Chapter 97: Such Is the Situation (Third Update, Supplemental Chapter)

At the break of dawn, a raging inferno engulfed the pig farm. The armed squad outnumbered the revolutionary army several times over. Thus, when Sabo, who served as the vanguard, was pinned down by Scott, the wielder of the Copper-Copper Fruit, the revolutionaries once again found themselves locked in a bitter struggle.

Mod and Sunny mingled among the armed squad, blending in while slyly observing the battle on both sides.

"The revolutionaries are in dire straits," Mod mused inwardly as he watched their ranks being scattered and broken.

Rescuing slaves in this fashion was, in essence, no different from a hostage rescue—an undertaking that spoke for its own difficulty. Thus, Mod had always believed the revolutionaries would only attempt such an operation if they were absolutely certain of success. Yet, witnessing the current situation, it was evident that this rescue had involved a fair share of risk-taking.

Given the circumstances, Mod and Sunny had no way to stand out. The most they could do was, while maintaining their cover, take shots during the chaos to thin the armed squad’s numbers, thereby easing the pressure on the revolutionaries engaged in close combat.

Just moments ago, for instance, Mod had pulled the trigger at just the right moment—when a member of the armed squad had been struck by a blade. In such a situation, that man would not have died immediately, and might even have continued fighting. But Mod’s well-timed bullet had been the final straw. Each shot, taken at the opportune moment, was fired with utmost stealth. In the chaos, even a hurried glance would reveal nothing amiss. Were it not for his mastery of basic observation Haki, Mod might not have managed this.

"Better than nothing," he thought as he continued to fire into the melee, his attention largely focused on Sabo and Scott.

Scott, after all, was a rare and worthy prey at this stage. If the chance presented itself to claim his head, Mod had no intention of letting it slip by. But before making a move, he would need an opportunity to write the man’s name into his notebook.

With this in mind, Mod glanced at Sunny. Seeing her remain remarkably calm, he felt a measure of relief and turned his thoughts to Scott. He surveyed the battlefield—a pure, unadulterated mess. The stalemate persisted, with men falling and dying by the minute. Yet, with the armed squad’s numerical advantage, time was only working against the revolutionaries. The only way to break the deadlock would be for Sabo to defeat Scott quickly and once more carve a bloody path through enemy ranks.

But Scott, fortified by the defense granted by the Copper-Copper Fruit, had managed to bog Sabo down. Moreover, with clear-headed pragmatism, Scott had realized that Sabo was not an opponent to be dispatched easily. He promptly abandoned any thought of killing Sabo, focusing instead on binding him, leaving Sabo not a single opening. This wise and precise decision left Sabo at a severe disadvantage.

Without outside intervention, Sabo would never be able to take down Scott in the short term. Mod watched this unfold with clarity and found himself holding a new regard for Scott—anyone who could so deftly seize the advantage in a chaotic melee was not to be underestimated. Unfortunately, Scott’s defense also neutralized any possibility of Mod or Sunny lending meaningful aid to Sabo. Otherwise, perhaps they could have created an opportunity for him.

"Take care of yourself," Mod murmured inwardly, continuing to fire covert shots into the fray. Even while biding their time, they could occasionally eliminate a "teammate." The armed squad, deep in the heat of battle, could scarcely have imagined that two hidden shooters lurked behind them. The revolutionaries, for their part, sensed something amiss but had no time to investigate.

As time ticked by, bodies piled up on the field. Seizing the chance to resupply his ammunition, Mod quietly pulled out his notebook and wrote Scott’s name down. Under the circumstances, that was all he could manage before stashing the notebook away. Returning to the battlefield, he saw the revolutionaries’ situation had grown even more precarious.

Sunny, too, was firing covertly. Noticing the revolutionaries teetering on the brink of collapse, her shots took on an edge of urgency.

"Sunny, don’t take too many risks," Mod cautioned her at once. Their involvement was never meant to be self-sacrifice. To brave the dangers and offer what support they could was already the height of benevolence. Sunny nodded wordlessly, suppressing any thoughts of reckless action.

Just as Sol had said: priorities must come first. The first consideration before offering help must always be one’s own life.

After urging Sunny to fall back a little, Mod once more surveyed the battlefield. At this rate, if nothing changed, not half an hour would pass before every revolutionary left would be wiped out. Watching them fight to the bitter end, Mod could roughly guess their motivation: most likely, they were determined to ensure the slaves’ safe escape from Mad Hatter Island, no matter the cost—even at the price of their own lives.

Mod could not help but admire the revolutionaries’ spirit of self-sacrifice for strangers. Yet, to risk one’s life for those unrelated to oneself? If it had been him, he would have thought twice.

With the tide of battle turning ever more in the armed squad’s favor, Mod was already contemplating retreat. Soon the sun would be up. If he and Sunny were discovered firing on the squad from within, things would get ugly.

But just as the thought of retreat crossed his mind, two unexpected developments erupted on the field.

"Oh?" Mod’s gaze fell upon a young maiden who had appeared from nowhere. Unafraid of flying bullets, she plunged into the fray, wielding a martial art reminiscent of karate to send armed squad members hurtling through the air. Every person struck by her landed either dead or crippled.

"That’s the woman who was with Sabo last night," Mod recognized her, astonished, before turning his attention to the second twist.

It was a brawny man who had come from the far side of Wall Mountain, his face swathed in black cloth so that only his eyes showed. He entered through the unguarded gate, launching a devastating assault on the squad’s rear.

As Mod and Sunny assessed the newcomer, they subtly widened the distance between themselves and him, wary of drawing attention.

"Could it be...?" Mod, studying the man’s build, immediately thought of Tatamu. But whoever he was, these two wild cards had arrived at the perfect moment.

Suddenly, Mod’s attention shot back to Scott, his mind racing with possibility.

...

At the same time, in Tatamu’s quarters, Wolf Rat stood at the door, silently gazing at the empty bed. After a moment, he left the Night Bar and ascended to the rooftop, looking out toward Wall Mountain. Billows of black smoke soared skyward, the flames painting the sky a lurid red. Even from this distance, the sounds of battle drifted faintly on the wind.

Wolf Rat drew the Den Den Mushi from his pocket and dialed Zhiyuan.

At that very moment, an hour’s sail from Mad Hatter Town, two navy warships cut through the waves. The first light of dawn touched the horizon. On the deck, Zhiyuan stood facing the wind, with Garp beside her, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed ahead.

Brrrring, brrrring—

Suddenly, the Den Den Mushi in Zhiyuan’s pocket began to ring.