Filton Town.
This town, located near Meteor Street, was slightly less prosperous than Cambie Town, where Rimo was currently stationed. But Filton held one advantage Cambie lacked: the port. Control of the port meant access to trade, supply routes, and an influx of mercenaries and Nen specialists, giving it strategic importance.
For sixty years, the Fanobi family had dominated Cambie Town and the surrounding towns along Meteor Street. Their influence radiated outward, but it could not be evenly applied. Remote areas were more independent, their local forces wary and xenophobic. Whenever the Fanobi family attempted further expansion, these local groups would unite to resist. Even the original Fanobi family, strong as it was, could not fight them all at once.
So the Fanobi family compromised. In each town, a local force would be supported and developed into a subordinate organization. These groups were loyal only in terms of contracts and profit: a portion of their earnings each year was sent to the Fanobi family, enforced by threat of reprisal. If they faltered, the Fanobi family could intervene—but after sixty years, the arrangement stabilized. New powers could rise, attack these subordinates, and survive without the Fanobi family's help. The system became ritualized; subordinates paid tribute without question, and the Fanobi family's overseas or emergency resources remained untapped.
Then came the Phantom Troupe.
The annihilation of the Fanobi family was celebrated by many subordinate organizations. None had the inclination—or courage—to avenge their former overlords. Were the Troupe to appear before them, these groups would have flocked to it, eager to be allied or absorbed. Yet one exception remained: the Evans family of Filton Town.
The Evans were not just any subordinates. The current head, Francis Evans, was the illegitimate son of Eisenhower Fanobi, the previous patriarch of the Fanobi family. Years ago, at a cocktail party among the elite, Eisenhower had an encounter with the eldest daughter of the Evans family—already under Fanobi influence. From a single meeting, Francis Evans was conceived. Eisenhower's legitimate wife was the daughter of Cambie's mayor, making marriage impossible, but Eisenhower could not bring himself to demand an abortion. Thus, Francis Evans was born, a child who idolized the father he never knew fully. Eisenhower, favoring his illegitimate son for his intellect and loyalty, eventually made Francis the head of the Evans family.
When the Phantom Troupe destroyed the Fanobi family, Francis Evans felt as if the sky had fallen. He wanted revenge, yet understood the futility. Even the Fanobi family, the strongest force in the area, had been annihilated. How could his relatively small Evans family retaliate? Fear and anger engulfed him.
Salvation arrived via the Fanobi family's overseas fund. Eisenhower had long believed in diversifying assets: each year, part of the Fanobi family's income was deposited in international accounts, accessible to heirs if disaster struck. Now, with Francis as the sole heir, he gained access to this fund.
With the family fund activated, Francis Evans immediately began scheming revenge. He realized that relying solely on Filton's forces would be suicide. The Evans family, though respected locally, could never match the Nosla family or the remnants of the Troupe. The solution was external mercenaries—elite Nen users capable of operating independently.
Through a network of intermediaries, Francis located the legendary dark broker known only by whispers in the underworld. Using vast sums of the Fanobi fund, he commissioned a Nen-equipped mercenary team. These seven operatives, known collectively as the Adam Mercenary Corps, were specialists in assassination, surveillance, and combat. While numerically small, their abilities compensated for their size: Uvogin-level physicality, Nen-enhanced agility, and strategic coordination made them formidable.
"Boss, Adam and the others are playing downstairs again," a deputy reported to Francis Evans one day. "Are they really like the rumors? Haven't seen a woman in hundreds of years?"
Francis rubbed his temples. The mercenaries, though deadly, indulged in mundane leisure activities while maintaining extreme training regimens. Each day they performed noisy warm-ups, shouting in the hall, disturbing nearby servants. It was a necessary compromise: Francis had allocated the bulk of the family fund to secure the mercenaries' loyalty and transport, leaving little for proactive action. He could not yet afford a full-scale offensive.
"We just have to endure it," Francis muttered. "We'll lure the Nosla family eventually. Patience."
Down in the central hall, the mercenaries prepared for their next task. One of the visually impaired members froze mid-exercise, his white eyes focusing on a disturbance near the door.
"Boss, there's a little mouse at the entrance," he reported.
Adam, the head of the corps, lifted his head from the arms of a young woman, glancing at the figure. "Really? Did someone enter by mistake or intentionally?"
"Not ordinary," the member replied after a pause. "If they have a purpose, it's subtle. One person, but hard to tell the intent."
Adam rolled his eyes, then used his foot to nudge another mercenary, Jack, who had been idly practicing. "Jack, cut it out. Go check that little mouse."
Jack groaned. "Boss, I just recovered—can't you call someone else?"
Despite his complaints, he retrieved a Nen-enhanced sniper rifle and moved toward the entrance, a testament to the corps' disciplined obedience.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Evans Manor, Surrey prepared to use the Flying Thunder God Kunai sent by Rimo. He had driven from Cambie to the outer limits of the manor, navigating the perimeter where only elite guards allowed passage.
"Boss, are you sure I should just throw this in?" Surrey asked, hesitation in his voice. Wright Nosla's instructions were clear, yet the Kunai appeared to be an ordinary iron tool—its power invisible to the untrained eye.
"Forget it. Do exactly as I said," Francis replied, his voice calm but commanding.
As Surrey raised the Kunai, a faint hum of Nen activated, invisible but perceptible to trained senses. The blade's surface shimmered briefly with runic patterns, Rimo's spatial Nen marking activating.
"Boom—!"
The Kunai hit its intended target, embedding itself in the ground with a subtle vibration. Through the Nen imprint, Francis could now sense the location of the target, relaying a teleportation path for the mercenaries. The Flying Thunder God Technique, adapted to Nen, allowed instantaneous positioning of forces where Rimo's will dictated, without physical traversal—a game-changing advantage.
Inside the manor, Francis Evans observed through the surveillance Nen of the Adam Mercenary Corps. "Perfect. Now we just wait," he muttered. The mercenaries moved like shadows, guided by Francis's commands and Rimo's spatial Nen constructs. Each step was precise, each action calculated.
This setup ensured that when the Nosla family responded, they would unknowingly move into Francis Evans' trap, his forces ready to strike with Nen-enhanced reflexes and coordinated tactics. Though still outnumbered in conventional terms, the combination of strategy, Nen, and Rimo's intervention leveled the field.
Francis leaned back, closing his eyes. His revenge would not be impulsive; it would be meticulous, using the full array of resources inherited from the Fanobi legacy, the Evans family's cunning, and the supernatural edge granted by Nen mercenaries. One day, the Nosla family would pay for the annihilation of the Fanobi family—but only on Francis Evans' terms.
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