The Hunter of Pirates

The air was thick with smoke, its sharp, acrid scent impossible to ignore.

Yet for the pirates in the tavern, who were long accustomed to the company of smoke and steel, it was just another ordinary day.

Through the haze, countless eyes were drawn to Mobin.

Some were impressed, others surprised, and a few were simply dumbfounded.

The earlier commotion had unfolded too quickly. By the time anyone could react, the two pirates who had barged in, evidently seeking revenge, were already lying lifeless on the ground, a bullet wound neatly carved into each of their foreheads.

Even though the intruders had stormed in with clear intent, raising their guns with deadly purpose, the masked undertaker seated at the table had been faster—lethal precision paired with impeccable speed.

A simultaneous shot from both hands had delivered fatal justice to the pair, almost in unison.

The display of skill was nothing short of breathtaking.

Some pirates sitting near the door glanced at the two fallen men, whose eyes remained wide open in death. As realization dawned, they began to piece together the interlopers' strategy.

Choosing this moment and place for their revenge was no accident. Likely, the two had followed Laffitte here, planning to use the crowd as both a shield and a means of escape.

But their scheming had been undone by a simple twist of fate. They could never have anticipated that their target would share a table with someone as deadly as Mobin.

"Of all times, it had to happen just as I was about to leave..."

Mobin sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of the tavern's collective gaze. He calmly slid his still-warm flintlock pistols under the table, out of sight.

Rather than making an immediate exit, Mobin focused on reloading his weapons. His movements were steady and deliberate, even if his blind-loading technique left much to be desired.

By now, Mobin had deduced the two dead pirates' true target: Laffitte. Their synchronized arrival following his entrance left little room for doubt.

Unfortunately, Laffitte had decided to sit at Mobin's table, unwittingly dragging him into the line of fire.

Even without sensing their killing intent, Mobin was never one to sit idly by when danger loomed.

Regardless of who their intended target was, the moment they raised their weapons, they sealed their fate.

Quick to act, Mobin had eliminated the threat with ruthless efficiency.

In essence, he had inadvertently dealt with Laffitte's enemies. But for Mobin, it had never been about helping anyone—it was simply self-preservation.

"Excellent marksmanship."

The man beside him, still holding the end of a metal pipe, loosened his grip slightly and looked at Mobin with a hint of amusement.

His name was Sabo, a seasoned revolutionary who had undergone rigorous training, excelling in various disciplines—including sharpshooting.

From the moment he had noticed Mobin gathering intel earlier, Sabo had grown curious about him, speculating that he might be affiliated with the Navy.

Now, having witnessed Mobin's precision firsthand, Sabo's suspicions grew stronger.

Mobin, however, paid no mind to Sabo's compliment, his focus entirely on reloading his guns.

Unbothered by the lack of acknowledgment, Sabo merely chuckled. Despite their potential differences in allegiance, he wasn't one to judge a person based solely on their affiliations.

Laffitte, on the other hand, cast a sidelong glance at Mobin.

He knew without a doubt that the two dead pirates had come for him. Their palpable killing intent had been impossible to miss.

What surprised him, however, was the cold decisiveness of the stranger seated at his table.

Laffitte didn't interpret Mobin's actions as an act of assistance. Rather, he understood that Mobin had acted solely to neutralize the danger posed to himself.

And that, strangely enough, was something Laffitte appreciated.

His gaze lingered on Mobin, taking in every detail exposed beyond the mask—his eyes, lips, ears, and neck.

After memorizing these features, Laffitte finally turned away, signaling to a waitress.

Meanwhile, the tavern staff, now recovered from their shock, quickly moved to remove the bodies and clean up the blood before it could spread further. They also sent someone to notify an undertaker to handle the remains.

As for Mobin, they wisely chose to leave him undisturbed.

With the commotion settling, the other patrons gradually withdrew their gazes.

Mobin finished reloading his pistols, though his lack of practice meant the process had taken longer than necessary.

Satisfied, he rose from his seat, ready to leave the tavern and find a quiet spot to observe his targets.

"Leaving already?"

Despite being repeatedly ignored, Sabo spoke up once more, his tone lighthearted.

Mobin shot a brief glance at Sabo's wide-lensed sunglasses but refrained from responding. Instead, he strode toward the door without hesitation.

Behind him, Laffitte's sharp eyes scanned Mobin's retreating figure from head to toe.

Other pirates in the tavern also watched as Mobin exited, the door swinging shut behind him.

As the lively atmosphere resumed, Mobin stepped into the bustling streets.

He scanned the surrounding area, searching for a suitable hiding spot.

In a place like this, where buildings rose and fell in uneven clusters, shadows were plentiful wherever there was light.

Soon, he found a spot that met his needs.

Moving swiftly and silently, Mobin blended into the darkness, his form disappearing into the shadows.

From his vantage point, he kept his eyes fixed on the tavern door.

All he had to do was wait for his targets to emerge.

Once they stepped outside, he would follow them, looking for the perfect opportunity to strike.

There was no need to interrogate names. Their bounties, carried proudly as trophies, would tell him all he needed to know.

Time ticked by. The start of the auction drew nearer, but Mobin's mind wasn't on the event.

Suddenly, two familiar figures appeared in his line of sight.

"Kid and Killer."

Concealed in the shadows, Mobin's hand instinctively moved to the weapon strapped to his back.

"If the chance arises tonight, I might just give it a shot."

His gaze turned icy, but he quickly refocused on his current targets.

Letting them slip away after all this effort would be unacceptable.

Mobin continued his silent vigil, eyes locked on the tavern door.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open. Three drunken men stumbled out, arms slung around each other.

Mobin's eyes lit up.

"They're finally out."

Quiet as a shadow, he began to follow them.

Meanwhile, the auction was in full swing.

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