"Has the contest already begun?"
Ronnel couldn't help but wonder as he noticed the leader of their group break into a full sprint as soon as they arrived. Observing the others, he realized they were all doing the same.
None of them exchanged words. Their faces were composed, but it was clear that they were pushing themselves to the limit, determined not to lag behind.
"Are they all aiming to be the first to cross the Bridge of Despair?"
The thought brought a faint smile to Ronnel's lips.
The Bridge of Despair, a landmark under the control of the Matar family, was no ordinary crossing. Unlike the Zoldyck family's Gates, which allowed multiple entrants at once, the bridge was a narrow suspension structure that could only accommodate a limited number of people walking side by side.
Who would be the first to step into the Matar territory was a point of pride, a matter of reputation among the renowned organizations gathered here. No one wanted to appear inferior by trailing behind.
Sure, there might be a few trying to mask their true strength by staying back, but for those familiar with the power rankings, such pretense was meaningless. Falling behind could provide rivals with an opportunity to mock their standing.
As a result, everyone raced ahead, competing fiercely to claim the title of the first to enter.
Amid their rush, taunts and banter echoed through the air:
"Hey, old man, don't overdo it! You don't want to trip and take a tumble at your age!"
"Hah! You youngsters better watch yourselves! One misstep on the bridge, and you'll be diving straight into the abyss!"
"Heh, your tongue's just as sharp as that grumpy old gatekeeper from our organization!"
"Right back at you! Seems like the older you get, the meaner your words become!"
Despite the chatter, their pace didn't falter. Soon, the bridge leading to their destination came into view. The sight invigorated the crowd, prompting many to push themselves even harder.
However, a few with particularly sharp senses slowed down. Their gazes focused on two vague figures standing near the bridge's entrance.
"Well, isn't that rare?" remarked an elderly assassin with a weathered face, his gray hair and age spots betraying his years. Stroking his beard, he squinted at the figures by the suspension bridge.
"The Matar family actually sent someone to greet us. How courteous."
But his narrowed eyes betrayed a hint of suspicion.
"No matter how you look at it, their reception doesn't seem particularly welcoming..."
Ronnel, too, had noticed the pair. One of them was a plump woman, the same charterer he'd seen poison the greasy man earlier. Pretending to be puzzled for the benefit of Karamo, who was new to this, Ronnel subtly moved to the rear of their group to observe unnoticed.
The other figure was more intriguing.
"Huh? Isn't that Keyence, the deputy CEO of the housekeeper division for the Matar family?" someone muttered nearby. "I didn't expect someone of his status to be here in person."
Keyence was a striking figure—around thirty years old, with dark skin, thick eyebrows, and a bald head that gleamed under the sun. His ordinary features were offset by an almost unsettling lack of nostrils.
Ronnel recognized him instantly from the memories he'd gleaned using Nen. Keyence was second only to Baituo among the Matar's non-family executives. The Matar family, unlike the exclusive Zoldyck family, accepted any business deal, no matter how small, as long as it turned a profit. This open policy meant the two CEOs, both chief and deputy, wielded significant influence in the world of assassins and clients alike.
Keyence, in particular, was notorious for his "bad cop" approach—a stark contrast to the chief's more accommodating demeanor.
The decision to send Keyence as the welcoming party was deliberate. Though his rank was sufficient to show respect, his presence carried an unmistakable edge, a warning to tread carefully.
Those with sharper instincts sensed the underlying threat and stopped a short distance from the bridge. The others, noticing the hesitation, followed suit, unwilling to act rashly.
A tense silence settled over the crowd until Keyence broke it with a slow clap, drawing all eyes to him.
"I'm glad that so many people came to participate~" he said, his tone devoid of emotion.
"Our master has prepared tea and refreshments to welcome you all. So, without further ado, please follow me~"
Without waiting for a response, Keyence turned and started across the suspension bridge, his back to the assembled killers.
This nonchalant, almost disdainful behavior was quintessential Keyence.
The crowd hesitated, watching him closely. Just as he stepped onto the bridge, a faint smile flickered across his lips—one that disappeared as quickly as it had come.
"The bridge's width is limited," he said, his voice calm but carrying a subtle edge. "For safety, I recommend you avoid crowding. Let's keep this orderly, shall we?"
The tension in his tone was unmistakable, leaving the killers to exchange wary glances as they calculated their next move.
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