บท 31: Chrollo's True Face
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Chrollo opened his mouth, but before he could deny the claim, Haruto's aura intensified. His energy flared brighter, fiercer, a savage wind whipping around them. "Did you kill one of my subjects for your own selfish gains? Were you going to massacre a whole clan, elders and children, for profit?" His voice was quiet, but each word hit with the force of a thunderclap, echoing through the clearing.
"Chrollo, how does that distinguish you from the people who crammed us into this trash city? Are you any better than those who belittle us, who murder us without a fair trial?"
His words left a vacuum, a silence so profound it was as if the world held its breath. Even Chrollo's Troupe seemed taken aback, their eyes wide and shocked. Franklin's mouth hung open, his heavy brows furrowed deep. Pakunoda clutched her pistol tighter, her typically calm demeanor faltering. Machi's knuckles turned white around her needle, her eyes a mirror of disbelief.
Their leader, Chrollo, stood there, bearing the full brunt of Haruto's accusation. His inky hair, usually immaculate, clung to his forehead, and sweat dripped down his face, pooling at the collar of his shirt. He was a man cornered, his silver eyes betraying his turmoil.
All this time, Sarasa had been one of them, a comrade, a friend. Now, her memory was marred by this shocking allegation. Their leader, the man they trusted, was now under scrutiny. And they were forced to look, really look at him, as if seeing him for the first time.
Pakunoda's boots scrunched the underbrush as she moved, her expression distorted with a rage so fierce it was almost palpable. She bore down on Chrollo, her every step a statement of her intent. But when her determined march brought her within arm's reach of the cornered man, Chrollo's face twisted into an ugly, defensive snarl.
"You doubt me? ME? Pakunoda?" His voice was a rasp, choked with indignation, and his Nen sparked around him like a volatile tempest.
Before Pakunoda could respond, Haruto cut through the mounting tension with a single, icy command. "Sit." The sheer authority of his tone was astounding. And to the surprise of the watching Troupe, Chrollo found himself complying against his will. He sunk to his knees, eyes wide and brimming with disbelief, as if he himself couldn't comprehend what was happening.
Pakunoda, unrelenting, stepped closer. She crouched before the downed man, and her hand shot out, a claw poised to pierce the veil of Chrollo's memories. Her touch on his arm was firm, and her voice held an edge of bitter steel as she began her inquisition.
"Did you kill Sarasa?" Her words were pointed, laced with the venom of betrayal. Pakunoda drew in a shaky breath, her face hardening with each succeeding question. "Why?" she started, her voice cold and unforgiving. "Who were those people?" Her glare never wavered. "Why Sarasa, and not one of us?" Her gaze bore into Chrollo. "Since when are you so obsessed?"
With every word, her face contorted further into a grotesque display of betrayal, a grimace shared by everyone witnessing the exchange. She then turned to Haruto, her hard eyes softening slightly as she found her words.
"Yes, it was Chrollo who killed Sarasa." Her declaration was a knife, cutting the air of uncertainty. "Tserriednich, the Fourth Prince of the Kakin Empire, he was the one who issued the order of the Kurta Clan's massacre. Promising Chrollo immense riches, a multitude of Nen Abilities to copy. Chrollo knew he couldn't do it alone, and even his troupe wouldn't harm children and elderly without cause. So, he schemed."
Chrollo's gaze flit away, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. A terrible silence hung heavily, everyone waiting for Pakunoda's next words.
"Sarasa..." she swallowed, "Sarasa was weak. We all learnt Nen, honed our Hatsu... But she... she struggled." Her voice was filled with bitter memories, harsh truths wrapped around a past they wished was a lie. "Just because she was with us since we were small, just because she was one of us, we let her tag along. But she was pulling us down."
In the silence that followed, Uvogin moved closer to Haruto. His voice was a hushed whisper, just loud enough for Haruto to hear. "The bastard doesn't deserve to lead." His words were heavy with loathing, the unspoken question echoing between them.
Haruto's gaze hardened, his violet eyes shimmering with a lethal and cold sheen. Chrollo's fate had been sealed the moment he orchestrated the merciless death of his own comrade for his selfish gain. The world, Haruto realized, was full of individuals who viewed lives as mere tools for their ambitions, just like Chrollo, and it sickened him.
"Chrollo Lucilfer," Haruto's voice cut through the dense silence like a blade, "I sentence you to death."
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Chrollo spat, indignation making him sound more pitiful than menacing. "Do you know who I am? I am Chrollo, I will lead us from this poverty."
Haruto merely snorted, an air of palpable confidence radiating off him. "I am your King, your God, and your death." His words were devoid of arrogance, a mere statement of fact that hung in the air.
In an instant, Haruto vanished, only to reappear next to Chrollo in the blink of an eye. Before anyone could process what was happening, Haruto's hand swiped across Chrollo's neck with a swift and decisive movement. A moment later, Chrollo's head separated from his body, flying through the air in a horrific arc. Blood sprayed in a crimson fan, droplets catching in the sunlight before falling to the earth, seeping into the thirsty ground.
Chrollo's body crumpled onto the floor, the lifeless thud echoing ominously in the silence that followed. His head rolled to a stop, glassy eyes staring into the void, his final expression one of disbelief and dread. Haruto turned away from the ghastly sight, a cold detachment evident on his face.
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