Ronin's decisiveness had come from two sources.
The first was pure instinct—the moment the Nen thread adhered to his body he had felt genuine, immediate danger. The second was the Yin Seal and Creation Rebirth. Together they gave him the confidence that even a severed arm and an opened abdomen could be restored in seconds.
Once the antenna appeared on the discarded left hand, the entire shape of Chrollo's plan became clear. Ronin had not thrown the limb far; he had kept a residual option in mind. If his judgment proved wrong, he could still retrieve the hand and reattach it. The judgment had been correct, and the hand remained intact. Before Chrollo could launch another assault, Ronin simply walked over and picked it up.
After Chrollo switched abilities, the sticky thread that had previously linked the severed hand to the abdominal flesh vanished. When Ronin lifted the hand he only needed to pry the fingers open for the chunk of flesh to drop free.
During those few seconds the three monkeys reappeared in front of Chrollo. More surprising still, Hisoka's figure emerged at the edge of the nearby ruins. The man who had already expended both antennas had finally chosen to show himself.
Kortopi, still perched among the high pillars, and Machi, sealed inside the Earth Prison Dome, had both gone silent.
"You have no chance of winning."
Ronin pressed the severed wrist back into place. Creation Rebirth activated at once. Flesh and bone knitted together at a speed that defied ordinary understanding; within moments the limb was whole again.
Chrollo's expression darkened further as he watched.
Severing one of Ronin's hands should have broken the man's habit of forming seals with both hands in front of his chest. Once that prerequisite was removed, many of Ronin's techniques would have been forced into the far more limited method of jumping and bringing both feet together. Feet could never match the flexibility of hands for complex seal sequences. The earlier success of taking only the left hand through consecutive ability bursts had therefore not felt like a failure.
Watching the limb reattach itself so quickly rendered all of that effort meaningless. The amount of aura the healing consumed seemed almost irrelevant. From the start of the fight Chrollo had noticed that Ronin's reserves remained unnaturally full, as though any expenditure was replenished almost instantly. He had considered the possibility of aura lending, yet Milluki was nowhere in the vicinity. It could only be a new technique developed in the intervening time.
A monster.
That was the only evaluation Chrollo could give the man standing opposite him. Doubt followed close behind. If the battle continued, did he still have any realistic path to victory?
He had never possessed absolute certainty about today's confrontation. After acquiring Xiyou's ability he had judged his odds at better than eighty percent. Now those odds felt closer to twenty—perhaps lower.
Should he withdraw?
The question surfaced cleanly. If he left now, even after abandoning Nobunaga, Franklin, Kortopi, and Machi, the possibility of a later recovery would still exist.
But would recovery still be possible?
Hesitation stirred in Chrollo's chest—the first true hesitation since the day Sarasa died.
He closed his eyes. Two seconds later they opened again. Every trace of uncertainty had vanished.
"Is the Fourth Prince of Kakin, Tserriednich, truly dead?"
He did not attack. His gaze carried only inquiry.
"Something you want to ask?" Ronin had already registered the shift. Moments earlier Chrollo's eyes had still held frustration. Now they held only calm assessment and a quiet, probing intent.
"You made contact with Hila in Meteor City. You should know the Troupe's true objective."
Ronin nodded. "To reform Meteor City. And to make certain that the kind of people who hurt it never dare approach again."
Chrollo paused, then a bitter smile touched the corner of his mouth. "She really did tell you everything. I expected you to say it was for revenge against the ones who killed Sarasa."
"You're not that narrow. Revenge is only something to be finished along the way."
Chrollo inclined his head. "Yes. That is how I have always seen it. But now… that may be the only thing I can still be certain has been completed."
"The Fourth Prince is dead," Ronin answered. He understood the implication at once. Chrollo had already accepted that victory was no longer possible.
"If there is something specific you need to know," Ronin continued, "you could simply ask him yourself."
Chrollo's eyes narrowed. The suggestion was clear—go down and speak with the prince. The confidence behind the offer was almost arrogant.
Before the thought could fully form, a figure stepped out from behind the only vault door still standing among the ruins.
The entire body was covered in deep cracks, yet it moved with perfect freedom.
The moment the figure appeared Chrollo spun toward it.
Tserriednich Hui Guo Rou.
Hadn't Ronin just declared him dead? The question had barely formed when Chrollo registered the complete absence of life aura. There was not even the residual presence of a living body.
"A corpse."
It was not Ronin who answered.
"Yes. I'm dead," Tserriednich said, voice edged with impatience. "If you have questions, ask them quickly."
Hatred and resentment still burned in the gaze he directed at Ronin.
Chrollo stared for a moment, momentarily off-balance. He could not yet see the shape of the game Ronin was playing. Was the man simply amusing himself?
Even so, the question he had prepared long ago left his mouth.
"The Meteor City kidnapping case—you were the one behind it."
Tserriednich looked almost offended by the triviality. "Who remembers that kind of ancient garbage? Probably."
Chrollo did not look away. "Lisnos. You killed him."
At the name, Tserriednich's expression finally shifted. A second later, remembering his current state, the reaction faded into indifference.
"How do you know that? It must have been nine years ago. I thought I cleaned it up cleanly enough."