Chapter 116

"You bunch of death row inmates should have been dealt with already."

"But considering you've just finished feasting, I imagine your stomachs aren't exactly empty. So, instead of a 'last meal,' I figure this might interest you more.

"Of course, if you insist on the 'last meal' tradition, I'll grant you that dying wish."

"No need to change!!"

The eight or nine prisoners shouted in unison.

At the same time, they lunged towards the pile of weapons in front of them.

"You turned us in, now we're doomed. Well, you bastards can forget about living peacefully, too!"

The despair that once filled their eyes was swiftly replaced by sheer madness.

Their minds and hearts were now consumed with a burning hatred, targeting the group of individuals who had successfully gotten away.

"No!!"

On the far right, panic erupted among the crowd.

The group began pushing and shoving, scrambling in terror to avoid the approaching inmates armed with swords, knives, spears, and other weapons.

The former noble elites, now on the brink of death, resembled nothing more than thieves and bandits.

Their vicious glares and feral expressions were more ruthless than any common outlaw.

"You said you wouldn't kill us!!"

One individual, barely dodging an attack, shouted desperately towards Morin above.

"Did I lay a hand on you?"

Morin maintained his usual indifferent expression. "I simply tossed down some weapons, that's all. If you don't wish to be lambs led to the slaughter, you should know what to do."

His words were clear—those below who didn't understand had no reason to keep living.

With gleaming blades swung at them, none of them would stand idle, resigning themselves to death without resistance.

The scene turned into utter carnage.

After the initial chaos and panic, the guests on the far right began to act. While desperately dodging the attacks, they noticed the abundance of weapons Morin had thrown down.

Having no other choice, they too grabbed the weapons scattered on the ground and fought back fiercely against the eight or nine crazed inmates.

One group, resigned to their fate, fought with a desperate, fearless determination, like cornered beasts. Their relentless savagery was unparalleled, revealing the worst depths of human nature.

Their opponents, though greater in number, clung to the slim hope that surviving to the end would spare their lives. This cowardice led many to hang back, hoping others would do the fighting for them.

One side fought with the reckless courage of the doomed, while the other was paralyzed by fear and selfish motives. Despite the disparity in numbers, the battle was fiercely contested.

What had been a jovial upper-class banquet transformed into a blood-soaked hellscape.

The scene seemed as though demons from the underworld had risen to orchestrate this massacre, shrouding the place in blood and despair.

The air was filled with the sounds of blades cutting flesh, cries of pain, wails, screams, desperate shouts, deranged laughter, and the echoes of despair.

The cacophony created a gruesome symphony that lingered in the ears.

"So this is what noble combat looks like," Morin observed the desperate slaughter below.

"And it's truly, unbelievably pathetic."

In the face of survival, the nobles abandoned all pretense of dignity, their behavior too shameful to watch.

Before long, the fighting began to die down.

Not because a victor had emerged, but because...

A sea of bloodied eyes turned upward, glaring at Morin above the railing.

Weapons gripped tightly in hand, they stared at Morin's calm face, their gazes filled with both hatred and murderous intent.

Some even licked their bloodstained lips with feral eagerness.

"Think you've become the hunters and I the prey, now that you have weapons?"

Faced with this eerie display of unity among the nobles, Morin showed no fear.

Instead, he chuckled.

"I thought you wouldn't think that far ahead, but it seems you're not completely stupid."

"Still, don't forget—those weapons in your hands? I gave them to you. Do you really think you can fight me?"

"Or have you already started lying to yourselves, clinging to the illusion of a last, desperate lifeline?"

"But I did say I wouldn't kill you, and I meant it."

He turned towards the banquet hall's main door.

In the next moment—

BOOM!

The door exploded, the force and flying debris knocking several nobles off their feet.

"HAHAHA! I'm not late, am I?!"

A hearty laugh rang out as Uvogin's towering figure appeared in the doorway.

Standing with hands on his hips and a toothy grin, he seemed delighted.

"Had a great time tonight! Is there some impromptu activity going on here?"

Two jets of white mist puffed from his nostrils as he walked in, curious about the scene.

Following him were Franklin and Feitan.

The rest of the group had stayed outside, waiting with Chrollo.

"What's going on here?!"

Upon entering, Uvogin was struck by the strong stench of blood.

His gaze fell on the bloodied nobles holding a variety of weapons, their faces twisted with rage and desperation.

"Are they... nobles?"

Feitan, trailing behind, glanced at the crowd and turned to Franklin.

"They... should be?"

Franklin scratched his head, uncertain.

Given the nobles' current state—disheveled clothes, grimy appearances, and menacing postures—it was hard to associate them with the term "upper class."

They resembled gladiators fresh from the arena.

"Yo, Morin!"

Uvogin's sharp eyes quickly spotted Morin leaning against the railing above. He waved with a grin.

"So this is where you've been!"

Then, as if remembering something, he pointed at the nobles. "Did you do this?"

"They did it to themselves," Morin replied succinctly.

"Really?"

Uvogin nodded, seemingly understanding, though it was clear he didn't care to know the details.

Noticing the restless nobles, he clenched his fists, clearly eager for action.

"The way they're looking at me is starting to tick me off."

"If you want, they're all yours," Morin said indifferently.

"Really? But aren't they your prey?"

"I'm not interested in such weak prey."

"Haha, as expected of you, Morin!"

With a burst of laughter, Uvogin launched himself at the nobles like a cannonball.

Once more, blood and flesh flew in all directions.

"How pitiful," Feitan remarked.

Having already enjoyed his fill of excitement for the night, he showed no interest in competing for the "prey."

As for Franklin, whether or not he joined the fight didn't seem to matter.

It was a prelude to the bloody symphony they would later conduct in the underground auction massacre ten years later in Yorknew City—a performance on a much grander scale.

Against Uvogin, even a horde of untrained, weapon-wielding nobles stood no chance.

The one-sided slaughter didn't even take enough time to fill his appetite for a challenge.

"So killing nobles feels the same as those martial artists I crushed in Heaven's Arena," Uvogin muttered, unimpressed as he surveyed the aftermath.

"Let's go."

With no signs of life left in the hall—not even the arms dealer Joggram—Morin gestured for the troupe to leave.

"Did you secure the target?"

As they walked, Feitan asked Morin.

"Got it all."

Morin casually tossed a crown to Feitan.

"You're faster. Take it to Chrollo and regroup with the others at the agreed location."

"Got it."

Feitan nodded and sped ahead, disappearing in a flash.

Morin, Franklin, and Uvogin continued through the palace, stepping over the corpses of fallen soldiers.

"These soldiers were something," Uvogin said, recounting his "glorious battle."

"They had decent weapons, plenty of ammo, and were well-trained. Almost scratched me a couple of times."

He analyzed, "Their numbers and preparedness made it seem like they'd been expecting us. But when we reached the treasury, their response was far from organized…"

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