In the face of Rimo's twisted question, Eisenhower Fanobi's hand, hidden under the table, clenched so tightly that his nails pierced into his own palm.
Blood ran down the wound and dripped onto his expensive trousers.
Don't hate…? How is that possible!
For anyone normal, it would be impossible not to hate. He couldn't do it. Rimo would surely think that he felt no resentment at all, that he was merely satisfying some morbid curiosity.
Yet Eisenhower Fanobi had no choice but to play along with Rimo's game.
This deep sense of powerlessness was unprecedented in his eighty years. Once, he had elevated a common Soprano-level family in Cambie Town to the position of overlords, ruling the town with absolute authority—authority that had radiated across Cambie ever since.
He never imagined that in his old age, he would be reduced to this.
It could be called fate, but one day, it would have to be repaid. Even if he survived today, vengeance would be impossible alone. His only hope lay with the legendary first-killer family—Beating the Dike—to exact that revenge.
But first, survival was paramount. Eisenhower Fanobi inhaled deeply, forcing a submissive smile onto his face:
"How can it be otherwise? Although they were our heirs, the Fanobi family has its own frozen sperm bank. How many heirs do you want? How many?"
"So, you need not worry. I harbor absolutely no resentment toward you. I even wish to cooperate with you. After all, your kind of force is precisely what our family reveres. From today onward, we surrender and will handle all trivial matters for you."
"And you need not pay anything. We only ask for your protection for the Fanobi family. As for what you desire now, we will provide it wholeheartedly. How does that sound, Your Excellency?"
Rimo nearly applauded. Perfect words to redirect the conversation. Not only had he witnessed the deaths of Eisenhower's grandson and son, but now the old man presented a seemingly reasonable offer of cooperation.
Pretending to admire Rimo's power and showing no intent to retaliate, Eisenhower ensured that Rimo would focus on the benefits of collaboration rather than dwell on hatred.
If he were an ordinary person, it would be easy to mislead Rimo. Since Rimo was playing this mental game, he decided to play along.
"Cooperation? That sounds reasonable," Rimo replied with mock thoughtfulness, "but before we cooperate, you must give me what I want."
Eisenhower bowed respectfully: "Your Excellency, I am willing to listen. Name it—"
In an instant, Rimo appeared behind him. Not through space manipulation this time, but with pure, blinding speed.
He pressed his head against Eisenhower Fanobi's shoulder and whispered: "Your life."
puff—!
A hand-knife imbued with the power of Bubbling Space pierced directly through Eisenhower Fanobi's chest and the back of his chair.
Eisenhower's eyes widened as he stared in shock at the hand emerging from his own chest.
cough—!
Blood surged uncontrollably as he coughed, realizing with horror that Rimo didn't follow any standard rules. He hadn't come to negotiate—he had come for his life.
A grim clarity struck Eisenhower: Rimo and his companions were not ordinary assassins. They were Nen users of the highest order, entrusted by an unknown power to kill him.
Resentment filled his eyes again, now openly, as he glared at Rimo's youthful, indifferent face:
"You will surely come down to meet me. With your perverse nature, you will descend soon, and you will not escape! I will wait for you below!"
If Eisenhower had Nen, his hatred might have been a weapon. But without it, he could only struggle in helpless rage, just as his son and grandson had fallen at Rimo's feet.
"Ah—! The howl of a defeated dog is truly unpleasant," Rimo thought, amused.
Will he die? Rimo found the statement ridiculous. His vitality and control were overwhelming, so there was no need for vows or restrictions.
As for Eisenhower's accusation of a "bad personality," Rimo didn't deny it. Those who pursued pleasure inevitably appeared wicked, even perverted, to some.
In the eyes of others, he could be angelic—like Machi and Nion. In reality, he was both angel and devil, depending entirely on his mood. Such is the nature of the powerful. Such is the truth of this world.
"Well then, since Eisenhower Fanobi is dead, I have no intention of being your enemy. After all, your employer is gone. May I leave?"
As Rimo finished Eisenhower off, Jeff watched carefully, losing all the bravado he had shown when blocking Rimo's previous attack on the manor door.
In truth, Jeff was relieved. If Eisenhower had survived, he might have ordered Jeff to oppose Rimo. Now, with the patriarch gone, surrender was the only logical choice.
Seeing Jeff hesitate, the rest of the brigade looked to Rimo, waiting for his signal.
"Remember what I said in the car?" Rimo asked, a gentle smile crossing his face.
"I said one thing—no, all things: kill, light, everything, without exception."
JOIN MY PATREON TO READ ADVANCE 30+ CHAPTERS
Patreon.com/Kora_1