[Daily Quest]
[Quest Name: Practice Makes Perfect]
[Quest Content: Participate in the Phantom Troupe's bandit activities]
Standing at the open cargo bay, Phinks, a specialist in Enhancement, led the way, gathering his "Nen" in his arm. As he spun his arm, he counted, "This is my Nen ability, 'Ten' (Spinning Strike). The more times I spin, the greater the power of my punch. 'One, two, three...'"
More and more "Nen" gathered in his arm, growing stronger until it emitted a visible orange-yellow light.
"Phinks, watch the power," Kuroro advised.
"Don't break through the floor like last time and fall downstairs," Feitan said. "This time, we're not waiting for you to climb back up."
"So annoying!" Phinks grumbled. "How many did I count to? Never mind. That's enough."
The bustling city lights blazed in the night, dispelling the darkness more effectively than neon signs, a glowing sphere falling freely from a dirigible. The concentrated "Nen" in a single punch, dazzling like a shooting star, carved a path like a red-hot blade through the thin canvas painted with the city's nightscape.
"Ohoho!!!!!!" Amidst the rush of wind from the high-altitude fall, Phinks' excited shouts were mixed in.
The two sounds shattered the tempered glass of the building's top floor, sending shards flying everywhere. The incredibly fast fragments, only slightly less lethal than bullets, immediately injured many, causing blood to gush.
The top floor of this building was hosting a birthday banquet and engagement ceremony for a young lady of high status. The guests who came to congratulate her were all wealthy and influential, so the banquet's security was naturally very tight. However, they never expected an aerial attack.
"Missile?!"
Was someone piloting an armed dirigible and firing missiles? This was the most exaggerated form of attack they could imagine, something terrorists would do.
"Missile?" Phinks dug in his ear with his pinky finger amidst the smoke. "Not a missile, it's me, you fools."
As soon as he heard voices, the bodyguards in the banquet hall tensed to their limits. They realized the attacker was no ordinary individual, and immediately exchanged glances. Following their operational plan, some stayed to resist, while others escorted the guests to safety.
"Stop with the nonsense, the prey is about to escape," Feitan said. The moment his feet touched the floor, he dashed out of the smoke, cutting through a hail of gunfire and decapitating several obstructing bodyguards.
Phinks and Feitan, as usual, were responsible for the charge. According to Kuroro's prior assignments, Shalnark and Machi would guard the two exits to prevent other prey from escaping. If reinforcements arrived, it didn't matter whether they were killed or let in, as long as they couldn't leave. In short, anyone who approached would be dealt with, regardless of the order. He and Kalluto would act based on the situation, while Pakunoda remained on the dirigible, ready to provide support for the Troupe's escape.
The moment the bandits set foot inside, the banquet was reduced to a slaughterhouse.
The guests, impeccably dressed and gracefully behaved, all lost the color from their faces. Money and status, the most practical things in human society, were utterly useless. Only violence, greater violence, dictated their lives and deaths, dominated everything.
They devolved into weak herbivores in a primeval forest. Intimidation or pleas for mercy were a waste of time; their only option was to flee with all their might.
Having dealt with the prey in front of him, and with the rest either uninteresting or near other members, Phinks became lax. He leaped over an overturned table and stood beside Shalnark, speaking to him in a low voice amidst the commotion, "Shalnark, tell me honestly, is Number 8 really your girlfriend?"
Shalnark was using his phone to control a bodyguard he had attached an antenna to. His gaze did not leave the control interface on the screen as he replied, "Is there something strange about that?"
"She's nothing like the types you've liked before," Phinks said.
A person's Nen category is partly determined by their personality. Shalnark, inevitably, possessed some traits common to Manipulator Nen users, such as a preference for having control.
In the past, when it came to relationships with women, he almost always held absolute control, coming and going as he pleased. Countless ex-girlfriends had shed tears for him. He knew how to please women, and even if he didn't care, he could find ways to reconcile after a period of coldness. The reason his methods were consistently effective was also related to his skill in choosing suitable prey.
Shalnark knew what Phinks was implying: this particular prey seemed to exceed his usual capabilities.
"You probably have the premise wrong," Shalnark chuckled. "Do you remember her self-introduction? 'Shalnark is my boyfriend,' not 'I am Shalnark's girlfriend.'"
"Tsk, splitting hairs," Phinks grumbled. If Phinks had eyebrows, his expression would be one of raised brows. "In that case, Shalnark, you've been... captured..."
"In any case, it's not what you think," Shalnark interrupted him. The bodyguard Shalnark was controlling with his phone had malfunctioned and was no longer usable, so Shalnark exited the phone interface. With a dim smile in his eyes, he looked at Phinks, "Isn't capturing prey stronger than yourself more challenging than capturing prey weaker than yourself?"
"I get it," Phinks said, expressing his full understanding, and then suggested, "Then this time, let's bet on how long it takes before you get dumped!"
Any member could potentially be absent from a Troupe activity, but unethical bets would never be.
Despite knowing that what was to come would eventually arrive, Shalnark still let out a cry of defiance against fate, "Hey!"
The objective of this Troupe activity, initiated by Kuroro, was the token exchanged between the families of the bride and groom at the engagement ceremony—a brooch with a hundred-year history.
The original owner of the token lay dead on the ground. Once life was extinguished, the original owner was no different from the other corpses on the ground, just chunks of meat waiting to rot.
After obtaining it, Kuroro did not rush to leave. He carefully examined the brooch to determine its authenticity. He had been duped by a fake once before, and as long as time permitted, being cautious was always wise. He didn't want to make another trip.
The other members, each fulfilling their roles as bandits, began to loot the banquet hall, collecting valuables. These included the expensive gifts the guests had brought for the hosts, as well as the luxury items carried by the corpses.
As Feitan removed the necklace from the neck of the "deceased young lady," the centerpiece of the banquet, Kuroro was nearby. After all, it was Kuroro himself who had broken this young lady's neck. The beautiful and pitiful young lady did not elicit any hesitation from Kuroro. Before she could utter a plea for mercy, Kuroro broke her neck, took the desired brooch, and then discarded her like trash, completing the action with fluid movements as if giving the deceased another glance was superfluous.
However, when it came to the Troupe's affairs, as a competent leader, Kuroro did not forget to pay attention to his members. While checking the brooch, he specifically allocated some attention to Feitan, who was beside him. "Speaking of which, she's likely the opposite type from me."
Feitan looked up, and Kuroro's gaze fell on the necklace in Feitan's hand. "If I recall correctly, the necklace she's wearing is likely the same one from over a decade ago. Did you notice anything special when you took it?"
Kuroro was prone to growing tired of the old and embracing the new. He observed others who "cherished things for years" with the curiosity of someone observing exotic creatures through glass, expecting to gain fresh insights from their reasoning.
After a second of thought, Feitan replied, "No," and pocketed the necklace.
In terms of dividing spoils, most Troupe members, especially the combatants, were as casual as Feitan, picking only what interested them and ignoring the rest. Uvogin was the most extreme; if there was nothing he liked, he wouldn't take anything at all. He didn't need money, believing that a bandit's life should be about direct robbery, not using money to buy things. Thus, the only ones diligently working at the scene were the non-combatants, Shalnark.
According to custom, Shalnark would collect and organize the remaining valuables that other members were not interested in, sell them for money, and then distribute a portion to members who had not picked anything, and another portion for the Troupe's expenses. After all, many activities, from initial investigations to mid-operation support and final clean-up, might require money. For example, the cost of renting the dirigible this time was paid from the Troupe's funds.
Since its formation, instances of embezzlement or unequal distribution of spoils had never occurred. Perhaps it was because they were born in Meteor City, abandoned by the world, and their values differed from those outside Meteor City. The members of the Phantom Troupe viewed stolen goods with a peculiar nobility, as if they "viewed money as dirt."
Machi, as usual, picked nothing and was indifferent to the surrounding valuables. She preferred to receive cash distributions after the activity. Shalnark watched her back as she walked towards the direction where Kortopi had disappeared, likely to remind the isolated Kortopi to leave with everyone in a timely manner.
To avoid unnecessary work, this place could not be lingered in for too long. The Troupe also needed to maintain some semblance of order.
In the kitchen, Machi found Kortopi, who had lifted the lids of all the serving plates and stopped in front of one. The shrimp lying in the ice in that plate had its shell slit, its veins removed, and the pale blue shrimp meat sliced. Picking up a thin slice with chopsticks, dipping it in the accompanying sauce dish, it was ready to be eaten.
Currently unable to be artificially cultivated, difficult to preserve, and found only in cold glacial regions, Antarctic shrimp were a rare delicacy. If not for the Troupe's sudden attack, this dish would have been the grand finale of the banquet.
Fortunately, Kortopi had a habit of [collecting] shiny items from the kitchen, otherwise this delicacy would have been wasted.
Antarctic shrimp, if even slightly unfresh, would develop a fishy odor. Kortopi had arrived in time to catch the fleeting freshness. Machi appeared at the doorway, telling her it was time to go, but she didn't react.
Suspecting something might be wrong, Machi cautiously approached, "Kortopi?"
Kortopi picked up the sauce dish, chopsticks hovering above it. She picked up a slice of shrimp and offered it in Machi's direction.
Machi was unsure why Kortopi was doing this. No, recalling her past life with Kortopi in Meteor City, Machi seemed to vaguely understand the reason. In any case, Machi's extremely sharp intuition did not sense any danger.
Cooperating, Machi opened her mouth. The cool shrimp meat, warmed by the tip of her tongue, melted, releasing a wave of freshness that enveloped all her senses like a dense fog.
Fearing she might let out a strange sound, Machi raised her hand to cover her mouth with her fingers. After steadying her emotions, she said in a flat tone, "Mmm, it's delicious."
Stimulated by the taste, Machi suddenly recalled a similar scene from the past: cutting open a chocolate candy ball (delivered late at night by Feitan) with Kortopi, sharing it equally, the filling being nuts—delicious, a taste she had never experienced before. In Meteor City, desserts, non-essential goods, were luxuries.
Material scarcity was a thing of the past, of her childhood. Now, with sufficient strength and having left Meteor City, almost everything in the vast world was available. Yet, here was an unexpected delicacy.
Although Kortopi was quieter than in her memories, a quietness not in terms of "sound" but in the aura enveloping her body, some things seemed unchanged.
Unlike the single chocolate candy ball, which could be eaten in one bite, this time she could eat many bites. Kortopi picked up another slice and tasted it herself.
Based on Machi's past understanding of Kortopi, if she didn't finish it, Kortopi probably wouldn't leave.
"..."
Machi was accustomed to it. She had long been accustomed to her members' various eccentric behaviors, such as stubbornly refusing to bring money yet not allowing others to pay for them, or conducting interrogations in the poorly soundproofed base, making it unbearable for others, or making jokes and setting up bets indiscriminately at any occasion, causing chaos, or liking to go incommunicado, with others generally unable to contact them, only for them to initiate contact themselves, and so on and so forth. They were all problem children, and it was best not to take them too seriously.
Kortopi handed Machi another pair of chopsticks.
"..." Machi's expression shifted from calm to numb, and she muttered, "It doesn't seem like the time for this sort of thing."
However, eating together would reduce the waiting time. Besides, this shrimp was truly delicious. It didn't look like a lot, and it would be finished soon. It was a win-win, wasn't it? It wouldn't delay any important matters.
Grasping the chopsticks, Machi chose to stop restraining herself. She stepped forward, occupying the space Kortopi had cleared, picked up a piece of shrimp, dipped it in sauce, and savored it carefully.
"Oh, right," Machi said after swallowing the food, thinking of a faster way to end this bizarre meal. "I think I can pack one for Pakunoda too. Let's get it boxed up?"
"Pakunoda" was Machi's nickname for "Pakunoda." As founding members of the Troupe and rare female companions, they could discuss topics impossible with the male members, and their personalities also matched, so they were very close friends.
Kortopi nodded. The moment she closed the lid of the serving plate, she [picked up] the entire set into her game backpack.
In Machi's eyes, the entire serving set had vanished into thin air. She looked at Kortopi, who showed no particular expression. Just in case, Machi confirmed, "Is that your Nen ability?"
Kortopi nodded.
"It looks very convenient." Since Kortopi had voluntarily displayed her Nen ability, Machi thought this might be a signal. "Can I entrust you with carrying treasures for the Troupe in the future?"
Kortopi nodded.
"Good," Machi lowered her gaze, her eyes softening. "The Boss should be very happy."
No longer needing to worry about the hassle of transporting treasures. Some items were fragile and could not be bumped or jostled. Once, she had accidentally damaged something the Boss wanted and he hadn't said anything, but anyone could sense the oppressive atmosphere emanating from him. What happened to the damaged item afterward was unknown. Perhaps he threw it away, or perhaps he found a way to fix it and then got tired of it before discarding it.
Later, the Boss became much more cautious. Ah, it wasn't easy.
Seeing Kortopi staring at her, Machi added, "There were transport accidents before."
"..." Kortopi nodded, half-believing.
Before the nod was complete, both of them looked towards the kitchen doorway. A dark humanoid figure stepped into the room and then moved, and in the next moment, was in front of them.
It seemed like a very similar scene had occurred in the past... Machi thought, and indeed, her intuition was once again proven correct, just like over a decade ago when Feitan knocked on her door late at night, a chocolate candy ball clenched in his fist.
This time, Feitan pulled a necklace from his pocket and said stiffly, "I think you should change your necklace. The previous one is really an eyesore..."
He let out a sinister chuckle, and his words abruptly stopped—a threatening cliffhanger was often more effective than specifics.
"..." x2
The atmosphere froze. Kortopi first shook her head, and at the same time, Shalnark placed his right hand on the doorframe of the kitchen entrance, urging, "The Boss is leaving... What are you all gathered here for? Is there some incredible treasure?"
Shalnark seemed to misunderstand the situation. With a smiling face, his unusually bright voice dispelled the gloom within the room. He walked towards everyone, brushed past Feitan, and then put his arm around Kortopi's shoulder, tilting his head towards her cheek, and sniffed lightly, "As expected, Kortopi, you've been sneaking food again."
Kortopi licked her lips. Mmm, the lingering taste of the sauce.
"Licking here isn't a good habit," Shalnark said, wiping her just-licked corner of the mouth with his thumb. Her usual expressionless face was reflected in his emerald green eyes.
The distant police sirens were already quite noticeable. Kortopi bit down on Shalnark's finger, which had stopped there. The latter withdrew his smile, which had been barely there, and retracted his hand when she released his finger, as well as the one on her shoulder.
"Time to go," Shalnark said, leading the way, then turning back. "After the activity ends, I'll help you fix your necklace, okay?"
Kortopi raised her hand, pinched his cheek, and the upward force caused his mouth to curve upwards.
Following the pulling motion, Shalnark grinned, "I knew you preferred that necklace."
Let those lingering at the starting line continue to linger.
No thanks.