Chapter Seventeen: Hatred and Grudge

Tonight’s gains left Maud thoroughly satisfied. Possessing a physique approximately fifteen times that of an ordinary person, coupled with his previously honed martial skills and a flintlock musket deadly within fifty meters, he now had enough means to manage on the streets. Still, if he got into a conflict, this level of self-defense was far from sufficient.

With these considerations turning in his mind, Maud drifted into a deep sleep, unaware that Sol and Sunny had witnessed his nocturnal hunt from the shadows.

The next morning, as dawn broke, the two corpses from the alley had already been removed, leaving behind only dried bloodstains. Locals passed through the alleyway without so much as a glance at the marks on the wall. Though this was a residential district, its inhabitants were mostly pirates or underworld figures, long accustomed to such killings. Even if the bodies had remained, at most a passerby might cast a fleeting glance before moving on, indifferent.

When the weapons shop opened for business, Maud took a short walk to observe the “murder” scene from a distance. He had no idea who had cleared away the bodies, nor did he overly care. He was confident that his actions last night had left no trace, and besides, the pirate crew to which Red belonged would set sail after noon. Red had merely been a combatant; his death meant little, for as long as funds were plentiful, replacements could be recruited in Mad Hatter Town at any time.

Thus, Maud doubted the pirates would alter their plans over Red’s demise—unless the identity of the other victim was more significant, important enough to draw the captain’s attention. Such a possibility seemed remote.

He glanced at the alley’s passersby, his gaze as cold and appraising as a butcher eyeing slabs of pork. Without betraying the aggression in his eyes, he withdrew his stare and returned to the shop to begin his daily exercises.

He noticed Sunny seemed out of sorts, her mood unusually somber. Considering that women often had a few days each month of ill temper, Maud decided not to tempt fate; he settled into a corner and focused on his training.

“Seven days until the auction begins…”

Soon, his thoughts drifted to his next prey. Sunny’s intelligence had yielded several suitable targets, but he would wait a couple of days before acting again. It was wise to lower the frequency of his hunts, minimizing the risk of exposure.

…

At the harbor of Mad Hatter Town, a variety of pirate ships, large and small, lay anchored in the sprawling, open “U”-shaped bay. Among them was the Spiked Bull, Red’s ship, a sizable brig with two masts. As the hour for departure approached, the crew of the Spiked Bull had already assembled and completed their preparations. On deck, several pirates patrolled slowly, clearly standing guard, while inside the cabin, the rest of the crew—including the captain—gathered in a circle around a table where two cold, rigid corpses lay.

Standing beside the table was Captain Karst, his head encased in a horned helmet, his beard thick and wild. He stared down at the bodies, his face as grim as a volcano on the verge of eruption. His bloodshot eyes were wide open, and each breath from his mouth and nose was tinged with unmistakable menace.

The air in the cabin was heavy with a sense of impending violence, a tension that infected most of the crew with solemnity. A few, however, merely feigned respect for the mood.

After a while, the cabin door opened, and the tense atmosphere sharpened. Karst looked to the door as the crew parted, making way for a man with a long sword at his waist, who strode purposefully to the captain’s side.

Karst fixed his gaze on the man, his voice cold: “Well?”

The officer, named Lagren, shook his head. “Nothing. Not a single clue.”

“Nothing at all?” Karst pressed.

“None,” Lagren replied, his expression calm.

A shadow flickered across Karst’s eyes. Trouble at such a critical juncture left him deeply displeased.

Seeing his captain’s rising anger, Lagren reminded him, “Captain, we must return before the auction begins. There isn’t much time to spare.”

“I don’t need you to remind me,” Karst replied icily. “Lagren, I want you to stay behind and deal with this.”

“Yes, sir.” Lagren accepted the order.

Minutes later, the Spiked Bull slowly pulled away from the docks. With the auction imminent, most pirate ships were arriving, not leaving; it was rare for a ship to set sail at such a time. Many pirates watching from the harbor cast curious glances after the departing ship.

Left behind, Lagren watched the ship shrink into a distant speck before turning toward the town, his purse now heavier by a pouch of money.

Of the two men killed last night, one had been a navigator the crew had trained for two years. Had it been merely a combatant, the loss would have been tolerable, but a navigator was a crucial asset for the voyage to the Grand Line. Even with a more experienced navigator aboard, Karst could not swallow the insult.

Lagren understood his captain’s feelings, which was one reason he had agreed to remain, though, truth be told, he would have preferred to set sail. This voyage’s target promised a rare and grand prize, the sort that would offer a truly exquisite plundering experience.

“A pity,” Lagren thought with regret.

Half an hour later, he arrived at the bar district. His eyes ignored the large taverns lining the street, instead seeking out the alleys. Navigating through the crowd, he slipped into a narrow passageway between buildings. After ten minutes, he stopped before a bar, glanced at the oil lamp crafted from a skull hanging above the door, and pushed inside.

Behind the counter, the bartender, polishing glasses, gave Lagren a brief, wordless glance and continued his work. Lagren surveyed the dimly lit room—there wasn’t a single customer. He turned back to the bartender.

“Is the Rat-Wolf here?” he asked.

The bartender said nothing, setting a cleaned glass on the rack.

Lagren frowned, about to speak, when a chilling voice sounded behind him.

“I’ve been here all along.”

Startled by the sudden voice, Lagren’s face changed. When had he slipped in? Heart pounding, he took several quick steps forward, spun, and placed his hand on his sword, ready to strike.

But when he saw the speaker—a gaunt, sharp-featured man with pointed brows and a sly mouth—he paused in surprise.

“You must be… the Rat-Wolf?”