The Hunter of Pirates

Thanks to the "neighborly" intel provided by Sunny, Mobin shortlisted ten potential targets from the surrounding "neighbors."

Target #1 was none other than Red, whom Mobin had already taken out. Target #2 was Garden, assassinated just moments ago.

To Mobin's surprise, Garden came with an unexpected bonus—buy one, get one free, so to speak. A lucky break.

In terms of physical prowess, these two muscular brutes, who died in each other's embrace, were far superior to Watt and Red. Yet, the tangible gains Mobin reaped were not as impressive as the first two hunts.

Mobin wasn't disappointed.

He understood that the benefits granted by the Hunter's Notebook resembled an experience-based leveling system.

It was like being a new player in a game: slaying a few beginner-level slimes would earn easy and rapid early progress. However, as levels increased, the experience points gained from those same slimes would diminish significantly.

Moving forward, only by hunting higher-level or similarly matched targets could Mobin maintain a steady upward curve in progress.

For instance, if Mobin were somehow able to eliminate monsters on the level of Kaido or Big Mom, the physical enhancements he'd gain would be astronomical—practically sending him sky-high.

Of course, that was nothing more than a pipe dream for now.

That said, Mobin could choose to keep hunting slime-tier targets. While the returns would be smaller, accumulating a large enough quantity could still lead to a qualitative leap.

In fact, Mobin had used this method before.

During his time in the Hunter World, he exploited his position in the judicial system to execute numerous death row inmates personally.

That period was a whirlwind of farming experience points until the efficiency dropped to virtually zero. Only then did he stop.

However, while this low-risk method worked in the Hunter World, using it in the world of pirates would be counterproductive, potentially limiting his long-term potential.

Why?

In the Hunter World, individuals with extraordinary abilities were rare. But in the world of pirates, strong and powerful figures were everywhere.

This fundamental difference between the two worlds meant Mobin had no intention of wasting his notebook's precious blank pages on low-grade targets here.

For that reason, though the idea of purchasing slaves to farm experience crossed his mind, he wouldn't act on it recklessly.

Back at the weapon shop, Mobin cleaned up and went to bed.

Days passed.

By the day before the auction, Mobin had successfully taken down Targets #3, #4, and #5 among the "neighbors."

Unfortunately, while the bounties on these nearby targets weren't low, their "experience quality" wasn't as high as he'd hoped.

After all, bounty values weren't solely determined by strength; they were influenced by the atrocities committed and the threat level posed.

These neighbors, average in combat ability, clearly belonged to the "heinous deeds" category.

As a result, despite multiple hunts, Mobin's physical condition only increased from fifteen times an average person's strength to twenty times.

Still, Mobin was satisfied.

He felt that his current capabilities were enough to scope out the auction's outer circle.

The new day dawned, bright and cloudless.

Nearly a month of hype surrounding the auction had drawn all sorts of crowds.

Pirates, underworld figures, bounty hunters disguised as commoners, and even undercover Navy personnel had all converged here.

This spectacle caused the inner port of Mad Hat Town to become so packed that ships of every kind crowded the bay, their varied flags flapping in the sea breeze.

Any observing Navy officer would surely be gripped by the tantalizing thought: If only we could take them all down in one swoop.

Despite the chaos brought by the influx of visitors, Sol's Weapon Shop remained as deserted as ever.

The shop opened as usual that day.

Sunny sat idly behind the counter, staring at the door.

"End of the month, huh..."

Her mind was consumed by thoughts of the Devil Fruit up for auction.

But she knew it was something she could never afford.

For once, Sol didn't head to Flower Street for his morning exercise.

Perhaps it was because the streets were overcrowded, or maybe he remembered his duty as a mentor.

Today, he finally set Mobin on a basic training regimen.

"Why are we training legs?"

Mobin's legs were strapped with dark, heavy metallic weights.

They were surprisingly heavy, and Mobin couldn't help but wonder where Sol had found them.

He had assumed that a sniper's training would focus on steadying their hands, so he was baffled about the focus on legwork.

"Do you know the pinnacle of being a sniper?"

Hearing Mobin's question, Sol responded with one of his own.

"No."

"Listen up: the ultimate level is hitting your target without needing to run afterward."

"Huh?"

"Do you know the level below that?"

"Um, no..."

"Shooting ten times without needing to run."

"What??"

"And there's another level below that. Know what it is?"

"Could you just tell me?"

"Shoot once, then run."

"...???"

"And that's not all. There's a bottom-tier level. Wanna guess?"

"..."

"See trouble coming and run right away."

"???!?!!?"

Mobin was dumbfounded.

Is this seriously the sniper hierarchy in this world of pirates?

No way... This has got to be Sol's personal nonsense.

And yet, somehow, it kind of made sense.

Taking a puff from his pipe, Sol added in a calm tone, "So, where do you think you rank right now?"

After hesitating, Mobin mumbled, "The 'see trouble coming and run' level?"

"There you go, then."

Sol gave him a sharp look.

Mobin had nothing to say.

Now, he started to grasp the meaning behind Sol's "sniper hierarchy."

Without further protest, he began his leg training.

Inwardly, though, he worried: What if I end up training like Sanji instead of Usopp?

As the crowds flooded Mad Hat Town, chaos was the norm.

Gunshots rang out frequently, echoing like celebratory salutes across the town.

Bloodshed and murders became almost routine.

Yet these incidents didn't cause an uproar. On the contrary, the pirates reveled in the madness.

On Gamble Street, a procession of black-suited, towering individuals marched in formation.

Leading them was a relatively short man wearing a black hat, striped suit, and smoking a cigar.

Though small in stature, he exuded a daunting aura of intimidation.

The towering men behind him followed his lead without question.

"Damn it, that's Capone Bege of the Gangsters!"

"Are you insane? Get back here now!"

"Those guys are ruthless killers!"

The crowd on the street quickly dispersed, clearing a path for the gangsters.

Elsewhere, on Liquor Street, the aftermath of a bloodbath painted the road.

Scattered across the ground were the bodies of over a dozen people, all dead from knife wounds.

At the scene's edge was a pale-skinned man with a black top hat and cane.

He walked away nonchalantly, whistling a tune and spinning his cane in rhythm.

Onlookers watched in horror, whispering among themselves.

"What just happened?"

"It seemed to be over in an instant..."

"I remember now—that man's the so-called Demon Sheriff, Lafitte!"

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