The two who had temporarily formed a united front began discussing what to do next.
"Just like I said earlier, start with the White Eagle Association," Amos said. "But before that, we first need to confirm roughly how often the poison in your body flares up, so I can make sure I'm not too far from you when you're unable to move."
"...Mm."
Kisho lowered his head to look at his arm and reached out to touch the blood line on his wrist.
Although Noah didn't seem to be affected, Kisho didn't want Noah to come out and take the hit for him again—being poisoned was entirely his own fault, so how could he let Noah shield him from disaster again?
Moreover, he felt deeply sorry for "Noah," and found it hard to imagine what that child must have gone through to remain expressionless in the face of that level of pain.
Amos dug a pit under the bed, pulled out a bundle from inside, slung it onto his back, and then said to Kisho,
"Let's go to your place. It's not safe here anymore."
"Oh, right." He knocked on his forehead. "There's still one person on your side who knows about you—Coren."
"He sent people to kill you, but none of them came back; his immediate superior went to kill you as well, and likewise never came back."
"He knows too much, so he has to die." Amos smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I can provide you with information on how to deal with him for free—consider it payment for all the help you've given me."
Kisho asked curiously, "Care to elaborate?"
Coren was the man who, right after Kisho escaped from the Troupe, treated him like livestock to be slaughtered and ended up having his arm blown off by Kisho.
"It's simple. He has no one left under him. Just leak that clue a little, and we won't even have to lift a finger ourselves," Amos said in a low voice.
"Even if he doesn't die, he won't have the energy to keep thinking about you anymore. Don't worry."
Kisho stared at Amos, fell silent for a moment, then asked softly, "...May I ask who you really are?"
"Even if I told you, you wouldn't know me," Amos said disdainfully, but still spoke. "My full name is Mire Eros. Does that ring a bell?"
Kisho shook his head blankly.
Amos's face went dark.
...
Arriving at the garbage mountain in District Nine, Kisho and Amos got to work themselves and quickly built a nest out of trash, then crawled inside.
They each sat on one side, cultivating their Nen separately.
Sometime after night fell, Kisho sensed a sharp pain, creeping along his marrow and slowly seeping through his entire body.
He trembled slightly, but clenched his teeth hard and made no sound.
On the other side, Amos seemed to notice something off about Kisho and opened his eyes to look at him.
Kisho caught his gaze, opened his eyes, forced a smile at him, and shook his head.
Amos nodded and closed his eyes again.
Time stretched unbearably long. Cold sweat soaked his clothes again and again. By the end, Kisho couldn't even tell whether he was still awake or had already passed out.
It wasn't until the faint light of dawn seeped up from below the horizon, faintly illuminating the sky, that he finally got a moment to breathe and regained some clarity.
He felt that intense, dull pain slowly recede from his body. In a daze, he had the illusion of crawling back from hell.
"A little over three hours, no more than four."
Amos spoke after Kisho woke up.
"The flare-up time is around one in the morning. Not long after it starts, the marks on your arm begin spreading upward. Based on the calculations, you've got about three months left to find an inhibitor."
"With news this bad... couldn't you wait until I've recovered a bit before saying it?" Kisho glared at him irritably.
Amos was expressionless. "No. I'm not the one in pain."
Kisho cursed under his breath, stood up, and moved his body a bit to loosen his stiff limbs.
"Alright then—what's the plan for today?"
"As for you..." Amos thought for a moment, then said, "You need to go find someone called 'Wenide' first."
His voice carried a chill. "I also need to go take care of someone."
Kisho froze mid-stretch, alert. "Who are you going to take care of this time?"
"It's not that I want to take care of someone, it's that they keep coming to mess with me for no reason," Amos corrected him seriously.
"Don't ask. You wouldn't know even if you did. Tch, can you focus on your own business first?"
He tilted his head, casually flicked a needle from the trash behind him, poured Nen into it, and drew a map of District Five on the ground.
Watching this guy, who had just learned Nen and already knew to coat objects with it to use them, Kisho admitted he was feeling jealous again.
"The White Eagle Association headquarters is here. Previously, with Kleri and Solzt—two Nen users—they could still hold their ground in District Five—"
Amos looked up at Kisho, annoyed. "Hey, snap out of it!"
"...Now their chairman is gone, their hall master is gone too, and the vice-chairman only knows how to echo the former chairman. He has no Nen and can't keep the few hall masters and leaders under control."
"The White Eagle Association's top two combat forces are gone. The entire organization can't hold the external turf anymore. With troubles both inside and out, logically speaking, if they don't want their home base stolen, they should choose to gather at headquarters and argue about selecting a new chairman."
"The person you're looking for is called 'Wenide.' Blond hair, gray eyes, about one point seven meters tall. His defining feature is a scar about two inches long on his face."
"This guy has big ambitions, small guts, and once he gets greedy, he completely loses his head. He probably won't actively compete, but he definitely won't be content with just being a leader."
"Most importantly, this person is under the same hall master as Coren, and that hall master—"
Kisho widened his eyes, thinking of something, and guessed, "The one who came to kill me that night but got killed by me instead—the one named Kleri?"
"Yes, the very hall master you killed," Amos nodded.
"A hall master only controls a small area. The minor leaders under them usually have terrible relationships with each other because they're fighting over resources. So you go tell him that Coren, who lost an arm, has no one left under him."
"The reason you tell him this clue is to join the White Eagle Association through him, invest in him, and then get free 'raw liquid.'"
Hearing that, Kisho clapped his hands. "Drag him into the pit? Share the blame together?"
"If he's willing, then even if he later suspects that everyone under Coren was taken out by you, it won't matter. After all, when you're in a gang, at the very least you're not allowed to openly kill each other. Once he kills Coren, this matter becomes a secret between the two of you, and he'll help you cover it up."
"If he doesn't go..." Amos pondered. "The possibility is very low, but if it really happens..."
Amos said expressionlessly, "Then you can only kill him."
Kisho fell silent.
After a long while, he said softly, "Change it. If he doesn't provoke me, I won't kill him."
Hearing Kisho's words, Amos froze, confusion showing in his eyes.
"...? What did you say?"
Kisho spoke slowly. "If he doesn't actively make a move against me, or show intent to kill me, I absolutely won't take the initiative against someone uninvolved."
"He's not the same as Solzt. From beginning to end, he doesn't even know I exist."
Amos sized Kisho up and down as he said this.
"Are you sick?"
Kisho: "..."
Amos's face practically read "Are you an idiot?" as he questioned him.
"Do you have to wait until someone stabs you with a knife before you fight back? I don't understand why that's necessary. Isn't it better to nip threats in the bud? If he doesn't go, then he's not only useless to you, he'll get in the way. For someone like that, isn't killing him nothing but benefits with no downsides?"
"Uh... how do I explain this..." Kisho thought and thought, then realized there was no way to explain it at all. He could only scratch his head. "Forget it, just treat me like I'm sick."
He spoke slowly, each word firm and decisive.
"I don't want to kill people who haven't actively provoked me."
Amos: "..."
Amos snapped angrily, "Then go die! Go die however you want!"
Kisho: "..."
After a long silence, Amos spoke irritably.
"If he doesn't go, you curse him for being gutless, then show off your Nen ability. Tell him that if he misses this chance, this is all his life will ever amount to."
"In Meteor City, hiding your strength is far more important than setting up a target in front of you." Amos was so angry his face turned green.
"I really don't understand—trouble that could be solved once and for all by killing him, and you still have to expose your strength to make a second fix—forget it. If you don't want to kill, this is the only way."
"Hehehe~" Kisho said. "Thanks!"
"After that, you won't need me to teach you anymore, right?" Amos got angry just looking at Kisho's cheeky grin, utterly unable to accept that the ally he chose had something wrong with his head.
"Ah, after that I'll help him sit in the hall master's position—after all, the hall master above him is gone. At that point, even if he knows the hall master was killed by me, there's nothing he can do. It's beneficial to him, and he won't be bored enough to leak it. Even if he reports it to the inspectors, what they can give him won't be more than a hall master position."
Kisho's gaze sharpened slightly.
"What's more, I can even help him sit in the vice-chairman's—even the chairman's seat."
Amos waved his hand. "If you know what to do, then hurry up and get lost. I don't want to talk to someone with something wrong in the head."
"Heh, heh~" Kisho laughed awkwardly twice, stood up. "Thanks."
He walked out of the garbage nest and headed toward the map Amos had marked for him.
"...Before twelve tonight, remember to roll back. I don't want to waste time collecting your corpse."
Amos's voice came from the garbage nest behind him.
Kisho smiled, turned his head, and called back, "Got it~!"
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[Eros]In late Greek mythology, Eros was the youngest son born from the affair between Aphrodite and Ares, depicted as a mischievous little boy holding a bow and arrows, barefoot, with a pair of small wings. Later on, Eros's image transformed into that of a handsome young man.
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Pls Drop some Power Stones
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