Chapter 31: The Fields Family
Soon, the flames died down.
The charred and twisted wreck of the bus was revealed…
"Careful!" someone from the mafia shouted.
"It's fine. He must've been dead Haze ago, hahaha!"
The man in charge of inspecting the wreck laughed and stepped forward to climb onto the bus.
Whssst!
Several sharp, whistling sounds tore through the air striking down the men standing outside the bus like invisible bullets, each hitting a vital spot.
The man who had just stepped onto the bus froze mid-step as blood spurted from his head.
He fell face-first onto the ground.
Plop, plop…
In the blink of an eye, five or six mafiosi were dead.
The invisible murder weapons fell to the ground a scattering of small, bloodied stones.
Whssst!
The mafia soldiers flinched and raised their guns.
One of their own had just been killed out of nowhere.
The leader a calm man with gold-rimmed glasses remained expressionless.
He flicked away his half-smoked cigarette.
"Of course… it wouldn't be that easy."
He noticed that the three cars behind the bus had gone dark.
They'd been taken out.
Amidst the tense silence and the sound of approaching footsteps, a blurry figure appeared in the distance one hand in his pocket, the other casually flicking pebbles as he walked.
Unscathed, Haze glanced at the burning wreck that had once been the bus he'd slept in.
The air smelled faintly of barbecue. He sighed softly.
The moment he saw the mafia, he knew.
He'd been exposed.
In less than two years, he had amassed a fortune at Heavens Arena by manipulating match outcomes. Now, he was worth tens of billions.
Even though he had tried to launder the money through countless casinos, large and small, discovery was only a matter of time.
Casinos and most entertainment industries were backed by the mafia.
They monopolized entire regions.
So even if you bet at different places, the profit ultimately came from the same dealer.
Billions of dollars weren't something you could just take and walk away with it was like trying to shear a single sheep bare.
If Haze had kept his earnings small and spaced them out, he might have stayed under the radar…
But he'd gotten greedy.
And who doesn't love money?
The real issue was… he hadn't taken the mafia seriously enough.
Over the past few years, Haze had focused almost entirely on training. Even while at Heavens Arena, he had little contact with the outside world.
His understanding of the mafia came only from what he remembered from the original story.
Now, he was facing the real thing.
And this was their "welcome gift."
"You played it smart," said the man with glasses, watching Haze calmly. "But the casino's been losing too much money lately. The books show it clearly every loss connects to your bets. With a 100% win rate, suspicion was inevitable."
He lit another cigarette, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
"Our Fields Family welcomes normal gamblers with open arms. But people like you…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…need to be greeted with a shotgun."
Whssst! Whssst! Whssst!
Before the gangsters could even fire, Haze had already moved.
As he walked, the stones in his hand shot out like marbles faster and harder than bullets.
Every gunman in the front row dropped dead, each with a hole through the skull.
"Kill him!" shouted the man in glasses.
They still had the numbers advantage. Even losing a few men didn't stop them.
Guns roared pistols, rifles, all blazing.
In an instant, the mountain road turned into a storm of bullets, raining down on the man walking steadily toward them.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The ground around Haze erupted with dust and debris.
But not a single bullet touched him not even his suit was torn.
One man with a shoulder cannon licked his lips and crouched, ready to unleash his attack…
A pebble pierced his face before he could even fire.
As Haze closed the distance, the number of dead piled up.
The man with glasses lowered his gaze.
"Stop! You can't handle him!"
A commanding voice echoed through the chaos.
The gangsters immediately stopped shooting and parted to form an open path.
A man stepped out of a car disheveled hair, a Haze scar across his face, a wicked grin curling his lips.
He spun a butterfly knife between his fingers, and as it turned, the small blade seemed to glow, transforming into a silver streak of light.
"A beast like this…" he said, voice low and confident, "…should be handled by a professional Hunter."
The man took a step forward.
"This is trouble," murmured the man with glasses, raising a hand to make his men fall back.
Haze stepped over the pile of shell casings and stopped.
The stones in his hand were gone all spent.
He'd heard what the scarred man said.
He looked at him sideHaze, a faint smile curving his lips.
"So, you're that confident you can kill me?"
He had sensed from the start there was a Nen user hidden among them.
"Heh… Heavens Arena is nothing but a playground for the weak," the scarred man sneered. "Don't think those clowns compare to people like me who've walked the darkness for years, living on the edge of death. We're the real Hunters predators who live by the laws of the jungle!"
He lifted his knife, ready to strike.
"Judging by your Nen and that look in your eyes… you're not weak," Haze said with a grin.
A bloodthirsty smile spread across the man's face.
"Then… where should I start?"
But before he could act, his hand trembled.
His pupils contracted sharply.
He hadn't blinked once his focus had been perfect.
Yet somehow, his opponent had already moved, faster than sight without warning, without sound.
Cold sweat broke out across his face.
"I said your strength was barely enough," Haze whispered. "That wasn't a compliment."
At arm's length now, Haze didn't strike immediately.
He leaned in close their faces only inches apart, eyes locking.
Seeing the man's trembling pupils and the fear he was trying so hard to hide, Haze whispered softly
And the scarred man screamed.
"Ahhhhh!"
His knife flashed, stretching into a silver thread aimed straight at Haze's throat.
Crack!
But Haze's palm struck through the illusion, faster than sight.
Without even looking, he caught the man's wrist and with a light twist of his fingers, snapped it clean.
"Ah!"
The man cried out again, face twitching violently.
"Impossible… Someone like you, dancing so close to death, shouldn't even feel pain from something so small…" Haze narrowed his eyes and smiled.
Then he extended his other hand and with terrifying force, tore through the man's neck, ripping his head apart completely.
The Nen user's body fell limply to the ground, blood pooling fast.
Some underground Nen users were far tougher than Heavens Arena fighters.
Though not all Arena contestants were "greenhouse flowers," most of them at least lived stable lives. Environment shaped a person deeply.
Those who worked in the underworld assassins, mercenaries had every reason to be proud.
Every fight they faced was life or death. Their opponents were often madmen and killers, and their desperation forged terrifying willpower.
But this scarred man… wasn't one of them.
His strength was just slightly above the trash on the 200th floor nothing more.
Blood continued to pour from his severed neck, staining the road dark red.
Haze dusted off his hands and turned his gaze toward the silent mobsters and then to the calm man with glasses.
He alone remained composed completely unshaken, unlike the others who were already trembling.
He met Haze's eyes evenly.
To the mafia, scenes of blood and death weren't shocking.
They were part of everyday life.
"…Yeah. He's dead."
"Sorry, boss," said the man with glasses, speaking into his phone. "We couldn't handle him."
"I see," came the reply.
He hung up, exhaled smoke, and walked toward Haze.
Haze's expression turned curious amused.
Most people panicked after seeing death. That was normal.
With this many corpses around, he expected them to either run or go berserk but not these men.
Their discipline and mental strength far exceeded his expectations.
"Congratulations," the man with glasses said quietly. "You've survived."
Such arrogance.
Haze raised an eyebrow.
"Even if you kill everyone here including me it won't matter," the man continued calmly, puffing his cigarette.
"The underworld has its own rules. If your story spreads, it'll tarnish the reputation of our Fields Family."
He exhaled a Haze breath of smoke.
"Come with me. The boss wants to see you."
Before Haze could respond, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out an incoming call.
"Hello."
"Master…"
A familiar voice came through Charles the Bald.
The man who'd once begged to be his disciple and failed.
The same man who had helped him during his early casino days.
Charles had left Heavens Arena over half a year ago. Haze had merely taught him some basic physical training methods before letting him go.
This call… made it obvious. Charles had been captured.
"Let's go," said the man with glasses, crushing his cigarette under his shoe and turning toward the car.
Haze hung up.
"No wonder…" he thought.
"The mafia… is sharper than I imagined."
Someone held a car door open for him.
Haze walked over slowly.
As he passed one of the gangsters, he wiped the blood from his hands onto the man's expensive suit.
The gangster scowled but didn't dare say a word.
(End of Chapter)