Chapter Thirty-Seven: Microcosm

The residential district, as a part of Mad Hatter Island, covers less than half the area of the other neighborhoods. In terms of popularity, the difference is even starker. This district was intended for pirates and underworld figures who wished to settle down permanently. Yet, most residents here are more like Thor—a retired, aging pirate who has returned from the sea—or those crippled in battle but fortunate enough to possess a sum of money for their twilight years.

These people have lost the capital to look forward to the future; what remains is merely a way to eke out a lingering existence. Under such circumstances, the entire atmosphere of the residential district leans toward lifelessness. As one walks through each alley, the ever-present stench—like that of dead rats—lingers in the air. Corpses in the streets are a common sight. After all, not every pirate cast aside by the tides of the era can be like Thor, who still has the means to trample on wealth, open a shop in a doomed location, indulge daily in the pleasures of the red-light district and taverns, or idly spend a fortune on a famed sword he’ll never use.

By contrast, all those other pirates can do is spend the last of their money. Perhaps they buy a bottle of liquor, sit in a tavern listening to boastful young pirates, reminiscing about their own past glories as they lick the final drop from the bottle. Or they head to the gaudy pleasure district, trading their remaining coins for the familiar, invigorating gazes of days gone by—even knowing those looks are nothing but purchased illusions. Until the last cent is gone. And then they wait for death, or struggle on a little longer.

Why, as pirates, do their fates diverge so drastically? Maud knew the answer: strength—the power to determine one’s own fate. To live better, more freely, one must possess the power to bend others’ wills, especially in a world like this. Otherwise, one could easily end up like the pirates before him—blind to reality.

Maud looked up at the group blocking the alley ahead—pirates missing arms and legs, clutching rusty, jagged blades. His gaze swept over their ravaged bodies, hollowed by wine and women, feeling the malice in their lifeless eyes. Maud silently drew his dagger. Just a few more alleys and he’d be out of the residential district. Even now, as he faced a roadside robbery, Maud was calculating how many meters remained before he left this place.

Before he struck, he overheard their conversation.

“The belly… that’s mine.”
“I—I just want everything below the knees.”
“Fine, the rest is all yours.”

It was rare to see such a young, fair-skinned boy in these parts. The few remaining pirates, their voices trembling with excitement, hardly considered the threat of a mere dagger. If they hadn’t already pawned their flintlocks for booze, shooting down this boy would have been so much easier.

Their futures, compressed to the breaking point, clung to their minds like icy darkness. Nothing mattered anymore—as long as they could feel the fullness of a meal once more, or the rush of liquor down their throats. Eager and impatient, as soon as they agreed on how to divide the spoils, they raised their blades and charged Maud. In their imaginations, the future was reignited—if only for a day.

Yet, their “prey” vanished in an instant. Before their minds caught up, a cold sensation bloomed somewhere on their bodies. Had they been cut? Each fell to the ground, blood gushing from their wounds.

They had overestimated themselves and underestimated Maud. Realizing their hopes had been dashed and death was near, they began to wail.

Maud stepped past the three pirates without missing a beat. Not wanting to be splattered with blood, he had deliberately avoided major arteries when he struck. That meant these three, unworthy of further note, would inch toward death bit by bit as their blood seeped away.

Ignoring the desperate wails behind him, Maud turned a corner and continued forward. Such trivial episodes were nothing more than a microcosm within the greater microcosm of the Pirate King’s world. Though rays of light could pierce even these dark fragments, in the age of great pirates, people were more inclined to face the unavoidable darkness.

Before embracing this world, Maud knew exactly what he had to do. If he wanted to stand tall, first he needed a firm footing. Growing stronger as quickly as possible was his present endeavor.

After winding through several crooked alleys, Maud finally emerged from the residential district into a broad avenue bathed in sunlight. The ever-present stench and gloom were at last dispelled by the brilliant light.

On the street, armed pirates bustled back and forth amid the noisy throng—a lively scene as far as the eye could see.

After the auction concluded, most of the pirates drawn here weren’t in a hurry to leave. Rest and pleasure were often more important than setting sail again. Besides, after such a grand event, they could easily imagine navy warships prowling the outer seas. Though Mad Hatter Town was beyond the navy’s immediate reach, fishing for small fry offshore was still possible. Seasoned pirates would avoid such risks whenever possible.

Maud slipped into the crowd, discreetly observing each pirate he passed. Most were burly men, though female pirates did appear—few in number, but each as muscular as a walking bear. Compared to them, the barmaids were veritable angels.

“I’ll just head straight to a tavern.”

Maud planned to return to the weapons shop before dusk, so he had no time for idle wandering. Last night, he could leap across rooftops under cover of darkness, avoiding the problem of unfamiliar streets. Now, walking openly, he realized it would be difficult to find the tavern he’d visited the night before. Not that he intended to return there; in Mad Hatter Town, taverns were everywhere, in every district—the only difference being their size.

Winding through the crowd, Maud would slow his pace whenever he spotted a tavern. He avoided the small ones, and if a larger one seemed empty, he skipped it as well. So he made his way, picking and choosing, until he’d walked a kilometer or two and found a sizable tavern bustling with patrons.

Battleaxe Tavern.

Maud glanced up at the sign—two bloodstained axes crossed around a bottle—then pushed open the door and stepped inside.

About half an hour after Maud entered, a well-groomed Rat Wolf arrived at the tavern’s entrance. He looked at the door, then pulled out a small mirror to check his reflection. Admiring his own “devastatingly handsome” features, he murmured with satisfaction, “An hour in the bath was worth it.” He practiced a friendly, approachable smile. “So handsome and so kind—making friends should be easy.” Nodding in approval, he pocketed the mirror and pushed open the tavern door, oblivious to the odd glances several pirates cast his way.

“What a creepy guy,” one pirate commented, offering an honest assessment of Rat Wolf’s smile.