Chapter Three: The Novice Gift Pack

Eustace Kid.

In the original story, he was counted among the Worst Generation alongside Luffy, Zoro, and other supernova pirates—a ruthless man who killed without blinking an eye.

Mod had always habitually regarded Kid as a potential target, though wanting was one thing; he wasn’t about to act recklessly. If circumstances allowed, he would certainly seize Kid’s experience points without hesitation. But if not, he wouldn’t risk it lightly. Especially since, right now, he was little more than a weakling.

“The world of the Pirate King…”

Mod withdrew his gaze, lowering his head to conceal the strange glint in his eyes.

To see a young Kid here was a most unexpected surprise—a catalyst that stirred memories of the Pirate King, long locked away in the corners of his mind.

These memories would one day become crucial intelligence in his Hunter’s Notebook, information he could convert into experience points.

The arrival of Mod and Sunny brought a brief lull to the tense, powder-keg confrontation.

Kid turned his head to glance at Mod, who was silent and downcast. He could never have guessed that this seemingly frail newcomer had already earmarked him as a hunting target. If he did know, he’d probably just sneer dismissively.

He paid Mod little mind, shifting his attention to Saul, his tone brusque.

“Tch, where did you find another free laborer this time? I wonder what sort of death awaits him—maybe hacked to pieces and left as worthless meat on the street.”

“Heh, Mad Hat Town is never short of ‘undertakers.’ With them around, even if this little fellow is chopped into dozens of bits, they’ll find some way to extract value from the remains. So, as long as he dies for a purpose, I don’t care even if I get nothing out of it.”

Saul, his face deeply etched by years, shook his gilded pipe, letting ash fall carelessly to the floor.

“Speaking of laborers, I have high hopes for you. How about it, Kid? If you work for me, I’ll get you not just Kinu’s sidearms but even Salaman’s daggers, plus a steady supply of the finest West Sea wine.”

“Get lost!” Kid replied coldly. “I won’t serve under anyone.”

“What a shame.” Saul shook his head, acting as if he took it seriously.

Their exchange, oblivious to the others, did not escape Mod’s notice; he gleaned some useful information.

Mad Hat Town?

West Sea?

A place where people could be killed on the street—plus those gunshots earlier.

This must be a lawless black zone where pirates congregate.

With this in mind, Mod subtly glanced at the shelves stacked with swords and guns.

This was a weapon shop.

And Saul, who appeared to be the owner, seemed to have a unique attachment to the concept of “value.”

Mod pondered silently.

As an outsider newly arrived, he could only be cautious in speech and action.

Saul noticed Mod’s calm demeanor, a flicker of interest crossing his eyes.

He hopped off his stool and walked out from behind the counter.

Only then did Mod realize Saul was less than a meter tall.

He instinctively looked at the counter, which stood over a meter and a half high, deducing Saul must have been standing on the stool earlier to look Kid in the eye.

After sparring verbally with Saul, Kid’s patience was nearly exhausted.

He watched as Saul stepped out, and asked coldly, “Are you selling that gun or not?”

Saul glanced at the bulging bag of Berries in Kid’s hand and asked back, “Where’d you get the money?”

A vein pulsed on Kid’s forehead. “What business is it of yours? Are you selling or not?”

If he didn’t know Saul was not to be trifled with, he’d never waste his time here.

Saul seemed not to notice Kid’s mounting fury, leisurely taking a drag from his pipe.

“Didn’t I just say? I’d sooner dismantle Kinu’s sidearms and toss the parts in the landfill than sell them to you.”

More veins stood out on Kid’s face. “Then toss them already!”

Thump, thump.

Saul tapped his pipe against the cabinet wall. “I’ll pick a good day to do it.”

“Old bastard!!”

Kid struggled to contain his anger.

In stark contrast, Saul remained calm and unruffled.

Mod watched the scene, instantly realizing Saul was not as weak as he appeared.

After all, to force the hot-tempered Kid, who acted at the slightest provocation, to swallow his rage—Saul had to be quite formidable.

Mod observed quietly, sensing a hint of resignation from Sunny beside him.

To Sunny, Saul was a miser, but not the kind to bow and scrape for money; he hated rude people most of all.

So, as long as one was polite, and since Kinu’s sidearms weren’t strictly non-sale items, if the price was right, Saul would sell without hesitation.

Kid knew this well, yet refused to restrain himself, resulting in this farce of a customer wanting to buy, but the owner refusing to sell.

What Sunny couldn’t understand most was that, for all Saul’s disregard for “business is business” etiquette, he repeatedly tolerated Kid’s attitude.

Who knew what Saul saw in Kid?

Unable to get anything out of Saul, Kid didn’t care to linger and be insulted. He grabbed his bag of money and strode toward the open, single-panel wooden door.

“No farewells,” Saul said flatly to Kid’s retreating back.

Kid didn’t look back.

He reached the doorway in a few steps, then suddenly stopped.

Bang—

The single wooden door on the other side was kicked open by a burly man wielding a machete.

The door slammed against the wall with a heavy thud, nearly falling apart.

The man’s clothes were stained with blood, a murderous aura still lingering about him—he had clearly just slaughtered several people.

He stepped into the shop, his gaze immediately falling on Kid’s bulging bag, his cold killing intent dripping into his words.

“You little punk, you made me search high and low.”

“Where’d this stray dog come from?” Kid looked at the man with indifference, a thin-lipped sneer curling his mouth.

At the counter, Saul squinted, first glancing at the right-hand door Kid had kicked earlier, then at the left-hand door now booted open by the machete man.

Seems everyone’s addicted to kicking doors.

Saul’s old face grew frosty.

The machete man had eyes only for Kid, ignoring the others as he glared, blade in hand.

“I’m worth eleven million Berries in bounty, known as the Execu—”

Smack!

Before the machete man could finish his well-rehearsed introduction, Saul somehow slipped behind him and slapped him unconscious.

Kid’s pupils contracted; he was closest to the machete man but hadn’t clearly seen Saul’s movement.

This old bastard… really was trouble.

Saul landed lightly.

With his stature, if he didn’t jump, he’d barely reach the man’s knees.

After landing, Saul ignored the unconscious man, turning to Kid, his tone cool.

“So? Thinking of staying for supper?”

Kid’s cheek twitched; he strode out without looking back.

Watching Kid leave, Saul closed the battered shop door.

Sunny came up behind Saul and whispered, “I think you’re a bit too ‘friendly’ with Kid.”

“Friendly?” Saul turned to her with a grin. “Why not use ‘partial’? Might be more accurate.”

“Hmm.” Sunny nodded, rummaging through the unconscious man’s pockets for valuables, then repeated, “I think you’re a bit too ‘partial’ to Kid.”

Saul put away his gilded pipe, picking up the bloodied machete from the floor.

“In this world, it’s either black or white. Fairness is an illusion. If I’m ‘partial’ to him, it’s because he has the value to merit it.”

As he spoke, Saul wiped the machete clean and placed it on a shelf, instantly turning it into merchandise.

Watching their smooth, practiced exchange as they acquired loot, Mod was left speechless.

After putting away the machete, Saul walked over to the unconscious man, kicking him in the forehead.

“This guy’s head is worth a few coins, shame it can’t be cashed in. By the way, what’s his name?”

“He’s Evan Watt, captain of the Ghost Blade Pirates, known as the Executioner—one of the West Sea’s noted swordsmen, bounty eleven million Berries,” Sunny replied, placing the loot on the counter.

As Mad Hat Town’s unofficial, semi-competent informant, she kindly filled in the man’s interrupted introduction.

“Oh.” Saul stroked his chin, then suddenly looked at Mod.

“You, come here.”

Mod saw Saul pointing at him and walked over without a word.

Saul reached out and tapped Mod’s knee, raising an eyebrow. “Show some respect for your elders—must I remind you to sit down?”

Mod’s mouth twitched, instantly understanding; he sat cross-legged on the floor, achieving eye-level with Saul.

Satisfied with the matched gaze, Saul nodded and scrutinized Mod up close.

His first impression was favorable: Mod’s steady composure from start to finish was rare, a quality not found in ordinary people.

“Name?”

“Bacchus Mod.”

It was the signature from the photograph—matching names made things easier for Mod.

“That surname…” Saul muttered, glancing habitually toward Sunny, his little informant.

“Liquor merchant,” Sunny prompted.

Saul brightened. “Oh! I remember—his family’s rum isn’t bad. There was something in the papers a few days ago, wasn’t there? Their armed merchant ship was raided by some pirate crew, and not a single survivor, including the master.”

Sunny nodded. “That’s right.”

“Well, that’s interesting.” Saul turned to Mod, his eyes narrowing.

After a moment, before Mod could react, Saul produced a small, fruit-knife-sized dagger and smiled, handing it to Mod.

“Consider it a farewell to the past—kill this Watt fellow.”

“No problem!”

Mod’s eyes flashed, barely hesitating as he accepted the dagger.

His expression remained calm, but inwardly he was delighted.

This was an opportunity delivered to his door.

Mod looked at the unconscious Watt.

I’ll remember you—Evan Watt, the Executioner, bounty eleven million Berries.

Mod saluted him mentally.

Seeing Mod so obedient and decisive, Saul was ever more pleased.

Then Mod said, “I’d like to use the restroom first.”

“…” Saul.

“…” Sunny.