The Hunter of Pirates

"Arlong will absolutely wipe out humanity."

This was what Sam had wanted to say before his death.

If Mobin had heard it, he might have laughed aloud.

But hearing Arlong's name from Sam's mouth was indeed unexpected for Morin.

After all, the Arlong Pirates were in the East Blue, while this place was the West Blue.

Could it be that Sam had intended to join Arlong, got lost along the way, ended up in the West Blue, and was then captured by humans?

Mobin shook his head and dismissed the thought.

At that moment, a faint cracking sound came from his body, followed by subtle changes.

Sensing something, Mobin rolled up his sleeve. His arm now showed the beginnings of defined muscle, though it still appeared somewhat superficial.

"Just a few words of information, and I gain this much benefit."

Mobin was surprised and couldn't help but glance at Sam's corpse.

After all, Sam was a being who could carve a bloody path through a crowd with sheer physical strength and crushing grip.

Despite his severe injuries, Sam had not only managed to hold on but had also charged forward moments earlier. Even though his speed had been significantly reduced, it was still formidable.

Had Mobin not anticipated Sam's reaction and preemptively created distance, he might have been overpowered after writing Sam's name.

A physically strong Fishman like Sam, if he had mastered martial arts or Fishman Karate, could have potentially multiplied his overall strength.

"This guy clearly wasn't an ordinary Fishman warrior. If he had escaped tonight and later regrouped with the Arlong Pirates, he might have wiped out the nascent Straw Hat Pirates a few years from now."

Mobin picked up the [Usopp] gun he had tossed aside earlier.

Throwing the gun had been somewhat unnecessary. He had hoped it might lull Sam into a false sense of security, though the gun had been out of bullets anyway.

Still, Mobin couldn't help but admire the decisiveness Sam had demonstrated in those few minutes.

Unfortunately, fate had already set its price.

Even if Sam had miraculously escaped from the auction house to this spot, his final destination would still have been the same—death.

At that point, even if Mobin hadn't shot, he could have easily killed the gravely injured and unsteady Sam with just a dagger.

Shooting had simply been the safer option.

Given a safer method, only a fool would opt for a dagger.

If it had been a longsword, though, he might have considered it.

After all, a longer weapon is inherently more advantageous. A longsword would have been far more reliable than a dagger.

Mobin left the alley without lingering any longer.

Moments later, the air began to carry a faint scent of fish.

Tonight, Mobin had successfully hunted three pirates and one Fishman.

Satisfied with the haul, he decided to call it a night. Instead of heading to the auction house for more excitement, he returned directly to the weapon shop.

"Arlong Pirates..."

On the way back, Sam's unfinished words and the reward from hunting a Fishman for the first time filled Morin's thoughts.

For now, it was just a fleeting idea.

After all, the Arlong Pirates were far away in the East Blue. Besides, with his current strength, going there would be suicidal.

Still, the benefits from hunting Fishmen were undeniable.

Of course, ordinary Fishmen probably wouldn't yield such rewards.

For Fishmen of Sam's caliber, the first groups that came to Morin's mind were the Arlong Pirates in the East Blue, Fishman Island ten thousand meters under the sea, and the Fishman slaves often found in the Sabaody Archipelago.

The awkward part was that by the time Mobin would be strong enough to reach those places, he might no longer need them to grow stronger.

On the way back to the weapon shop, Mobin intentionally took a route without streetlights but ended up getting lost.

With no other choice, he climbed along the rooftops of buildings until he made it back to the weapon shop.

Once home, Mobin quietly entered the bathroom.

In the dark, he removed his mask and arm band bearing the symbol of death, placing them on the sink. Then, he turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face.

He planned to dispose of these disguises tomorrow.

If he needed them again, he would craft a completely different set.

"Hah..."

Mobin wiped the water from his face and looked into the dark mirror, seeing only a black void.

With his physical conditioning on track, he began pondering whether to fill in the second requirement slot.

The thought brought hesitation.

Swordsmanship or martial arts?

For martial arts, the first thing that came to Morin's mind was the Navy's Six Powers: Shave, Iron Body, Paper Art, Moonwalk, Tempest Kick, and Finger Gun.

As for swordsmanship, his strongest impressions were of Zoro's dazzling techniques and Mihawk's overwhelming presence with a single slash.

The former would require him to first master the Six Powers to fully leverage a martial arts requirement.

The latter could allow him to take a shortcut by specifying a "cold weapons" requirement.

However, broadening the scope of a requirement would divide the rewards.

A passive requirement like physical conditioning already spread benefits across multiple attributes such as strength, endurance, and speed.

If he added another similar requirement, it would likely lead to quantity over quality.

If he wanted to be bold, he could select a talent-based requirement. But talent was an abstract concept, and Mobin wasn't keen on gambling.

It would take time to decide.

Still, Mobin knew he leaned more toward swordsmanship. The limited number of slots made him cautious, and he wasn't in a hurry to decide.

His reasoning was simple: under equal conditions, a sword would always be superior to fists.

Another key factor was reach.

As he considered this, an amusing image popped into Morin's head.

A tiny stick figure representing martial arts darted around a crowd, creating countless afterimages while shouting, "I'll outmaneuver you until you're dizzy!"

A stick figure representing swordsmanship simply pulled out something long and sturdy, sneering, "Mine's longer."

End of discussion.

Morin's thoughts returned to reality.

"Take it slow."

He reminded himself of the importance of patience. With enough time and effort, success wasn't as elusive as it seemed.

Click.

The sudden flicker of light caught Morin's attention.

His eyelid twitched as he saw the reflection of Sunny in the mirror.

It was Sunny who had turned on the light.

Mobin had been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed her coming downstairs.

Seeing Sunny in the mirror, he apologized, "Did I wake you?"

Sunny shook her head. "I wasn't sleeping."

"You're still up this late?"

Mobin was surprised.

Sunny suddenly stopped talking and glanced at the mask and armband on the sink.

Especially the mask—if she wasn't careful, she might mistake it for Arthur's work mask.

Seeing her eyeing the mask and armband, Mobin turned around and subtly blocked her view. At the same time, he changed the subject with a playful tone.

"You're up so late. Were you waiting for me to come back?"

"Yes."

Sunny lacked the shyness one might expect from a girl, directly nodding in acknowledgment.

Mobin was momentarily stunned before bursting into laughter. He teased, "Oh no, don't tell me you've fallen for me."

Sunny rolled her eyes and headed toward the kitchen.

"I'm hungry. Make me something to eat. And make an extra portion; Sol might be back soon."

"You go ahead. I'll be there shortly."

Mobin smiled and agreed, planning to take the mask and armband upstairs first.

~~~

The Mad Hat Auction House.

The black smoke had cleared, leaving behind a chaotic scene.

Capone Bege stood surrounded by his gang, holding half of a Devil Fruit he had been eating.

His features were slightly twisted from the awful taste.

At his feet lay a middle-aged man riddled with bullets.

"Bege!"

The man struggled to raise his head, glaring at Bege with fury. "A small-time booze smuggler like you..."

Bege coldly stared at the man while swallowing the other half of the Devil Fruit.

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