Ryan had never intended to let everyone live from the very beginning.
What he needed were Nen users.
Because of his ability, the more Nen users he controlled, the stronger he could become.
"Blood-Tumor Manipulation."
As long as Ryan could inject his blood into a target's body, that blood would transform into the target's second brain.
And it wasn't just any second brain—it would suppress the original one.
This blood-formed brain sat inside the host like a "blood tumor."
A blood tumor that obeyed Ryan completely.
More importantly, anyone under a blood tumor's control would have their physical potential forcibly stimulated, letting them erupt with far greater power.
The only downside was that each "blood-tumor soldier" required him to continuously feed in blood to maintain the control.
But here in the trash mountains, human life was the cheapest thing in the world.
Places other people avoided like the plague were paradise to Ryan instead.
People who washed up here could die and no one would care.
Even if they rotted inside a tent—until the black swarm of flies found them, until the writhing maggots churned through the corpse—whoever discovered it would only be thinking whether this pus-and-water mess could still be worth a meal.
Ryan put on the mask he'd prepared long ago and watched coldly as everyone was knocked out by the sedative gas.
Then he pulled out a syringe. Inside it was blood he could manipulate.
Now all he had to do was inject that blood into people one by one, and he could seize control of them.
Even so, Ryan stayed cautious throughout.
Once most people collapsed, the room's exit became fully exposed.
But that exit was guarded by armed blood-tumor puppets.
Each puppet had two heads: one normal head, twisted into a distorted, agonized expression—
and another head, a grotesque red mass grown from the shoulder or chest, sometimes even the spine.
That second head was blood-red, with barely any facial features, horrifying to look at.
A few people resisted the sleeping gas and tried to force their way out the moment the exit was revealed.
Others turned their attention to Ryan himself.
But everyone failed.
When the dust settled, the only ones left in the villa room were Ryan—
and eleven newly acquired blood-tumor Nen users.
Meanwhile, Ronin and the others, guided by Shizuku, made their way without much trouble.
Ryan's villa was impossible to miss in the trash mountains: first, it was the only villa around, and second, it had been built at the very top of the garbage heap. The moment you got close, you could see it from far away.
No one tried to stop them on the winding trash paths leading up.
In the eyes of the people living on the trash mountains, Ronin's group drew some mocking looks—but far more numb indifference.
Tents lined the way. Yet inside most of them, no bodies were visible—only the occasional figure in protective gear.
No one knew what, exactly, they were busy collecting.
Now and then, seabirds wheeled overhead. But whenever one turned its head and exposed what it carried in its beak, it made your skin crawl—
human eyeballs, or strips of lip and flesh.
Death was common in Meteor City.
But a place like this—where there were so many dead, and yet people still streamed in nonstop—was rare even here.
"Don't ask me. I don't get it," Shizuku said, looking honestly bewildered.
"It's because living here means you can eat," Kurapika said, pointing toward a mobile cart in the distance.
A crowd gathered around it, and everyone who left had a steaming bowl of white porridge in hand.
Kurapika pointed another way. "And you can get first pick of the trash."
Following his finger, they saw garbage trucks dumping full loads at the base of the trash mountain.
Groups of people—fresh from eating—sprinted over and threw themselves into scavenging.
"Danger and opportunity side by side," Ronin murmured. "Ryan really understands how to work human nature."
"How long has this been here?" Kurapika asked Shizuku.
Shizuku rubbed her head, then gave an uncertain answer. "Maybe… three or four years?"
Unimportant details never stayed in her head for long.
But for Kurapika, that was enough—if anything, it confirmed what he already suspected.
Kurapika let out a quiet sigh. "The population living on this trash mountain… probably hasn't increased in a long time."
Ronin immediately understood what he meant.
For scavengers, the trash mountain was practically the perfect place to survive.
So people kept coming in—but if three or four years passed and the place still didn't look overcrowded, there was only one explanation:
Everyone who entered was being consumed at a steady rate, keeping the population at a fixed number.
Why would Ryan do that?
Organ trafficking? Human experiments? Or killing for fun?
But looking at that porridge cart, Ronin didn't think it was mindless cruelty.
It felt like there was a secret underneath it all.
There was no such thing as a free lunch.
And in a place like Meteor City, spending money and resources to keep trash deliveries coming and porridge flowing—just so a bunch of "worthless people" could admire you—was absurd.
That would make Ryan a saint of Meteor City.
As they climbed higher and higher, there were fewer people around. And soon, they could see the villa gates ahead—already open.
A butler in a tailcoat stood outside, waiting respectfully.
At this point, there was no reason to retreat. They quickened their pace.
Along the way, Ronin casually flicked a kunai into the garbage pile.
When they arrived, the butler put on a perfect smile and bowed.
"Honored guests from afar. Elder Ryan has prepared the finest delicacies for you in the banquet hall. Please, follow me."
Ronin and the others exchanged glances. When Kurapika gave a small nod, they stepped into the villa.
The moment Ronin crossed the threshold, he spread his En outward.
Its range wasn't large, but it was enough to give early warning. Unfortunately, none of the ninjutsu he knew was truly suited to sensory detection—otherwise, ninjutsu could easily surpass his current En.
As Ronin's En washed over the elderly butler, the man's expression flickered—just slightly.
Ronin and Kurapika both caught it instantly.
They looked at each other without speaking, but both understood:
This "ordinary" butler was a Nen user too.
~~~
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