[157]: The Harvest
It was hard to tell exactly how much stronger they had become. But one thing was certain— their pain tolerance had skyrocketed.
On the first day of training, they were beaten black and blue by Cyr's Nen bullets. It hurt so much they could only sleep standing up. Lying down? Impossible.
Yet, even then, Cyr was not satisfied.
"Not good enough. Still too weak."
"I should probably add some weights on you."
Saying that, he took off the heavy training bands from his own wrists and ankles— And strapped them onto Killua and Gon instead.
That was the moment they realized— The accessories he always wore weren't just for show.
They were— so heavy they could probably crush a man.
Even Killua, who had been wearing weighted gear since childhood, winced in pain when they were put on.
"…This isn't just 'heavy.'"
"This is like carrying an entire mountain!"
"…Is it really that bad?" Cyr looked at them, genuinely confused.
He seemed honestly surprised that they were this weak.
"…It's nothing."
"No problem at all."
Killua and Gon refused to admit defeat.
At that moment, both of them shared the same unspoken thought—
No way were they going to let this guy look down on them.
Under such intense training, the two of them rapidly improved.
Before they knew it— two weeks had passed.
By then, Tzesguerra had already used the "Leave" card to exit Greed Island. Maro and Dora had returned to his side.
As expected, the Bombers had their full attention on Tzesguerra, never even considering wasting a "Companion" card on Maro or Sora.
Meanwhile, Goreinu remained in the shadows, assisting them from the sidelines.
"It's time," Gon said, exchanging glances with Killua and Biscuit.
The three of them bumped fists, their movements steady and determined.
They pretended to accidentally run into the three Bombers, before splitting up— forcing their enemies to chase them separately.
"From darkness they rise, into darkness they return… All filth and impurity— be purged."
Cyr extended a hand, chanting the incantation.
A circular, semi-transparent, dark gray barrier materialized, covering himself, Maro, and Sora.
This was the Curtain, a technique used by Jujutsu Sorcerers to isolate energy fluctuations and muffle sound, preventing outsiders from noticing them.
Leisurely, he hovered in the sky, watching the battle unfold below.
Killua and Biscuit ended their fights quickly.
Among the three Bombers, only Genthru was truly strong.
The other two? They were small fry.
Which meant— Gon's battle was the longest and most intense.
Even after two weeks of emergency training, victory only came at a great cost.
His throat was damaged, his hands shattered, and he even lost an arm in the struggle.
But in the end— he won.
Genthru was still alive, but severely injured and unconscious.
Gon, with his one remaining working hand, dragged the unconscious Bomber to their agreed-upon meeting point.
It was time to divide the spoils.
Cyr dispelled the Barrier and descended with Maro and Sora.
"You really look like a mess," he said to Gon, his voice calm but without any mockery.
He didn't dislike people who risked everything to win.
Courage was easy to talk about, but rare to truly possess.
"Wake up."
Cyr shoved his hands into his pockets, then stepped on Genthru's face— pressing down twice before pulling back.
The Bomber's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry.
The first thing he saw— several faces staring down at him.
Three brats… No, four…
Wait— what's with the giant beast?
Because Sora had been flying all this time, the Bombers had never noticed it before.
It had always been Maro doing the direct work, while Sora— much like Goreinu— played a support role.
Turning his head slightly, Genthru's heart sank when he saw his two teammates.
They were tied up like pigs, their faces so battered and swollen, he could barely recognize them.
"Hand it over— your Card Book."
Gon's voice was calm but firm.
Genthru looked at his teammates… then at himself…
After a long silence, he made his choice.
"Book." Genthru called out, summoning his Card Book.
"Here." Gon handed the book over to Cyr.
"There are a lot of duplicate cards in here. You probably don't even need them…" His left eye was swollen shut, his voice hoarse beyond recognition— yet he still grinned as he spoke.
"…Ah, I have no interest in duplicates."
Cyr flipped through the pages carelessly, picking out the specific cards he was missing.
The group divided up the Bombers' collection.
In an instant— Cyr's specified card count reached 99.
Just one more card, and he could clear the game.
Jackpot.
As expected— farming others was the fastest way to get rich.
Gon fought the battle, Gon took the injuries— and he? He got first pick of the loot.
…Was this too capitalist of him?
No, no. Gon was the one who insisted on fighting the Bombers.
He was merely kind enough to help make Gon's wish come true.
Yes— he was a good person.
Cyr silently praised his own generosity.
"Oh, right. Don't forget to duplicate 'Breath of the Archangel' for us," Killua reminded him from the side.
Gon was beaten half to death, yet Cyr hadn't offered to heal him even once. Clearly— he couldn't be bothered.
Which meant— they had to rely on 'Breath of the Archangel' to fix Gon up.
Good thing they had prepared duplication cards in advance.
"Use 'Duplicate'…"
Cyr casually activated the spell, creating three copies of 'Breath of the Archangel.'
He handed two of the duplicates to Killua and kept the original in his own Card Book.
One copy healed Gon.
Another copy healed one of the Bombers.
That left two people…
Gon looked at Cyr expectantly.
"Can we borrow it again to make another copy?" He grinned in a pleading tone.
"I'm afraid not."
Cyr smiled back.
Before Gon could even ask why, Cyr pulled out the original card— and handed it to Biscuit.
"Use 'Duplicate'."
Biscuit activated the spell— but the moment she did, a system notification rang out.
"'Breath of the Archangel' has reached the maximum card limit of 3. The duplication card will now be destroyed."
The duplicated card vanished from Biscuit's hands.
The golden-haired girl froze in place.
"See? Just like that."
Cyr plucked the card from Biscuit's grasp, his tone utterly nonchalant.
The card limit was 3.
A moment ago, they had 3 copies.
But after using two, they were left with one.
And now— If someone else had used a voucher to summon another 'Breath of the Archangel'…
The card slots would be full again.
Which meant— no more duplication.
Judging by what just happened, it was obvious—someone had done this on purpose.
The timing was too precise.
Whoever did it must have known their every move and had been monitoring their card count the entire time.
In this game—there was only one person left who fit that description.
Goreinu.
After all, Tzesguerra had already left Greed Island.
Just as Cyr reached that conclusion, Gon's Card Book received a communication request from Goreinu.
Not long after—Goreinu arrived at their meeting point.
Gon immediately asked Goreinu if they could use 'Breath of the Archangel' to heal the remaining two Bombers.
As expected—Goreinu refused.
In his eyes, the Bombers—murderers who had killed countless players—weren't worth wasting a rare card on.
For a moment—Gon hesitated.
He looked at the injured Bombers still lying on the ground, then at Goreinu, then at Cyr—his face filled with internal conflict.
It was as if he was trying to find a solution or deciding who to persuade.
"You're overthinking this." Cyr let out a sigh.
"Because… because the three of us agreed earlier that we'd heal the others…" Gon clenched his fists.
It was a promise he, Killua, and Biscuit had made.
"Don't worry— you won't have to struggle with that decision for much longer."
Cyr's lips curled into a smirk.
"Dismantle."
In a single instant—an invisible slash severed the throats of all three Bombers at once.
They were already powerless to resist.
Which meant—killing them was effortless.
"Now that they're dead, 'Breath of the Archangel' is useless on them."
"It only heals injuries and illnesses— it can't bring back the dead, can it?"
"Alright then— let's celebrate! No more dilemmas!"
"Hurry up and finish the game already. I've been stuck here long enough."
The white-haired, blue-eyed boy spoke with eerie indifference.
As if he didn't notice Gon's stunned expression—or the shock written across everyone else's faces.
He had zero interest in playing Gon's little moral dilemma game.
The easiest way to end the debate? Erase the problem altogether.
Unless, of course, Gon wanted to bring them back to life.
If that were the case—Cyr would love to see how he planned to do it.
The agreement had only one condition—if Gon lost, Cyr would kill the Bombers.
But nowhere in the deal did it say—if Gon won, Cyr had to let them live.
To Cyr—their lives were meaningless.
But if they had any chance of harming his interests, wasting his time, or ruining his mood…
Sorry— but just do us all a favor and die already.
°°°
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