Feitan and Phinks were already there with three other members. Nine in total—one short.
"Ronnel's already made his move," Shalnark said before Feitan or Franklin could even ask. "He accepted a prince's recruitment offer. Now he's mixed in with the upper circles of the Kakin royal family and feeding us valuable intel."
"The boss agreed to it," he added.
Feitan narrowed his small eyes and glanced at Chrollo, who was seated in the center, head down, casually scrolling through his phone.
"Can he really get any useful info just as a bodyguard?"
"It's already useful~" Chrollo replied, lifting his head with a faint smile. He gave his phone a little shake. "At the very least, Ronnel's already figured out the major events tied to this voyage... and the so-called treasure of the Kakin Empire~"
He tapped his screen and forwarded Ronnel's messages to everyone's phones.
"The Succession War? Egg in the Pot Ceremony? Guardian Spirit Beasts? So that's how it works~" Shalnark murmured in awe as he scrolled through the intel.
"A death match between the princes, huh?" Phinks grinned. "Only one outta the forty-something's gonna make it? That's wild. Honestly, I wouldn't mind being in on that bloodbath. Who cares if it's as a bodyguard—damn, Ronnel really beat us to the punch."
With a half-resigned sigh, he added, "Still, he's the only one who could dig up this much in such a short time. Gotta give it to him."
"Tch~"
Feitan clicked his tongue beside him.
Shalnark leaned in. "So, Boss... now that we've got the scoop, our objective is...?"
"The plan hasn't changed," Chrollo said, eyes gleaming faintly as he stared at a photo on his screen. "It's still Kakin's treasure."
His lips curled into an intrigued smile.
"The Egg in the Pot Ceremony—Kakin royalty's secret to generational succession."
"Got it!"
The veterans who had followed Chrollo for years knew exactly what that smile meant—he was hooked.
And once Chrollo was interested in something, the rest of the Troupe would naturally spring into action.
After all, they were thieves. This kind of job was their bread and butter.
...
They started reviewing the intel on the Black Whale provided by Ronnel—details about the structure of the massive immigration vessel.
The Black Whale was a five-deck behemoth. The first floor housed the Kakin royal family, V5 financial personnel, and the elite staff. Pure luxury.
The second floor belonged to the world's rich and powerful—nobles, celebrities, and moguls.
Below that, floors three through five were where the commoners and other passengers were packed in.
Between the second and third floors was a thick, heavily guarded partition. Armed guards patrolled it 24/7. Only the second-floor personnel could unlock the barrier—those on the third had no access.
Because of this, the battlefield of the Succession War was confined to the top two decks. Everyone below? Out of the game.
That fact annoyed Phinks even more.
Floors three and four were already bad enough, but the fifth? That was the real bottom of the ship—the worst in both living conditions and crowd density.
Naturally, it was a chaotic mix. Criminals, assassins, mercenaries, underground traders—anyone and everyone looking to profit would be on board.
With so many factions in one place, turf wars and sudden flare-ups were inevitable in the early days.
Chrollo figured it would take about a month for a pecking order to form.
Stronger groups would claim the third floor. Weaker ones would be pushed down to the fourth. The losers? They'd be licking their wounds on the fifth floor.
That was the gist of what Ronnel shared and what Chrollo had analyzed with the others.
As for why Ronnel sent all this detailed info—it was obvious.
He wanted to stir things up on the lower decks, hoping the chaos would ripple upward and affect the higher levels too.
More chaos meant more... interesting opportunities.
With their objectives clearer, the Phantom Troupe began preparing accordingly.
Their plans were always straightforward—simple, but brutally effective.
Take Yorknew City, for example. They'd intercepted the underground auction organizers, hijacked the items, and slaughtered any mafia families that got in the way.
No need for subtlety.
This time, though, Chrollo had his eyes on the Dark Continent and what might be waiting beyond the New World.
Unusual plants... bizarre creatures... deadly viruses... diseases more contagious than anything on the known continent.
It was worth preparing, even if it was just the basics—like antidotes.
...
So, with Machi taking the lead, Franklin and Phinks were dragged along to be her pack mules.
"If only Ronnel were here," Phinks grumbled, lugging several bulging shopping bags. "His Pocket ability would be perfect for this."
Franklin, silent as ever, walked beside him.
Machi, meanwhile, was eyeing another stall, clearly interested in grabbing a few more items.
Phinks let out a wail. "Why do women like shopping so much?!"
Unimpressed, Machi gave them both a side-eye.
"I only bought a few things. You two can't even handle that?" she huffed. "If Ronnel were here, I wouldn't have to worry about this at all. His pocket ability solves everything!"
Her voice trailed off as she remembered the day Ronnel fought Hisoka... and the quip he made back then.
...
While the Phantom Troupe busied themselves with logistics, Ronnel was enjoying fine food and drink at a luxury hotel under the Fourteenth Prince's name.
Until the official voyage began, if any prince died before boarding, the Succession War would be void.
That meant things were calm—for now.
No sudden moves. No chaos.
And Queen Oito could breathe easy... for the moment.
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Fanfic is completed on patreon.com/FanficsHub (799 chapters in total)