Blood, pieces of meat, and shattered human tissue were scattered everywheretorn corpses and broken limbs littered the ground like discarded trash.
At this time, Bart and Wright Nosla finally realized that outside the door… it had already turned into a true Shura field.
Not to mention Wright Nosla, who had collapsed back onto the boss chair in terror even Bart, a man who had walked through battlefields and survived countless life-and-death struggles, could no longer maintain his composure.
How long had it been since the gunshots started?
Five minutes? Ten minutes?
There were fifty armed members stationed in this villa many of them seasoned enforcers.
Yet even slaughtering fifty animals wouldn't be this fast, let alone trained men who should at least know how to retreat or resist.
The only explanation… was overwhelming strength something similar to what Bart had once heard about during the underground chaos of Yorknew City Auction.
The next second, eight figures slowly walked in through the door.
"Children?!"
After seeing Rimo and the others, Bart's pupils shrank violently.
They were too young.
So young that it completely overturned Bart's understanding of strength.
Every single one of them appeared to be under twenty.
Even the taller ones like Uvogin and Franklin Bordeau though more mature in build still gave off the unmistakable aura of youth to someone as experienced as Bart.
And the smallest…
Bart's gaze fell on Machi Komacine, and for a moment, he didn't even know what to think.
Eleven? Twelve at most.
Eight such "children" had wiped out fifty armed men in mere minutes.
For the first time in years, Bart felt that everything he had experienced before was meaningless.
"Hello, my name is Chrollo Lucilfer. These are my companions. Since your people gave us such a 'warm welcome' earlier, we could only return the gesture. I hope you can forgive any inconvenience."
Chrollo stepped forward calmly, his tone polite and refined.
Bart's face twitched.
Was that massacre outside what he called a "greeting"?
At this moment, Wright Nosla had already been completely overwhelmed by fear, his mind blank.
Bart had no choice but to take over.
After a long silence, he spoke in a low voice:
"What is your purpose?"
He skipped all pleasantries and went straight to the point.
Chrollo spread his hands slightly, as if helpless.
"Actually, we only came here seeking friendly cooperation. Unfortunately, your people seemed a little… sensitive."
Bart's eyelids twitched again.
Cooperation?
You call killing everyone cooperation?
But Bart swallowed all his anger.
Because right now, they were the fish on the chopping board.
That was the rule of this world the same rule that governed the Mafia families under the Ten Dons.
So he forced himself to continue:
"Then what kind of cooperation do you want with our Nosla family?"
"It's simple. We need legal identities. In return, we'll stay here quietly for a while."
"Legal identities… You're from Meteor City, aren't you?"
Bart immediately grasped the implication.
Only people from Meteor City those who officially "don't exist" would need such documents.
"Do the elders of Meteor City know what you're doing?"
"Heh…"
Chrollo chuckled softly.
"You don't seem to understand the situation. Are you questioning us?"
The smile disappeared.
In its place was a cold, suffocating aura.
A terrifying pressure far beyond ordinary killing intent poured out from Chrollo.
It was Nen.
A refined and overwhelming Ren that pressed down like a mountain.
"Ugh !"
Bart's entire body stiffened instantly.
Cold sweat drenched his back before he even realized it.
What… did I just do?
After years in the underworld, he had unconsciously tried to regain control of the conversation.
But this wasn't the same world anymore.
The people in front of him… were monsters.
Creatures similar to those whispered about in stories like the members of the Phantom Troupe.
And he had just tried to negotiate with them on equal footing.
While Bart struggled internally, Rimo shifted his attention to Wright Nosla.
This man…
Why does he feel familiar?
And the name Nosla…
It definitely existed somewhere in his memory.
If it were the name Neon Nostrade, he would have recognized it instantly.
But just "Nosla" alone wasn't enough to trigger a clear memory.
Unless he forcibly recalled everything through self-hypnosis, like reconstructing fragments of past knowledge.
Just as Bart was about to speak again
"Papa…?"
A soft, trembling voice suddenly came from the doorway.
The fragile, childlike sound shattered the tense silence.
Everyone turned to look.
A small girl with purple-blue hair stood there, clutching a teddy bear.
Her bare feet were soaked in blood from the floor outside.
Tears shimmered in her eyes as she looked at the room in confusion and fear.
It was Neon Nostrade.
Her voice snapped Wright Nosla out of his daze.
"Nion!"
He leapt up and rushed toward her.
"Tsk…"
Feitan Portor clicked his tongue, already drawing the hidden sword from his umbrella, intending to cripple Wright Nosla instantly.
But halfway through the motion
Rimo pressed the blade back.
Feitan paused and looked at him in surprise.
Rimo said nothing, only shook his head slightly.
Seeing this, Nobunaga Hazama also silently sheathed his sword.
The others exchanged glances but didn't interfere.
Rimo had already proven his judgment before there had to be a reason.
And his reason was simple.
The moment Wright Nosla shouted "Nion," everything clicked.
So this is that Nosla.
Rimo couldn't help but sigh inwardly at the absurdity of fate.
According to what he remembered, the Nosla more accurately, the Nostrade family was originally just a minor organization from a remote area.
Their sudden rise came entirely from Neon's Nen ability
"Lovely Ghostwriter," a rare form of specialization that could predict the future.
With that power, Wright Nosla climbed rapidly, eventually becoming a Mafia boss second only to the Ten Dons.
Yet despite his position, he was often looked down upon by other families.
And instead of understanding why, he dismissed them as jealous.
To think that this so-called "remote place" was actually near Meteor City.
And out of all possible towns, Rimo had chosen this one.
If it was this Nosla, then his cowardice made perfect sense.
Strength built on borrowed power was never real strength.
Not just Nosla
Even that fat boss from the bar earlier fit the same pattern.
A weak leader breeds weak subordinates.
Rimo glanced indifferently at Wright Nosla, who was now trembling as he held Neon tightly in his arms, completely stripped of dignity.
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