Chapter Twenty: Midnight Murder

Death was an ordinary occurrence in Mad Hatter Town, something that happened nearly every day.

But Lagren’s death was anything but ordinary.

The reason lay in the fact that, at the time of the incident, no one within a hundred meters had heard a gunshot.

Yet what was more chilling than any gunshot was that the lead bullet had pierced a wooden wall before striking Lagren.

Setting aside the sheer power needed, this suggested the shooter hadn’t even been aiming for Lagren—more likely, someone had fired a careless shot.

And so, Lagren became the unluckiest soul in the entire place.

When the other pirates who’d been near Lagren realized what had happened, they broke out in a cold sweat.

After recovering from their shock, they cursed a few times, and minutes later, resumed drinking and chatting as though nothing had happened.

The night passed.

In a bar tucked down an alley, Wolf Rat sat at the counter, his gaze empty, having just heard the news.

He stared at the expressionless bartender before him and sighed, “Tatam, I’m done for. Before I die, I want you to inherit my property, so all that hard-earned money doesn’t go to waste.”

Tatam, whose physique resembled a bear, paused his mechanical polishing of a glass, then resumed as if nothing had happened.

Seeing Tatam’s lack of reaction, Wolf Rat’s eyes darkened. “I’m not joking. That damned Lagren—if he wanted to die, did he have to drag me down with him?”

Tatam continued polishing the glass in silence, but his gaze shifted to Wolf Rat.

He realized Wolf Rat truly wasn’t joking.

“It wasn’t an accident?” Tatam asked. His voice was as clear as a warbler’s song—a girlish timbre, wholly at odds with his bear-like frame.

He was referring to the shot that had killed Lagren.

“No,” Wolf Rat replied, long accustomed to Tatam’s incongruously delicate voice.

He lowered his head, staring into the liquor, his tone laced with unmistakable dread.

“I’m certain that bullet was meant for Lagren.”

A flicker of terror flashed through Tatam’s eyes.

Wolf Rat sighed. “Imagine a bullet, ready to claim your life, trained on your head at any time. Can you picture that? I might step out that door and get my brains blown out.”

“My condolences,” Tatam said succinctly.

“Alas,” Wolf Rat’s despair only deepened. “The only thing I can’t let go of is all that money I haven’t spent yet. After deducting the storage fee, there’s enough left for a few good bottles. I’ve thought it over—might as well leave it to you, Tatam.”

“No need, it’s too little,” Tatam said, setting down the glass and pouring himself half a drink. He raised it to Wolf Rat in a silent toast.

“Farewell,” he offered, and drained his glass.

Wolf Rat nodded, quietly finishing his own drink.

“The way to conquer fear is to confront it. Farewell, Tatam!”

Setting down his glass, Wolf Rat stood abruptly, tragic resolve etched on his face, and strode toward the door.

He pushed it open and stepped outside.

A few seconds later—

Bang—

A gunshot rang out from the street.

“Damn it!” Wolf Rat’s cry, a universal expression of terror, carried clearly into the bar.

Tatam’s eyes sharpened as he glanced at the empty doorway, then bowed his head slightly in silent tribute.

Moments later, Wolf Rat’s half-crazed laughter echoed down the alley.

“Ha! Ha ha… I’m not dead! I’m not dead! Ha ha…!”

Inside the bar, Tatam’s eye twitched at the sound of that brush-with-death laughter.

He glanced at his glass, then at the fine liquor on the shelf.

“What a waste,” he muttered.

……

Two days passed, and Red’s death caused not the slightest ripple; all remained calm.

Maud believed he had hidden himself well, unaware that Mad Hatter Town harbored information brokers as unreasonable as Wolf Rat.

Nor did he know that Saul, after taking him as an apprentice, had offhandedly taken care of one of his hidden threats.

Otherwise, with Lagren’s cautious and troublesome ways, he might well have stabbed Maud in the back when least expected.

Nor did Maud know that, because of this incident, the money-driven Wolf Rat had spent two whole days in fear, so anxious he was nearly driven insane.

Oblivious to all this, Maud, his heart finally at ease, began a new round of hunting.

Late at night.

Maud prepared himself for action.

Before setting out, he checked his gear—two flintlock pistols and a well-made dagger.

He’d acquired these from Saul.

Before their relationship was established, asking Saul for weapons had been a Herculean task.

But after their bond was confirmed, the problem vanished, and acquiring gear became the simplest thing in the world.

Having checked his weapons, Maud slipped out of the armory into the darkness, climbed nimbly onto the rooftop like a monkey, and crept toward the building that housed his prey.

With his enhanced physique, scaling and leaping came effortlessly.

Thus, emboldened, Maud planned to use his dagger for this night’s kill—a method that would minimize the risk of exposure, while the two flintlocks would give him a margin for error.

After some effort, Maud slipped into the target building under cover of night.

He tiptoed to the door of the room and could hear the sound of snoring within.

He paused, then slowly and quietly pushed the door open.

By the dim light, he looked toward the bed.

On a bed not far from the window, two human figures lay entwined, their silhouettes merging as one in the gloom.

“Two again…” Maud thought, surprised, as he crept to the bedside.

A rank odor—sweat and alcohol—assaulted him.

He frowned slightly. Once his eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, he could just make out the two figures lying together.

To his surprise, it wasn’t a man and a woman as he’d expected, but two burly, naked men pressed together.

One of them was his target—Prey Number Two, Collyfer Garden, with a bounty of eight million.

Staring at the scene, Maud silently drew his dagger, shifting his gaze from Garden to the unfamiliar muscleman beside him.

His eyes ran over the man’s powerful form, and suddenly a thought struck Maud.

“It would be a waste to let this opportunity slip by,” he mused.

Without hesitation, he stabbed Garden twice in the back, then swiftly twisted his wrist, reversed his grip, and slit Garden’s throat in a single downward motion.

These three strikes were swift and ruthless—a world apart from his clumsy attempt on Watt.

Garden’s eyes flew open as the blades struck home, but he could only gasp weakly before falling silent.

With Garden dead, Maud clamped his left hand around the other man’s throat and stabbed him three times in the abdomen with his right.

The muscleman woke in sudden agony, thrashing violently.

But Maud was a different man now. He used the advantage of surprise and his own considerable strength to pin the muscleman beneath him.

Seizing the initiative, Maud forced the man to look into the lifeless eyes of Garden beside him.

“Shall we have a little chat?” he asked, his voice cold as a winter wind at the man’s ear.

A few minutes later.

Maud left the building.

On the black cover of his Hunter’s Notebook, two new stars gleamed.