Chapter Eighteen: The Serpent's Path and the Rat's Way

In the realm of snakes and rats, most rely on information to make a living.

These informants active in Mad Hatter Town, though far less formidable than the Navy or the Revolutionary Army—who can weave intelligence into dazzling feats—still manage to offer conveniences in many ways.

To uncover the murderer who killed his comrade, Lagron had no choice but to spend money seeking their help.

And the Wolf Rat was said to possess a sense of smell keener than a hound’s.

He was none other than the cold, sharp-featured man before him.

Seated on the sofa, Lagron struggled to calm his nerves. The mere thought of the Wolf Rat sneaking behind him unnoticed sent a chill through his bones.

This man clearly possessed real strength, yet chose to nestle in the stinking sewers for such work. Lagron could not fathom it.

No sooner had they sat down than the taciturn bartender brought over two drinks, then silently returned behind the bar.

The Wolf Rat stretched out his slender right hand, idly picking up the glass and toying with it.

Before Lagron could explain his intent, the Wolf Rat spoke on his own, “Lagron, officer of the Sharp Horn Pirates, am I right? Last night’s incident may be trivial, but I’ve heard of it. So you wish to hire me to find the killer?”

That his identity and purpose were so easily guessed did not surprise Lagron; in the intelligence business, lacking skill meant certain failure.

What did surprise him was the Wolf Rat’s display of prowess earlier.

“Yes,” Lagron replied simply, placing a purse on the table.

The Wolf Rat picked it up, weighed it, and swiftly loosened the tie to peer inside. Years of handling money enabled him to estimate the sum without counting.

“Shall I begin now?” He stowed the purse with satisfaction, looking to Lagron.

“That would be best.” Lagron nodded vigorously.

The Wolf Rat smiled, downing his drink in one gulp.

Lagron, for his part, never touched the bartender’s offering.

Both stood and left the bar, one after the other.

Soon, Wolf Rat and Lagron reached the dried bloodstain along the alley.

Wolf Rat crouched, examining it. “I hear two were taken out with a single shot—a bullet through the side of the neck, then precisely between the brows. Whoever did this is clearly a ruthless sniper.”

Lagron’s expression remained blank.

He had no patience for Wolf Rat’s analysis, but could hardly rush him given his abilities.

The Wolf Rat paid no mind to Lagron’s mood, his voice low and sinister. “The most dangerous types are those who strike without warning, giving you no chance to retaliate. But…”

His nose twitched, transforming into a long, black rat’s snout.

“It’s thanks to their activity that my business thrives.”

He raised his nose, inhaling deeply. Scents became information swirling in his mind.

From a thousand, he selected a hundred; from a hundred, ten; from ten, one.

After quickly filtering for the desired scent, Wolf Rat rose and gazed upward.

“Follow me.”

He pushed off, leaping lightly toward the upper floors.

Lagron followed close behind.

So, he was a Zoan-type Mouse Mouse Fruit user—no wonder he specialized in this line of work.

Thus, finding the sniper was now a foregone conclusion.

They bounded across rooftops, soon arriving at the spot where Mod had sniped the night before.

Wolf Rat glanced at the scene; the information derived from scent manifested as an invisible trail extending into the distance.

Following that scent trail, Wolf Rat headed for Sol’s Weapon Shop.

Lagron kept close.

Wolf Rat made straight for Sol’s Weapon Shop, but stopped abruptly once within twenty meters.

“Found him?” Lagron’s eyes grew cold, thinking Wolf Rat had located their target.

Wolf Rat didn’t answer, instead looking down at a spot in the alley.

The scent trail had split: one branch led to the shop, the other extended from the shop to this alley.

But this was not why Wolf Rat had stopped.

Even with the split, the final destination remained Sol’s Weapon Shop, so the divergence did not affect his search.

The root of the problem lay elsewhere…

Wolf Rat stared gravely toward the shop, catching a glimpse of its doorway.

“Though this scent isn’t the old man’s, he’s definitely involved,” he mused silently.

Lagron frowned, pressing, “Have you found them or not?”

“I found them,” Wolf Rat replied, glancing at Lagron. “But for the money’s sake, I advise you to give up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing much—a complimentary suggestion, you could say.”

Lagron’s tone was icy. “No need for your concern. Your job is to lead me to the target.”

Wolf Rat shrugged and said no more.

He followed the scent trail, guiding Lagron to the front of Sol’s Weapon Shop.

“The killer is inside that shop. Beyond this, it’s not my concern.”

“Wolf Rat, our deal was to find the target—not to just point at a place and leave.”

Seeing Wolf Rat ready to walk away, Lagron’s voice grew harsh.

Wolf Rat eyed the shop’s door warily, then sneered at Lagron.

“Fine. The shop owner is an old man, and the clerk is a woman with a scar.”

“Which one is the killer?”

“Neither.”

Lagron resisted the urge to draw his blade.

Wolf Rat spread his hands. “The killer isn’t the old man or the woman, but there are three people in the shop. Got it?”

Lagron snorted.

He didn’t understand why Wolf Rat wouldn’t name the third person, but at least the target’s location was confirmed.

What Lagron didn’t know was that Wolf Rat wasn’t withholding information—he simply knew nothing about the third person.

This shop was one of the few places Wolf Rat dared not meddle with. Had he known the killer came from here, he’d never have taken the job.

But since he’d accepted it, he had to see it through.

Thus, Wolf Rat wouldn’t even mention Sol or Sunny’s names, only identifying the third person by scent and deduction.

In truth, he didn’t know when this third person had appeared.

But since they belonged to the shop…

Once the deal was done, Wolf Rat wasted no time, heading straight back to the bar.

Lagron watched him go, then glanced at the weapon shop’s half-open door.

After a moment’s thought, Lagron too departed.

That evening.

A shifty-eyed customer entered Sol’s Weapon Shop.

He went straight to the three shelves, pretending to examine the weapons while discreetly surveying the three people inside.

A dwarf of an old man.

A scar-faced young woman.

A rather handsome young man.

Done.

He’d found his mark. He casually picked out a second-hand machete from the third shelf, chipped and unremarkable, then walked to the counter.

“How much?”

“Fifty thousand Berries.”

Sol didn’t even look up.

The man had thought the poor blade worth no more than ten thousand; he cursed the shop as a rip-off but paid and left without hesitation.

After the customer departed, Sol finally looked toward the door.

“Tch…”