Lucifer: The Swamp Fruit

The island wasn't large, not even a fifth the size of Fish Scale Island, but it was very prosperous. The town had a considerable population, its streets bustling with people, and the cries of vendors filled the air.

Stepping onto this land, Wilder walked along a straight, wide avenue lined with shops, mostly entertainment establishments. He randomly chose a tavern and went inside, taking a seat in a corner. He called over a waiter and ordered a glass of their "specialty" wine.

It was smooth on the palate, with a light fragrance and a very mild flavor.

"Not bad," Wilder offered a noncommittal assessment. He set down his glass and met the waiter's eager gaze.

"Well..."

"It's merely 'not bad,' so… I won't be giving you a tip for this drink."

This tavern, or rather, all taverns on this island, had an unwritten rule: if you found the wine good, you had to tip the one who introduced it—the waiter. If you declared the wine unsatisfactory, you couldn't drink any more of it. Although he didn't know who had invented such a ridiculous rule—and its only apparent benefit seemed to be wasting alcohol and giving people a chance to scam free drinks and meals—Wilder had no interest in finding out. He was here to relax, not to solve mysteries.

"Bring me another one then."

"Understood." The waiter chuckled and turned to leave.

After a moment, the waiter returned, followed by five burly thugs wielding choppers, glaring menacingly at Wilder. The tavern fell silent. Everyone wore smirks, anticipating a good show. Wilder understood: this "rule" was designed to target outsiders like him. The purpose was obvious—money obtained through extortion always came easier than through legitimate business.

"So...?" Wilder propped his feet on the table, calmly observing the group. He was still wearing his black cloak, his face deeply shadowed within its hood. Even without a mask, it was difficult to see his features clearly.

"This is our tavern's famous wine—the 'Five Great Choppers,'" the waiter said, a sneer on his face as he looked at Wilder. "Please, have a taste." The last few words were spoken in a low, menacing tone.

"Hahaha!" Knowing laughter erupted throughout the tavern. Clearly, this was a long-standing "inside joke" here.

Wilder remained silent, his quietness jarring amidst the laughter... and rather an eyesore, irking some. The laughter gradually died down, and some faces turned cold.

Seeing this, the waiter sneered again, leaning down to confront Wilder. "Hey you... scared, are ya? Huh? How about this: why don't you buy these five choppers? Not expensive, just one million Beli each. A real bargain, really. Wanna consider it?" The waiter's expression was arrogant as he spoke, reaching out to flick Wilder's hood.

"One million Beli each is indeed not expensive. I'll buy them," a calm voice came from within the cloak.

The waiter's hand paused, a smug grin spreading across his face. The crowd also showed dismissive smirks, as if to say, "Just as expected." "Another coward, an easy mark," was everyone's internal thought.

"Now that's the right choice," the waiter said with a triumphant smile, waving a hand backward. The five thugs approached, slamming their choppers onto the table in front of Wilder with a thwack.

"Well then… I've changed my mind. Two million Beli each. Pay up." The waiter planted a foot on the tabletop, leaned down, and revealed a vicious expression.

"Alright," came the reply from the cloak.

The crowd sneered. Of course, some were envious, thinking this was easy money, and watched intently.

Shing!

Blood spurted from the headless neck! A head flew high into the air! The waiter, who had his foot on the table, swayed for a moment then collapsed a few seconds later! Slender fingers emerged from the black cloak, gripping a sword hilt. Blood trickled down the blade.

"Then… this head will count as two million Beli," a low voice rumbled from within the black cloak.

The tavern fell silent. The onlookers' pupils trembled as they stared at the gushing corpse and the head that had rolled to a stop beside it, completely stunned.

Schlick!

A cold glint of steel flashed, and another head flew high! "This one… also counts for two million Beli."

As the words fell, the sword was raised again! This time, the thug facing the blade snapped back to his senses, terror in his eyes, and hastily turned to flee.

Splat!

Blood sprayed. The body, having taken only two steps, faltered and pitched forward. "The third, two million Beli."

"The fourth!"

"The fifth!"

"The sixth!"

Thud! A head hit the floor! The sounds instantly ceased! The tavern was utterly silent. "Rigid" was written on everyone's face. Cold sweat soaked their backs. A trembling quiet descended, so profound one could hear a pin drop.

"Twelve million Beli. Please make the payment," the voice issued again from the black cloak, startling everyone! When they looked at the figure again, they felt as if they were gazing upon a bloodthirsty, ferocious beast.

Gulp!

The sound of swallowing saliva was particularly audible at this moment. The crowd parted, and a middle-aged man walked over, trembling. Looking at the corpses and severed heads on the floor, he swallowed hard, carefully stepped around them, and came before Wilder.

"S-sorry, I will pay your… your… expenses, sir."

"Are you the owner?"

"Y-yes, I am. I failed to discipline my subordinates properly. Please…"

"Just the money."

"Ah?! Y-yes, yes!"

Twelve million Beli were brought over. Wilder spread his cloak, covering the money. When he drew it back, the pile of Beli had vanished. Taking the money, Wilder strolled leisurely out of the tavern, under the terrified, avoidant gazes of the crowd.

He paused at the doorway and said something that made their hearts leap into their throats: "Does your esteemed establishment have any more wines like that 'Five Great Choppers'? My tolerance is quite good; I'd like a few more glasses."

"N-no more! Truly sorry!" the tavern owner stammered, too scared to even lift his head.

Wilder left. Leaving the tavern, he continued along the main road, taking in the island's atmosphere. Twelve million Beli—not a huge sum, but not insignificant either. It would last him a while as spending money.

"This feeling of not killing everyone... isn't half bad." Wilder mused that the tavern owner should thank him for his mercy, and thank the heavens even more for granting him, Wilder, such a kind heart.

"Did you hear? A batch of good stuff has arrived for this auction. Rumor has it… there's even one of those legendary items!"

"Then hurry! If we're late, someone else will snatch up all the good things!"

Two people walking past inadvertently dropped this conversation. Wilder paused, watching them depart, a thoughtful expression on his face. "An auction, huh..." Might be worth checking out.