to slits, glaring at Netero with a look of pure, solid resentment. He wanted to punch the old man so bad.