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Ryan had never planned on letting any of them live.
He needed ability users.
His power demanded more and more of them if he wanted to grow stronger.
Blood Tumor Manipulation.
All he had to do was inject his own blood into a target's body. That blood would turn into a second brain inside them.
A second brain that completely overpowered the original one.
The blood-formed brain sat inside the victim like a tumor—a blood tumor that obeyed Ryan's every command without question.
Even better, anyone controlled by one of these tumors had all their physical potential forcibly unlocked, exploding with far greater power than they'd ever possessed.
The only real downside was that keeping each blood-tumor warrior alive required him to constantly feed it more of his own blood.
But in the garbage mountains, human lives were the cheapest thing around.
The very place everyone else avoided like the plague was heaven for Ryan.
People who washed up here died, and no one cared.
Even if they rotted away inside their tents, the black clouds of flies and writhing maggots would notice first. Anyone who stumbled across the pus-filled corpse would only wonder whether the body was still worth anything on the organ market.
Ryan slipped on the mask he had prepared earlier and watched coldly as everyone in the room collapsed under the sleeping gas.
Then he pulled out a syringe filled with his controllable blood.
All he had to do now was inject each of them one by one, and they would become his puppets.
He stayed cautious the entire time.
Even after most of them had fallen, the room's exit was exposed.
But guarding that exit were his existing blood-tumor puppets, guns already raised.
Each of these puppets had two heads. One was their original human head, twisted forever in agony. The second was a grotesque, fully blood-red tumor head that had sprouted from the shoulder, chest, spine—wherever. These secondary heads had almost no facial features and looked utterly monstrous.
A few people who hadn't been fully knocked out by the gas tried to rush the exit. Others turned on Ryan himself.
They all failed.
When the dust finally settled, only Ryan and his eleven brand-new blood-tumor ability users remained inside the villa room.
---
Ronin's group moved smoothly through the garbage mountain with Shizuku leading the way.
Ryan's villa stood out like a sore thumb amid the trash heaps. For one thing, it was the only proper building around. For another, it sat right at the peak of the garbage mountain—you could see it from miles away as you approached.
No one tried to block them on the trash-covered path leading up.
The people living in these garbage slums stared at Ronin's group with a mix of mockery and total numbness.
Tents lined both sides of the path. Most were open, but there were almost no corpses visible—only the occasional person in a hazmat suit moving around.
No one knew exactly what they were collecting.
Every now and then a seagull would fly overhead. When one turned its head, the bloody chunk of meat dangling from its beak sent a chill down the spine.
It was a human eyeball. Or a pair of lips.
Dead bodies were common in Meteor City.
But a place with this many corpses where people still kept pouring in to live? That was rare.
"Don't ask me. I don't understand this stuff," Shizuku said with her usual blank, clueless expression.
"Because living here means you can eat," Kurapika said, pointing toward a moving vehicle not far away.
A crowd had gathered around it. Everyone walking away carried a steaming bowl of white porridge.
Kurapika pointed in another direction. "And you get first pick of the fresh garbage."
Following his finger, they saw several garbage trucks dumping fresh loads at the foot of the mountain.
Groups of people who had just finished eating were sprinting toward the new piles, joining the frantic scavenging.
"Danger and opportunity in the same package. Ryan really understands human nature," Ronin muttered.
"How long has this place existed?" Kurapika asked Shizuku.
Shizuku rubbed her head, looking unsure. "Maybe three or four years?"
Important information never stayed in her head for long.
But the answer was enough for Kurapika. He had already guessed as much. Shizuku's words simply confirmed it.
Kurapika sighed. "The population living in this garbage mountain probably hasn't grown in a long time."
Ronin immediately understood what he meant.
For people who lived off scavenging, the garbage mountain was the perfect habitat.
New people kept arriving to live here, but after three or four years there was no overcrowding. That meant only one thing: the people entering the mountain were constantly being consumed, and the population was being deliberately maintained at a fixed number.
What was Ryan's goal?
Organ trafficking? Human experimentation? Or did he just enjoy killing for fun?
Looking at the trucks handing out free porridge, Ronin didn't think it was simple sadism. The guy was hiding something bigger.
There was no such thing as a free lunch.
Especially not in Meteor City. Pouring money and resources into garbage shipments and free food just so some trash could worship him? The man was practically a saint by Meteor City standards.
The higher they climbed the garbage mountain, the fewer people they saw.
In the distance, Ryan's villa gates stood wide open. A butler in a pristine tailcoat stood respectfully outside, waiting for them.
There was no reason to hesitate. The group simply picked up their pace.
During the climb, Ronin casually flicked a kunai into a nearby pile of trash.
As they got closer, the butler's face broke into a perfect, professional smile. He bowed deeply.
"Honored guests from afar, Elder Ryan has prepared the finest banquet in the hall for you. Please, follow me."
Ronin's group exchanged glances. After Kurapika gave a small nod, they followed the butler inside.
The moment Ronin stepped into the villa, he expanded his En.
It didn't cover very far, but it was enough to give him early warning. He wished he had a proper sensory ninjutsu—those were usually far more effective than his current En range.
The old butler's expression shifted slightly the instant Ronin's En passed over him.
Both Ronin and Kurapika caught it immediately.
They shared a quick look but said nothing.
They both knew now—the butler pretending to be an ordinary servant was actually a Nen user.