Chapter Fourteen: Swarming In

In just half a month, news that Mad Hatter Town was about to auction off a Devil Fruit had already spread throughout much of the West Blue. Pirates hungry for power swarmed in from all directions. Especially those seasoned captains of pirate crews who were already preparing to enter the Grand Line—this was a prize they would stop at nothing to obtain.

What did a single Devil Fruit represent? Only these veterans, poised to venture into uncharted seas, could truly appreciate its value.

On the other hand, the Marine branches in the West Blue naturally caught wind of the news as well. However, the allocation of forces was an unavoidable weakness for the Marines here, so even with this knowledge, there was little they could do.

After all, this was the West Blue, not the Grand Line. To say nothing of the matter’s urgency, the sheer size of the West Blue’s territorial waters was far greater than that of the Grand Line. This meant that the local Marine branches had to spread nearly all their forces thinly across the region to safeguard the people within their jurisdiction.

If they wanted to concentrate their scattered forces, while communication and the issuing of orders posed little problem, the response time would never keep up. The most troublesome issue, however, remained the ever-present threat of pirates. Unlike the Marines, who needed to be stationed in specific locations to maintain order, the pirates—though rarely forming alliances—shared a common nature: they roamed freely, going wherever opportunity beckoned.

The moment they caught wind of a profit to be made, they would swarm in like locusts drawn to blood. By the time the Marines arrived, the pirates would have already vanished, only to reappear wherever the next opportunity presented itself.

In this situation, rashly redeploying forces would only give these locust-like pirates free rein to do as they pleased.

Thus, compared to the threat posed by individual pirate crews, it was the sheer number of pirates in the four seas that distinguished them from those of the Grand Line—a headache for any local Marine branch.

Of course, due to differences in customs, culture, and other factors, the number of Marines in each district of the West Blue varied. Setting aside the useless, parasitic officers, some districts with ample manpower organized their surplus forces into mobile units, whose main duty was to hunt down and eliminate roaming pirates.

Such borderless Marine units often struck terror into the hearts of pirates. Yet, while they had some effect, they were ultimately only a temporary solution.

As for lawless places with roots as deep as Mad Hatter Town, what real difference could these units make? It was like a single armed sheriff walking into the den of ten thugs.

Intimidated by the gun, those ten thugs might meekly surrender, giving up their advantage in numbers. But if that sheriff walked into a den of a hundred thugs, the outcome was obvious.

Unless Marine Headquarters dispatched a force capable of breaking the stalemate, the situation would not change. Yet a single Devil Fruit was hardly reason enough for Headquarters to mobilize such power.

Even though the West Blue Marine branches couldn’t deliver a decisive blow to Mad Hatter Town, their spies still had the place under close watch. Inaction did not mean doing nothing at all.

...

Mad Hatter Island. Mad Hatter Town. Mad Hatter Auction House.

As the name suggested, the auction house was shaped like a top hat laid flat on the ground. For example, like this: ♎

The first and second floors formed the brim, covering a vast area and serving as the main venue for auctions. To increase capacity, the auction house was designed much like a conventional opera house, so the second floor could also be considered part of the first.

As the structure rose, the higher floors became progressively smaller. The topmost room, naturally, belonged to the owner of the auction house.

As the pinnacle of the building, the room was lavishly decorated, exuding the ostentatious taste of a nouveau riche. One entire wall facing the street was a floor-to-ceiling window with a reflective coating. In front of it stood a deep red, European-style lounge set.

Resting quietly atop the table was the Devil Fruit to be auctioned ten days from now, cushioned by a soft cloth to highlight its value.

Seated on the main sofa was a brawny, middle-aged man with slicked-back hair, a cigar clenched between his teeth, and dressed in a red suit. He was the owner of the auction house—Lucius Ralph.

“With a mere wave of the hand, you can drive the wolves and leopards mad with desire. That is the true allure of a Devil Fruit,” Ralph mused, reclining on the sofa, his eyes cold and dark, seemingly stripped of all humanity, revealing no ordinary emotion.

Opposite him, another man sneered. “This alone makes all my trouble worthwhile—smuggling the Devil Fruit from the Grand Line. Just a single transfer and its price multiplies several times over. Where else can you find such a deal in this world?”

Through a haze of cigar smoke, Ralph studied the man’s smug expression but made no move to correct his misconception.

In this world, there were countless such profitable deals. The surge in value was less about the trade itself and more the effect of calculated marketing.

Ralph snuffed out the burning tip of his cigar with his fingers and said coolly, “Starting price: one hundred million. The final bid should exceed a billion.”

“That much?” The man was taken aback, clearly trusting Ralph’s judgment.

Ralph glanced at the Devil Fruit on the table. “The top figures in the West Blue’s underworld aren’t interested in this fruit, but the Five Great Gangs are determined to get it. So only one of them will have the means to claim it. Do you know what that means?”

Without waiting for a reply, Ralph continued, “It means that as long as the bidding is fair, the price will only rise, each gang pushing it higher until they reach the limit of what they can bear. Of course, that’s assuming no one resorts to underhanded tactics. As for the pirate rabble flocking here, they’re just here to make up the numbers—and pay for the privilege.”

Hearing this, the man’s curiosity was piqued. “So, which of the Five Great Gangs do you think is most likely to win the fruit?”

“The Capone Family.”

...

Saul’s Weapon Shop.

After half a month, Mord’s injuries had all but healed. Thanks to a diet of hearty meat and fish, there was no trace of the gauntness that had marked his face before. Compared to the pallor and exhaustion he’d shown upon waking, his complexion was now healthy and radiant.

Now fully recovered, Mord removed his bandages and deliberately checked himself in the mirror. The sickly look was gone, replaced by a face full of vibrant color. No longer did his eyebrows suffer the negative effect of being half-concealed by bandages.

Gazing at his reflection, Mord was surprised to discover—was he always this handsome?

At the same time, he had finally found his second prey—the neighbor.