The Terror of the Pirates

The auction hall was lavishly decorated, resembling an opera house. The first-floor seats were arranged in a half-circle, all facing the central stage. Above, the second floor featured private boxes embedded into the walls, each with a diagonal staircase leading down to the main floor.

The venue was packed to the brim, with even the cramped second-floor boxes fully occupied.

On the gilded stage, a composed middle-aged auctioneer enthusiastically congratulated the buyer who had just purchased a female slave. His voice boomed through the hall, dripping with theatrical flair.

Near the front row, Saul sat with his eyes glued to the slave girl being led offstage. His wolfish gaze roamed over her figure, lingering on her most sensitive areas.

"Gulp."

Saul swallowed hard, his regret palpable as the girl disappeared behind the curtains. He smacked his lips and wiped a trail of drool from his mouth, then casually wiped his hand on Arthur's sleeve.

"You—!"

Arthur glared at Saul, barely restraining the urge to smash his chair over the man's head.

Saul, unfazed, crossed his legs and leaned back as if nothing had happened.

Arthur sighed, cursing himself for choosing to sit next to Saul.

"Things are about to get lively," Saul muttered under his breath.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, his curiosity piqued despite his irritation.

Saul grinned, his voice low. "Anything that easily captures the heart..."

Arthur frowned, waiting for the rest.

"...is usually like shit. It tends to blind people."

Arthur stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or groan.

On stage, the auctioneer spread his arms wide, his voice booming with enthusiasm.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the next item is the final slave of the night—the grand finale of the slave category! I assure you, it will not disappoint. Please, direct your attention to the stage!"

As his words echoed through the hall, a heavy cart rolled onto the stage, pushed by two burly staff members. On the cart sat an iron cage, and inside it was a massive, earth-colored fishman.

The fishman sat cross-legged, his body bound by unbreakable chains. His head hung low, motionless, exuding an aura of despair.

The auctioneer approached the cage with a smile.

"This, my friends, is a cone-toothed sharkman. For those of you who have come specifically for this item, I'm sure you're already familiar with its value. For those who aren't interested... well, I won't waste your time."

He gestured to a staff member, who pressed a button on the cart.

Zzzzt!

A surge of electricity coursed through the fishman's body.

"Aaaahhh!"

The fishman, lifeless just moments ago, writhed in agony, his mouth wide open in a scream that revealed rows of razor-sharp teeth.

The crowd erupted in murmurs, some horrified, others fascinated. Among them, Kazit leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with determination. This fishman was the prize he had come for.

Backstage, behind the heavy curtains, rows of cages held slaves of all kinds—mostly women with stunning figures and faces, but also a few muscular men. All of them hung their heads, their eyes dull with resignation.

In one corner, a small cage held a white-furred skunk. Unlike its natural counterparts, this creature emitted a strange, pleasant aroma. Its black, human-like eyes scanned the other slaves with a look of disdain, as if pitying their plight.

Meanwhile, outside the auction hall, the night grew colder as the wind picked up.

Alex (formerly Mod) trailed his three targets, his movements silent and deliberate. The men, drunk and oblivious, wandered aimlessly through the streets.

Alex was patient. He had no intention of rushing. Hunting was about timing, and he was willing to wait until dawn if necessary.

Finally, his patience paid off. The trio turned into a narrow alleyway, and Alex's eyes gleamed with anticipation. He followed, his footsteps light as a shadow.

The men stumbled through the alley, laughing and joking, until they spotted a dimly lit bar at the end.

"A bar? Out here?" one of them slurred, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

"Let's grab another drink!" another suggested, his voice thick with alcohol.

Before they could take another step, two gunshots rang out, sharp and sudden.

Bang! Bang!

Two of the men crumpled to the ground, blood blooming on their backs.

The third man reacted instantly, yanking one of his fallen comrades in front of him as a human shield. His eyes darted toward the source of the gunfire.

Bang!

A third shot struck the makeshift shield, adding another wound to the already lifeless body.

Alex frowned, surprised by the man's quick thinking. He had fired three shots in rapid succession—two from flintlock pistols and one from [Usopp], his custom firearm. The first two shots had been precise, aimed to incapacitate but not kill. The third shot, however, had been blocked.

Deciding to switch tactics, Alex dropped [Usopp] and charged forward, a dagger gleaming in his hand.

The remaining man, now wielding a long knife, met Alex's charge head-on. He lunged, aiming to exploit the reach of his weapon.

But Alex was faster.

He ducked under the blade, closing the distance in an instant. Two quick slashes of his dagger—one to the wrist, the other to the throat—and the fight was over.

The man collapsed, blood gushing from his wounds.

Alex knelt beside him, quickly searching for the bounty poster he knew the man would carry. Finding it, he pulled out his notebook and jotted down the details with a quill.

"Done," he murmured, closing the notebook just as the man took his last breath.

"Tsk."

A voice broke the silence, startling Alex.

He spun around, drawing a flintlock pistol from the fallen man's belt and aiming it at the source of the sound.