Chapter Thirty-One: Someone Fired a Gun

An explosion? Was it from the direction of the auction?

A thought flickered through Mod's mind, leaving him hesitant. If the explosion had indeed occurred at the auction, then something must have gone wrong. Trouble meant an opportunity to slip through the chaos unnoticed. But at the same time, it also meant greater risk.

Should he go or not?

He pondered for a moment. In any case, as long as he kept his distance, it would be fine. As for Saul’s safety, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Even if everyone attending the auction perished, he was certain Saul would be the last man standing.

Why? Ever since he heard Saul talk about the sniper’s state of mind that day, Mod had come to understand an essential truth: as long as you run fast enough, no amount of enemy gunfire or flashing blades can catch up with you. In Mod’s opinion, Saul, as a veteran sniper respected even by Yasopp, might not be the strongest in brute force, but his ability to run away was surely second to none.

Having made up his mind, Mod packed away his gun and, with a single leap, easily landed atop a nearby building. Tonight’s hunt had yielded tangible results—his jumping ability had improved noticeably. Leaping two or three stories was now no problem at all.

Bounding across the rooftops, he made his way toward the direction of the auction. Before long, Mod reached Watchtower Street, where the auction hall was located. After some effort, he found an ideal vantage point atop a building, though he made sure it was far enough from the auction to avoid getting caught up in the chaos.

From here, he could see nothing more than thick black smoke billowing from the auction. The crowd gathered outside was just a blurred mass at this distance. In situations like this, Mod thought he ought to acquire a pair of tactical goggles or a compact, portable telescope—something that would allow him to stay safe while observing events in detail.

Should he get a little closer?

He weighed the idea. No, safety first.

He quickly abandoned any thought of taking a risk. If he could gain experience merely by killing these pirates, he’d be willing to brave the danger for the reward. But the Hunter’s Notebook had its limitations, and it simply wasn’t worth the risk in this situation.

Better to remain quietly in a safe place and wait patiently. If luck was on his side, some easy prey would come his way. If not, there was always next time.

Gripping Usopp in his hands, Mod leaned against a long, metal chimney, gazing at the distant auction. Aside from the rising smoke, the crowd outside remained relatively calm—there was no sign of chaos. Perhaps the auction’s armed guards had managed to keep things under control.

It was all bluster and little action, Mod thought, disappointed as he glanced at the smoke curling up into the sky. Without real fighting, there was nothing for him to take advantage of.

In his mind, he hadn’t hoped for a life-and-death struggle on the scale of the war at Marineford, but at least a decent brawl would do. Only in chaos do people get hurt and forced to withdraw, and that’s when he could swoop in and claim a few heads. But despite his calculations, the disturbance was so minor that he doubted he’d gain anything at all.

If only someone would stir things up a bit, he muttered to himself.

No sooner had the words left his lips than another explosion echoed from the auction hall, as if the world itself had heard his wish. A figure burst through the smoke, charging into the crowd like a tank.

Hmm? Instantly alert, Mod narrowed his eyes, focusing on the wide street outside the auction. Even with his sharp eyesight, he could only make out a general outline—a “person” had burst out of the auction and was scattering the crowd in all directions.

Good show! he thought to himself, watching from afar.

Determined to get a better view, Mod abandoned his post and began making his way stealthily toward the auction.

Outside the auction, carnage reigned as limbs flew through the air. A two-meter-tall fish-man rampaged through the crowd.

“Out of my way!” he snarled, his mouth full of razor-sharp teeth slicing through anyone who dared to block his path. Horrifyingly, a chunk of flesh happened to fall into his mouth, which he swallowed whole, filling his empty stomach.

“Out of my way! All of you, move!” he roared. “I’m going back—to the sea!”

His face was smeared with blood as he howled, reaching out with both hands to grab two pirates by the cheekbones. With a sudden burst of strength, their heads exploded like ripe melons. Still, the fish-man pressed forward, but the crowd was thick—no matter how fiercely he fought, to the onlookers, he seemed to stagger, with only despair standing between him and escape.

Barring a miracle, even the most dangerous fish-man would eventually be overwhelmed.

“It’s a fish-man! If he gets close, we’re done for—shoot him, quick, shoot him dead!” someone shouted amid the chaos.

Bang!

A shot rang out, but instead of hitting the fish-man, the bullet struck an unlucky pirate.

“Who’s the idiot who fired that shot?” the fallen pirate’s comrade shouted in shock and anger. In a situation where numbers should have prevailed, they couldn’t believe someone would be so careless. Was he trying to boost his confidence after terrible marksmanship?

“Move! Everyone, get out of the way!”

The auction’s armed guards forced a path through the crowd like a pair of giant hands.

“Stop! That fish-man slave is a valuable auction item!”

“Damn you! He’s killing us right in front of your eyes and you want us to stop?” A pirate, eyes bloodshot with rage after his comrade was killed, raised his gun and took aim at the fish-man’s back.

But just as he was about to pull the trigger, one of the armed guards snatched the flintlock from behind in the confusion.

The pirate froze, ready to curse, when suddenly a gunshot rang out at his ear. His body trembled—he looked down at the blood spreading across his chest, his lips moved silently, and he collapsed, dead.

The armed guard who’d taken the gun froze for a moment, thinking the weapon had misfired. “Who fired that shot?” a question flashed through his mind. Suddenly, someone shouted.

“The auction guards are killing people! Someone was just shot by them!”

“I didn’t—!” the guard tried to protest.

Another shot rang out. The bullet struck him squarely between the eyes, cutting off his unfinished sentence. With a pirate and a guard dead from gunfire, disorder began to truly set in.

“Damn, you killed my brother!”

Bang!

Another guard fell to the ground as a shot was fired. The shooter who’d called out quickly melted into the crowd, vanishing without a trace.

Though the auction’s guards had lost two men mysteriously, they still represented the authority of the auction and didn’t retaliate. But two more shots followed, shattering any pretense of order.

In an instant, chaos erupted.

The fish-man slave didn’t know exactly what had happened, but sensing an opportunity, he slaughtered the pirates with renewed vigor.

...

“Who’s providing cover fire?” On a rooftop, Mod, startled, quickly packed away Usopp and dove into the alley between buildings.

Could there be another professional at work?

He swiftly changed position. Upon arriving at the scene, he realized the figure who’d burst out of the auction was a fish-man. After observing for a while, he found the situation too calm and fired a test shot—not expecting much.

Yet after he fired, cover shots started popping up everywhere, as if a chain reaction had been triggered.

The situation escalated beyond his expectations. As the sounds of battle echoed from the auction, Mod hurried through the alleys, reloading his weapon as he went.

He wasn’t fleeing—on the contrary, he meant to find a new vantage point, hoping to see if any prey managed to escape the net.