The Hunter of Pirates

The auction hall's design resembled that of an opera house. On the first floor, semi-circular rows of seats fanned out, all facing the stage where every attendee could clearly view the auction items.

The second floor consisted of private, wall-mounted booths, each connected to the ground by a sloping staircase that led directly to the auction stage.

At the moment, the venue was packed.

Even the exclusive booths on the second floor, with their stringent access requirements, were completely filled.

On the opulent, gold-lit auction stage, a composed middle-aged auctioneer enthusiastically congratulated a buyer who had just won a bid for a female slave.

In the front row, Sol's predatory gaze followed the newly purchased female slave, his wolf-like eyes roaming over her sensitive areas.

"Gulp."

Sol swallowed involuntarily.

Only when the female slave was taken backstage did he regretfully smack his lips.

Next to him, Arthur discreetly shifted away.

"So pale… so big."

Sol sighed, wiping the drool that had escaped his mouth, then casually wiped his hand on Arthur's clothes.

"You…!"

Arthur stared at Sol in shock and fury, suppressing the urge to smash the chair over Sol's head.

Sol, however, acted as though nothing had happened, lounging comfortably with his legs crossed.

Arthur gritted his teeth and bore it, cursing his poor decision to sit next to Sol.

"It's bound to get lively later," Sol muttered suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

Arthur looked at him, confused.

Sol grinned, speaking cryptically to himself, "Anything that can easily stir the heart..."

"Hm?"

Arthur's expression grew serious, sensing an implication.

Then he heard Sol's next words.

"…often blinds some people like a pile of crap smeared across their eyes."

"..."

On the stage, the middle-aged auctioneer spread his arms, his voice consistently passionate and commanding.

"Our next item is the final slave of tonight's auction. As the highlight of the slave category, I am certain it will not disappoint. Please, have a look."

With his announcement, he gestured dramatically toward the left side of the stage.

Amid the rumble of rolling wheels, a cart holding an iron cage was pushed to the center of the stage by two burly workers.

Inside the cage sat a fishman with dusky yellow skin, chains tightly binding his muscular frame. He sat cross-legged, head bowed, lifeless as a statue.

Though his physical condition appeared fine, a faint aura of despair clung to him.

Standing beside the cage, the auctioneer smiled and said:

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is our highlight slave item of the evening: a sawtooth shark fishman. I know some of you have come prepared for this, while others may not find it appealing in the least."

"Therefore, allow me to skip the introduction and proceed directly to the demonstration."

As he finished speaking, a staff member on the other side of the cage pressed a button on the cart.

Zzzzzz!

In an instant, bright electrical currents surged through the fishman's body.

"Ahhh!"

The previously lifeless fishman suddenly writhed and thrashed, screaming in agony, his mouth wide open.

Through his gaping jaws, the characteristic feature of a sawtooth shark fishman was revealed: rows of densely packed, razor-sharp teeth.

In the audience, buyers who had been waiting for this moment were already eager, ready to raise their paddles as soon as bidding began.

One of them was Kazt.

To him, this fishman slave was a must-have.

Behind the stage, in the chaotic storage area, numerous cages containing slaves were haphazardly arranged.

Most of these slaves were stunningly attractive women, though a few were strong-looking men.

Regardless of gender, all the slaves hung their heads in silence, despair filling their eyes as they listened to the anguished screams echoing from the stage.

Among the cages was a smaller one resembling a pet carrier. Inside it crouched a pure-white, slender skunk.

Strangely, this skunk was not foul-smelling but emitted a faint, pleasant fragrance.

Curled up in the cage, the skunk observed the human slaves with eerily human-like eyes.

Its gaze lacked any awareness of shared captivity. Instead, it looked at the other slaves as though they were pitiable creatures.

Night deepened, and a cold breeze swept through the streets.

Mobin quietly tailed his three targets.

Not long after they left, a few more drunken men stumbled out of the tavern, heading in a different direction.

After they had gone some distance, Sabo pushed open the tavern door and stepped outside.

He casually glanced at the departing men, then, mirroring Mobin's methods, began stealthily following them.

Unaware of Sabo's movements, Mobin stayed focused on his prey.

He patiently shadowed the three men, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

Time passed—half an hour slipped by.

Finally, his chance came.

The three men stopped wandering aimlessly and turned into an alleyway. Mobin's eyes lit up, and he swiftly followed.

The men, arms slung over each other's shoulders, had no idea a grim reaper trailed them.

They wandered through the alley until they spotted a narrow bar at the end, its sign glowing faintly.

"Huh? A bar in a place like this?"

One of the men rubbed his eyes, surprised.

"Should we grab another drink?"

"Sure!"

Their interest piqued, the men headed toward the bar.

Bang! Bang!

Suddenly, two gunshots echoed through the alley.

Hot lead tore through the air, striking two of the men in their backs, splattering blood before they crumpled forward.

"Huh?!"

The remaining man reacted instantly. Without hesitation, he yanked one of his wounded comrades up as a human shield and turned toward the direction of the gunfire.

Bang!

A third shot rang out.

The shielded comrade took another hit to the back, blood spraying anew.

At the other end of the alley, Mobin, who had fired the third shot, looked slightly surprised.

He carried three guns, allowing him to fire three shots in quick succession.

The first two had been flintlock pistols aimed at the armed men, carefully avoiding lethal spots to ensure they stayed alive for his purposes.

The third shot came from his custom weapon, "Usopp," targeting the last man armed with a blade.

To his surprise, the blade-wielding man reacted with astonishing speed and ruthlessness, using his companion as a shield without hesitation.

Realizing the first two might bleed out soon, Mobin tossed aside "Usopp" and charged at the blade-wielding man.

The man's eyes narrowed at Mobin's sudden rush. After a brief hesitation, he abandoned his dying comrade as a shield, drew his blade, and stepped forward to meet the charge.

Mobin crouched low, narrowly dodging the incoming strike, and in a flash of steel, two quick slashes followed.

Passing the man, Mobin whirled around and planted his heel to slow his momentum, glancing back at his opponent.

Moments later, blood sprayed from the man's wrist and throat.

In the blink of an eye, the encounter was over.

As the man collapsed, Mobin dashed forward and drove his dagger into his back for good measure, pinning him to the ground.

Quickly, Mobin rifled through his targets' belongings, pulling out bounty posters to confirm their identities.

Once verified, he summoned his notebook and hastily recorded their details with his quill before their final breaths.

"Just in time."

As he finished writing, Mobin let out a small sigh of relief.

"Damn it."

Suddenly, a voice of surprise echoed from the other end of the alley.

Startled, Mobin reflexively dismissed his notebook.

The bloodstains on the pages instantly turned into droplets, falling to the ground.

He crouched low, grabbed a flintlock pistol from one of the corpses, and spun around, aiming it at the source of the voice.

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