Want to read ahead? Join my Patreon for just $7 to get early access to all upcoming chapters!
> Patreon.com/NegativeTranslations
________________________________________
Chapter 108: Blood Tumor Manipulation
Ryan had never planned on letting any of them leave alive. He needed Nen users. His ability demanded a constant supply of them in order to cultivate his own overwhelming power.
[Blood Tumor Manipulation]. By injecting his own blood into a target's body, Ryan could force that blood to mutate into a secondary brain. This new, parasitic brain completely suppressed the host's original consciousness, acting as a grotesque tumor that obeyed his every command. More importantly, the host under the blood tumor's control would have their physical limiters forcefully removed, allowing them to output terrifying levels of strength.
The only drawback was the immense upkeep; each Blood Tumor Puppet required a continuous supply of Ryan's blood to remain active. But here on Garbage Mountain, human lives were the cheapest commodity of all.
What others saw as a hellscape to be avoided at all costs, Ryan viewed as an absolute paradise. The people who washed up here were already forgotten. If they died, they died. No one would bat an eye. Even if they rotted away in their tents, covered in a black swarm of flies and writhing with maggots, the only thought crossing a scavenger's mind upon finding them would be whether their liquefied remains held anything worth a meal.
Ryan strapped on a gas mask he had prepared in advance and watched impassively as the men collapsed one by one. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a heavy syringe filled with his own manipulated blood. Now, all he had to do was inject them one by one, and they would become his perfect tools.
Despite the overwhelming advantage, Ryan remained cautious. He waited until the vast majority had succumbed before remotely opening the exit to the room. However, the path to freedom was heavily guarded by his existing Blood Tumor Puppets, all armed with assault rifles.
These puppets were horrifying to look at. Each possessed two heads: one was their original human face, forever frozen in an expression of twisted agony; the other was a bright, blood-red mass of flesh erupting from their shoulder, chest, or spine. The second head lacked distinct facial features, making it look utterly demonic.
A few men who had managed to resist the gas tried to force their way past the guards. Others made a desperate play for Ryan himself. All of them failed.
When the dust finally settled, the only things left breathing in the room were Ryan and his eleven brand-new Blood Tumor Nen users.
Outside, Ronin's group progressed smoothly under Shizuku's guidance. Ryan's villa was impossible to miss. Not only was it the only mansion in the area, but it was perched at the absolute peak of Garbage Mountain, dominating the skyline for miles.
As they walked through the refuse-lined paths leading up the slope, they faced no resistance. The scavengers living among the trash merely stared at them. A few eyes held mocking amusement, but the vast majority were entirely numb.
Tents littered the side of the road. Many lay open, revealing empty interiors, though occasionally, they spotted figures in hazmat suits meticulously collecting something from the ruins. Seagulls circled overhead. Whenever one turned its head, the morbid reality of the place set in—the birds were carrying human eyeballs and strips of flesh in their beaks.
Death was common in Meteor City. But a place with this much concentrated death, yet still attracting a constant stream of new arrivals, was highly unusual.
"Don't look at me, I don't get it either," Shizuku said, her face a picture of innocent ignorance.
"It's because living here guarantees a meal," Kurapika said, pointing toward a slow-moving truck in the distance. A large crowd had gathered around it, and everyone walking away was holding a steaming bowl of white porridge.
Kurapika then pointed in the opposite direction. "And they get first pick of the garbage."
Following his gaze, they saw a fleet of dump trucks indiscriminately releasing fresh loads of trash at the foot of the mountain. The people who had just finished their porridge immediately sprinted down the slope, desperately joining the chaotic scramble for scraps.
"Danger and opportunity, side by side. Ryan certainly understands human nature," Ronin observed.
"How long has this place been operating?" Kurapika asked, turning to Shizuku.
Shizuku rubbed her temples, trying to recall. "Maybe three or four years?" she offered uncertainly. Trivial information never stayed in her head for long.
But her answer was enough. Kurapika had already formed his own hypothesis, and her casual estimation essentially confirmed it. He let out a slow sigh. "The population of this Garbage Mountain probably hasn't grown in a very long time."
Ronin immediately caught his meaning. For the scavengers of Meteor City, this mountain was a veritable utopia. Naturally, there should have been an endless influx of people trying to settle here. Yet, after three or four years, there were no signs of overcrowding. That meant only one thing: the population was being systematically culled and maintained at a very specific number.
What is Ryan's end game? Ronin wondered. Organ harvesting? Human experimentation? Or did he just kill for sport?
Looking at the truck handing out free food, Ronin doubted it was mere entertainment. There were deeper, darker secrets hidden here. There was no such thing as a free lunch—especially not in Meteor City. To spend massive amounts of wealth and resources coordinating the garbage dumps and distributing food, just to have a bunch of trash-pickers worship him? No one was that benevolent.
As they ascended higher, the population thinned out drastically. In the distance, the heavy iron gates of the villa stood wide open. An elderly butler in an immaculate tuxedo stood waiting patiently at the entrance.
They had no reason to back down now. The group picked up their pace. As they walked, Ronin casually flicked a kunai into a nearby pile of trash.
When they finally approached, the butler offered a practiced, flawless smile and bowed deeply. "Guests from afar, Elder Ryan has prepared an exquisite feast for you in the banquet hall. Please, follow me."
Ronin and Kurapika exchanged a look. Kurapika gave a slight nod, and the group stepped through the gates.
The moment they crossed the threshold, Ronin expanded his [En]. It didn't cover a massive distance, but it was enough to serve as an early warning system. Unfortunately, his arsenal of ninjutsu lacked dedicated sensory techniques; otherwise, they would have far outclassed his current [En].
As the invisible wave of aura washed over the old butler, the man's expression twitched imperceptibly.
Ronin and Kurapika caught it instantly. Neither said a word, but the silent communication was clear: this "ordinary" butler was a Nen user.
________________________________________
Support this fanfict by leaving Positive Review, Comments, and Power Stones.
For Advance Chapters:
> Patreon.com/NegativeTranslations