One Piece: Scourge of the Seas

The auction hall was lavishly decorated, resembling an opera house. The seats on the first floor were arranged in a semicircle, all facing the auction stage in perfect visibility.

On the second floor were private boxes embedded in the walls, each with a slanted staircase leading directly to the auction stage.

At this moment, the hall was packed to capacity.

Even the second-floor boxes, known for their exclusivity, were fully occupied.

On the resplendent auction stage, a middle-aged auctioneer with a composed demeanor was passionately congratulating a buyer who had just purchased a female slave.

In one of the front-row seats, Sol's predatory gaze was glued to the recently sold female slave, his wolfish eyes sweeping over her most vulnerable features.

"Gulp."

Sol swallowed involuntarily.

It wasn't until the female slave was escorted backstage that he smacked his lips in regret.

Next to him, Arthur shifted uncomfortably to the side.

"So pale and so big," Sol commented, wiping away the drool that had escaped his mouth. He then casually wiped his hand on Arthur's coat.

"You...!"

Arthur stared at Sol in anger and disbelief, suppressing the urge to slam his chair over Sol's head.

Sol, however, remained nonchalant, lounging back in his seat with his legs crossed.

Arthur held back, cursing himself for choosing to sit next to Sol in the first place.

"Things are going to get lively soon," Sol suddenly muttered under his breath.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, puzzled.

Sol grinned and spoke to himself in a low voice, "Anything that easily stirs people's hearts…"

"Hm?" Arthur's expression turned serious as if he sensed something ominous.

Then he heard Sol finish his sentence.

"...is often like dung—just waiting to smear itself on someone's face."

"..."

Onstage, the auctioneer spread his arms wide, his voice energetic and compelling.

"The next item is the final slave of tonight's auction. As the closing piece for the slave category, it will surely not disappoint. Without further ado, let me present it to you."

As his voice fell, he dramatically gestured toward the left side of the stage.

With the rumble of wheels, a cart bearing an iron cage was pushed to the center of the stage by two burly staff members.

Inside the cage sat a fish-man with an earthy brown complexion. He was bound by heavy chains and sat cross-legged, motionless, his head bowed like a lifeless figure.

Despite his robust physique, the fish-man exuded an aura of despair.

Standing beside the cage, the auctioneer smiled.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is the highlight of tonight's slave category—a sawtooth shark fish-man. I'm sure those of you who are interested came prepared, while those who are not likely have no interest at all.

"Therefore, I'll skip the introduction and move straight to the demonstration."

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

Zzzzt!

In an instant, bright electrical currents coursed through the fish-man's body.

"Aaaahhh!"

The fish-man, who had appeared lifeless just moments before, suddenly writhed in agony, letting out a piercing scream. His gaping mouth revealed the defining trait of a sawtooth shark fish-man—rows of dense, razor-sharp teeth.

In the audience, prospective buyers fixated on the fish-man, eagerly awaiting the bidding phase to make their offers.

Kazte was among them.

To him, this fish-man slave was a must-have.

Backstage, behind the curtain of the auction platform, cages filled with slaves were chaotically arranged.

Most of these slaves were women with stunning physiques and appearances, though a few strong men were also present.

Regardless of gender, all the slaves listened in silence to the anguished screams coming from the stage, their eyes filled with despair.

Amidst the cages was one that resembled a pet carrier, housing a sleek, white-furred skunk.

Strangely enough, this skunk wasn't smelly at all. Instead, it emitted a faint, pleasant fragrance.

Curled up inside its cage, the skunk's human-like black eyes gazed at the surrounding slaves.

Its expression bore no resemblance to that of a fellow prisoner. Instead, it looked at the others as though they were pitiful creatures.

As night deepened and the cool breeze swept through the streets, Maude quietly followed his three targets.

Not long after they left, a few drunken men staggered out of the tavern, heading in another direction.

Once they were some distance away, Sabo stepped out of the tavern, glancing briefly at the departing men. Without drawing attention, he followed them, mirroring Maude's stealthy approach.

Unaware of each other's actions, Maude continued trailing his targets, waiting patiently for the right moment to strike.

He wasn't in a hurry.

As long as the payoff was certain, he was willing to wait until dawn if necessary.

This was one of his hunting principles.

Maude kept a safe distance, shadowing his prey.

Half an hour passed.

Finally, his opportunity arrived.

The three targets stopped wandering aimlessly and turned into an alley. Maude's eyes lit up as he swiftly followed.

The trio, draped over each other in a drunken stupor, meandered through the alley without a care, oblivious to the specter of death stalking them.

Eventually, they spotted a dimly lit bar at the end of a narrow passage.

"Huh? A bar in a place like this?" one of them muttered, rubbing his eyes in surprise.

"Want to grab another drink?"

"Sure."

Their interest piqued, they headed toward the bar.

Bang! Bang!

Out of nowhere, two gunshots echoed through the alley.

Hot lead tore through the air, striking the backs of two men and sending them sprawling forward in a spray of blood.

"Huh?!"

The third man, unscathed, reacted instantly. Without hesitation, he grabbed one of his fallen comrades and used him as a human shield while scanning the direction the bullets had come from.

Bang!

Another shot rang out.

The human shield took another hit, a fresh burst of blood blooming from his back.

At the other end of the alley, Maude lowered his smoking flintlock, a look of surprise crossing his face.

He had carried three guns, allowing him to fire three consecutive shots.

The first two were from his flintlocks, aimed at the armed targets to disable them without hitting vital spots.

The third shot was from his rifle, Usopp, targeting the knife-wielding man.

To his astonishment, the knife-wielder had reacted with remarkable speed and ruthlessness, using his comrade as a shield without hesitation.

Realizing the injured targets might bleed out quickly, Maude discarded Usopp and charged toward the knife-wielder.

The man's eyes sharpened as he saw Maude approach. He hesitated for a moment, then shoved his wounded comrade aside and drew his longsword.

In an instant, Maude closed the distance, dagger in hand, striking at the man.

The knife-wielder didn't retreat. Instead, he lunged forward, thrusting his blade toward Maude, hoping to exploit its longer reach for a decisive kill.

But Maude ducked low, narrowly avoiding the thrust. In the blink of an eye, two flashes of steel streaked through the air.

Maude slipped past the man and spun around, pivoting sharply to slow his momentum. He glanced at the knife-wielder's back.

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

The battle had ended in a heartbeat.

As the knife-wielder collapsed, Maude quickly advanced, plunging his dagger into the man's lower back and pinning him to the ground.

He searched his fallen target for bounty posters and quickly confirmed their identities.

Satisfied, he pulled out a notebook and swiftly jotted down the details of his kills with a quill before they drew their last breaths.

"Made it just in time," he muttered, exhaling in relief.

"...Tch."

A surprised voice suddenly echoed from the other end of the alley.

Maude's eyes narrowed. Reflexively, he dismissed his notebook, watching as the blood-stained pages dissolved into droplets that fell to the ground.

He crouched low, snatching a flintlock from one of the fallen targets. Spinning on his heel, he leveled the gun at the source of the voice.

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