The Hunter of Pirates

That night's gains left Mobin deeply satisfied.

A physique roughly fifteen times stronger than an average human, supplemented by his prior training in combat techniques, and a flintlock musket deadly within fifty meters—this combination was a decent foundation. Walking the streets with confidence was no longer a pipe dream.

However, if conflicts arose, this level of self-defense capability was far from sufficient.

Still, compared to his previous life, where he'd been confined to a penal institution, awaiting his chance to deal with death row inmates...

To quickly enhance his survival capabilities, taking the initiative to strike was clearly the faster route, albeit with higher risks.

These thoughts accompanied Mobin as he drifted into a deep sleep.

The Next Day

As dawn broke, the bodies in the alleyway had been removed, leaving only dried bloodstains.

Residents walked to and fro along the alley without sparing the bloodstains a glance.

Though this was a residential area, the inhabitants were mostly pirates or individuals from the underworld. Such incidents of assassination were so common they hardly stirred attention.

Even if the bodies had remained, people might only spare them a fleeting look before carrying on as usual.

When the weapon shop opened for business, Mobin took a few steps outside to casually observe the crime scene from afar.

Though he couldn't discern who had collected the bodies, he didn't dwell on it.

Regarding the previous night's operation, he was confident he hadn't left any traces.

Besides, Red's pirate crew was set to set sail by the afternoon.

As Red was merely one of their combatants, his death wouldn't change much. With enough funds, pirate crews in Mad Hat Town could always recruit replacements. (TL: Mad Hatter will be changed to Mad Hat)

Mobin reasoned that the crew wouldn't alter their plans just because of Red's death—unless the other unidentified man turned out to be someone significantly more important.

That possibility seemed remote.

He glanced at the passersby in the alleyway, his gaze resembling that of a predator sizing up slabs of walking meat.

With no trace of aggression, he retracted his gaze and returned to the weapon shop to continue his routine training.

Noticing that Sunny appeared unusually downcast—likely feeling troubled—Mobin wisely chose not to pry.

"Seven days until the auction..."

His thoughts wandered to his next target.

Sunny's intelligence had identified several suitable candidates.

Still, he decided to wait a couple of days before striking again to reduce the frequency of his hunts and thereby lower the risk of exposure.

Mad Hat Town Port

Within the open "U"-shaped bay, pirate ships of various sizes and designs were docked.

Among them was the Bullhorn Pirates' ship, a medium-sized twin-masted vessel.

As departure time approached, the Bullhorn Pirates had assembled and completed their preparations.

A few pirates paced the deck, seemingly assigned to keep watch.

Inside the ship's cabin, most of the crew, including their captain, gathered in a circle around a table where two cold, rigid corpses lay.

Their captain, Kazet—a hulking man with thick facial hair and a horned helmet—stood by the table, glaring down at the bodies.

His expression was as volatile as a volcano on the verge of eruption.

His bloodshot eyes burned with fury, and every breath he exhaled seemed tinged with malice.

The oppressive atmosphere emanating from Kazet suffused the cabin, prompting many crew members to wear grim expressions. Others merely feigned solemnity, playing along with the mood.

The tension was interrupted by the creak of the cabin door swinging open.

All eyes turned toward the sound, and the crowd instinctively parted to make way.

A crewman with a long sword at his waist entered, his presence commanding attention.

Kazet's gaze fixed on the man, his voice cold. "What did you find?"

The officer, Raglan, shook his head. "Nothing. No leads."

Kazet's expression darkened. "Not a single clue?"

"None," Raglan replied evenly.

Kazet's face contorted with frustration. Having trouble at such a critical time enraged him.

Sensing his captain's rising ire, Raglan tactfully reminded him, "Captain, we need to return before the auction. There isn't much time left to delay."

"I don't need you to remind me," Kazet snapped, his tone icy. "Raglan, stay behind and handle this matter."

"Understood."

With his orders given, the Bullhorn Pirates' ship set sail minutes later.

As the vessel departed, Raglan stood on the dock, watching it shrink into the distance. Only when the ship became a mere speck on the horizon did he turn back toward the town, a pouch of money now hanging at his waist.

Of the two individuals killed the night before, one had been a navigator the crew had trained for two years.

A combatant's death wouldn't have caused such a stir, but losing a navigator—a vital asset for navigating the Grand Line—was another matter.

Even though they still had an experienced navigator on board, Kazet refused to let this insult go unanswered.

Raglan shared his captain's sentiment, which was one reason he had agreed to stay behind.

Still, deep down, he would have preferred to join the hunt—this voyage promised to be a rare, thrilling opportunity.

"What a pity," Raglan thought, regret flickering in his eyes.

Half an hour later, he arrived at the town's bar district.

His gaze passed over the larger establishments lining the street and settled on a shadowy alleyway.

He navigated the throng of people and entered the labyrinthine network of buildings, his destination clear.

After ten minutes of weaving through narrow lanes, Raglan stopped outside a bar.

The establishment was marked by a skull-shaped oil lamp hanging on the wall. Without hesitation, Raglan pushed the door open and strode inside.

Behind the bar, a man cleaning glasses glanced at Raglan but made no move to greet him.

Raglan scanned the dimly lit room and found it empty.

Turning back to the bartender, he asked, "Is Ratsnout here?"

The bartender glanced at him but said nothing, resuming his work.

Frowning, Raglan opened his mouth to press further when a cold voice spoke from behind him.

"I've been here all along."

The sudden voice made Raglan's blood run cold.

How long has he been there?!

Alarmed, Raglan instinctively stepped forward before whirling around, hand on his sword, ready to strike.

When he saw the speaker—a wiry man with sharp features—Raglan froze.

"You're… Ratsnout?"