"Szzzt—" The flying flame slash skimmed Guzman's cheek. He'd already caught its path with En, and tilted his head aside.
The heat still scorched him—his cheek flushed red. With no target, the slash slammed into the ceiling, carving a ragged opening before shooting into the sky.
Outside, when Shadow got killed so quickly—his body crumpling like a torn rag in the corner—Ōtsuka Yū let out a weird laugh. He glanced at Mark Wayne as if it were nothing.
"Wayne. Compared to your axe, how's his blade?"
Executioner—the man who specialized in taking heads. Mark Wayne, the most famous Enhancer under the Fourth Elder's faction, was an axe specialist. He answered flatly:
"Can't tell until I've fought him."
A pure brawler—strength speaks. The intel said the priest was probably a Conjurer, yet his swordsmanship was sharper than an Enhancer's, and he looked more like an Enhancer than Mark did.
Mark didn't want to inflate the enemy's reputation, but he had to admit it: one cut, one kill—Shadow died instantly. That "priest" had real skill. And worse…
That creepy clone trick.
Mark spread En, staring hard at the sword-wielding boy.
A fragrant breeze slid in—Eve Valentine sauntered up.
She hooked Mark's arm, breathed warm air into his ear, and pouted sweetly.
"Mark~ when you split the intel later, give me a share, okay? You know I don't like fighting…"
Lotus looked at them like trash. Trading sex for information—disgusting, but she understood exactly what was happening. Everyone here—suit, ronin, seductress—showed up for "intel," sure… but also to back Guzman if needed.
They were all animals of profit.
Guzman's candy could flood Meteor City because the Elders allowed it—some even pushed it—because everyone got paid.
Now some nobody priest crawled out of nowhere and tried to smash that effortless cash pipeline. If the priest wouldn't play by the rules, then the Elders wouldn't either.
Lotus's wide-brimmed black hat lifted slightly, revealing her pretty face behind the veil. She tracked Roy's movement and remembered what she'd said to Berus.
Maybe saints are just idiots.
Idiots no one understands.
Footsteps echoed.
Inside the mansion, sunlight spilled through the hole in the roof, draping Roy in a faint halo like a robe.
Yubashiri pointed at Guzman. The tip still carried Shadow's blood—then the heat rolled it up and evaporated it into nothing.
A hundred meters… ninety… eighty…
The stainless steel zip-ties Guzman had used to bind Roy's limbs finally couldn't take the heat anymore. With a light jerk, Roy snapped free.
Black hair swaying in the wind, Roy walked toward Guzman at an unhurried pace.
Guzman rolled his wineglass in his hand. After Shadow died, he'd spaced out for a heartbeat—but now he was back to his usual self. Shadow was just a cracked bottle. Broken is broken.
He locked onto Roy with an ugly grin.
"So you really don't want to talk nicely. Fine."
He hurled the wineglass down.
It shattered—glass spraying everywhere.
A few shards cut into the "corpses" that had swallowed candy, piercing skin and flesh… but they didn't even flinch. Drugged into bliss, they smiled as they collapsed at Guzman's feet, limbs twisted into grotesque shapes—like worshippers greeting their "king," their "lord," offering themselves as sacrifices to feed him aura.
You could see it.
Thin wisps of aura drifted toward Guzman.
He opened his mouth and inhaled them.
In that moment, the green-haired boy looked like he'd injected himself with pure ecstasy. His aura surged in steps, his body swelling grotesquely.
Mental Morphine didn't just "please" others—it could "please" the user too.
BOOM—
A twisted, evil, addictive Ren erupted from Guzman like an explosion.
His eyes turned red. His body ballooned. Tight clothes tore with a violent rriip—revealing thick, swollen muscle beneath.
1.7 meters… 1.8… 2… 2.5… 3… 4… 6…
He roared, the shockwave rattling debris loose.
Guzman became a giant, blocking out even the sunlight overhead.
A casual brush of his fist against the wall—
crack—webbed it with fractures until it collapsed, leaving the scene exposed so clearly that even without En, Ōtsuka Yū, Lotus, and Mark could see inside.
"Wow… big." Eve Valentine's eyes drifted down, greedy and curious. "If he's drugged up… is he even wilder?"
Too bad his giant ass blocked her view. She looked genuinely disappointed.
Mark wrapped an arm around her waist and said flatly, "Whether he's wild or not—I can tell you this: you can't handle him."
Eve blinked. "?"
Mark's face stayed dead serious, but his hand slid into her collar anyway.
"Don't misunderstand," he said, "I mean his strength."
Ōtsuka Yū chuckled. "Don't underestimate women's bodies, Wayne."
Lotus didn't react. Everyone here was still calm enough to joke—meaning they believed Guzman had this locked.
Big meant strong.
Overdrafting life through drugs could push a normal person beyond their limits—so what did it do for a guy who invented the trick?
Two jets of breath blasted from Giant Guzman's nostrils.
Shadow poured down, shredding the halo of light around Roy.
Roy stopped and looked up. Guzman's face was grotesquely flushed, like a fever.
Roy compared him, briefly, to things he'd seen in Zigg's "Game of the Dead"—the "food giant," the "Bodhisattva," Zigg's two-headed ogre…
Was this "giant" made of dead muscle? Living muscle?
Or… dead muscle pretending to live?
Then—
BOOM.
Blade rose.
Fist arrived.
A punch like a cannonball slammed toward Roy.
Guzman kicked off the floor so hard he left two cratered footprints. He crossed the distance instantly and drove the punch straight into Roy's face.
A clean sword-chime—
Roy raised Yubashiri and blocked it.
He ate the impact raw.
His stance dipped slightly—only slightly.
Roy's calm expression didn't even crack… then disappointment surfaced.
Not Silva. Not even close. Not even close to Himejima after his pores opened.
Roy's interest in "playing" vanished.
"Figures," Roy said, eyes full of contempt. "Borrowed power never lasts."
His red eyes—three tomoe rotating—stabbed into Guzman like a blade.
A silent message:
You're a cheap imitation.
Guzman roared, trying to stomp Roy's chest and crush him.
But before his foot could lift—
a soft voice cut through the heat.
"Sleep."
A tidal wave of drowsiness hit him.
Guzman stumbled back, then collapsed—thud—sitting hard on the floor.
Forced sleepiness layered with the Sharingan's pressure flipped the entire fight in one instant.
Outside, the onlookers froze. That reversal stamped itself into their brains.
Eve trembled and clung tighter to Mark. Mark's hand paused inside her collar—his focus snapped away from flirting entirely.
"What just happened?"
"Elder Guzman—why did he drop?"
"Did he get too high and crash into a hallucination?"
Whispers spread through the hidden watchers.
Ōtsuka Yū stood, no longer casual, the confidence wiped clean. His expression was grim.
"Hallucination, yes—but not from drugs," he said. "Forced."
Lotus, Mark, and Eve all turned toward him.
Ōtsuka Yū's eyes stayed locked on Roy.
"We underestimated the priest. He's not a Conjurer…"
He inhaled slowly, then said it like a verdict:
"He's a Specialist."
Enhanced swordsmanship, shapeshifting clones, specialist-grade hypnosis, and the earlier hints of conjuration…
"His toolkit is too big."
Mark and Eve exchanged a silent look and went quiet.
Lotus's skirt fluttered as she stared at Roy. Roy planted a boot on Guzman's chest, raised his blade, and started to cut for the throat—then glanced at them.
"You're here," she said coolly. "Aren't you going to save him?"
Ōtsuka Yū's smile returned—thin and sharp.
"Relax. The priest isn't simple… and Guzman isn't either."
"He's not that easy to kill."
"What do you mean?"
"Watch."
Lotus followed his gaze.
Roy's blade took the giant's head—
but instead of blood, it felt like slicing into stuffing. No resistance. No "kill" sensation.
The giant shrank rapidly, losing all human shape, until only a headless doll lay at Roy's feet.
The severed "head" rolled once—glass eyes staring up at Roy, almost laughing at him.
"A doll?" Lotus whispered.
"Yep." Ōtsuka Yū's eyes were dark. "Mental Morphine isn't just drugs. It's a control tool. If you eat Guzman's candy, he steals everything—your mind, your aura, even your Nen abilities."
"And one of those abilities is—"
He smiled.
"Substitute Doll."
Lotus immediately understood. If it's called Substitute Doll, it exists to take death in the user's place.
So…
"As long as he has dolls," Lotus murmured, "Guzman won't die."
Ōtsuka Yū clapped lightly. "Bingo."
Lotus narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know all that?"
Ōtsuka Yū's grin widened—too wide.
"Because… I'm a doll too."
"And me."
"Me too."
"Cr—cr—cr…"
Three voices snapped like glass.
Lotus's hat brim lifted as her body went cold.
Mark Wayne, Eve Valentine, and Ōtsuka Yū—
vanished.
On the ground, where they'd stood, sat three dolls. Different sizes, different genders, different colors.
Lotus went rigid like she'd been stared at by Medusa.
A wind swept through and stole every sound.
The spies hiding on the garbage piles went silent all at once.
Inside the half-destroyed mansion—
in the blink of an eye—
only Roy remained, plus a handful of drugged, ruined addicts folded into grotesque shapes, trapped in a dead, suffocating quiet.
"Boss!"
Hurried footsteps—Kastro sprinted in, face tight with alarm.
"The people you told me to watch—every single one of them turned into dolls!"
Roy stared for a long time, speechless.
Then—
clink.
He sheathed his sword.
He lifted his eyes to the sun, steady and bright, and narrowed them.
"Let's go."
He and Kastro left the North District.
…
Afternoon slid westward. Sunlight softened. Heat faded.
On Kukuroo Mountain, in the Zoldyck estate, Roy lay on Silva's rocking chair.
A moment later—his body jolted. His eyes opened.
Silva, beside him, spoke quietly:
"Is it over?"
Roy didn't answer for a long time.
Was it over?
No system prompt. No "life energy" gain.
Only four dolls remained.
Which meant—
the situation had already slipped out of his hands.
It was heading toward—
loss of control.
Roy finally said it:
"I messed up."
Silva: "!"
~~~
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