Chapter Thirty-Three: I, Arthur, Have Never Taken Advantage of Others' Plight

Saving the Fishman was for the purpose of killing him.

Such a peculiar logic, how could Clara, merely an observer, have foreseen it?

Thus, she simply believed that Maud was intervening to rescue the Fishman.

Astonished, she was soon swept by doubts about Maud’s identity.

On the long street, the Fishman slave, desperate to flee back to the sea, had also noticed this.

Someone is helping me?

For a fleeting moment, the Fishman was plunged into the same confusion as Clara.

Who could it be?

In a place like this, how could anyone possibly help me?

He shook his head sharply; it was no time for pondering. He lowered his head and ran for his life.

Yet, he was no fool.

Having experienced firsthand what it meant to be a living target, he could not continue running along the main street.

He suddenly changed direction, darting into the alleyways between buildings.

The pirates who had emerged to join the fun saw the Fishman slave grow wise and regretted not being able to fire a few more shots, but none were foolish enough to pursue him.

They knew well that the Fishman slave was merchandise from the Mad Hatter Town auction house.

In a crowd, everyone could fire off a few shots for amusement, and if he died, the blame was shared.

In such cases, there was little worry about trouble from the auction house later.

As for helping to capture the Fishman slave alive for the auction house?

The risks far outweighed the rewards; only a fool would attempt it.

Watching the Fishman slave disappear into the alley, the pirates, now deprived of their entertainment, shifted their attention to the three fallen comrades—killed by someone unknown—and the chaotic brawl at the auction house's entrance.

Atop the building, Maud saw the Fishman cut into the alley and a satisfied smile crept beneath his mask.

Now that’s more like it...

The prospect of soon verifying whether the Hunter’s Notebook worked on Fishmen set Maud’s heart ablaze.

When he first designed his ability, his intention was to leverage the advantages of a traveler’s intelligence.

Thus, subconsciously, the Hunter’s Notebook, true to its name, was aimed at both “hunter” and “man.”

Fishmen and giants had never been part of his original envisioned prey.

But both, in their own ways, were linked to “man.”

Therefore, Maud believed the likelihood of applicability was high.

If it worked, the range of prey would expand even further.

Fishmen and giants would then become prey with even greater returns.

Yet, though the profits were high, compared to pirates scattered across the seas, Fishmen and giants were rare monsters.

Unless one went directly to their lairs, they were creatures one could only encounter by chance.

“The physical prowess of the Fishman race is remarkable indeed. Despite so many injuries, he can still maintain this speed.”

Maud kept close behind the Fishman slave.

“If I hadn’t killed those three pirates tonight, perhaps I wouldn’t be able to keep up now.”

Watching the Fishman slave’s wild dash continue unabated, Maud was surprised, yet remained calm.

Letting the Fishman run himself ragged was best.

First, let him lose too much blood.

Then, let his stamina plummet.

After that, making a move would be much easier.

Earlier, Maud had witnessed the Fishman slave wreak havoc among the crowd.

Now, he was like a lone wolf, patiently waiting for his prey to become exhausted, trailing closely behind.

Considering the possibility of interference, Maud slowed his pace, pursuing while reloading his weapon.

Though his physical abilities were no longer lacking, only firearms gave him a sense of security.

As long as the enemy couldn’t withstand bullets, Maud was confident in handling any situation.

After about ten minutes, the effects of the Fishman’s injuries finally began to manifest.

First, excessive blood loss led to weakened limbs.

Next came a sharp reduction in speed.

Cautious of any unforeseen developments, Maud judged it was time to strike.

He suddenly accelerated, leaping swiftly to land ahead of the Fishman slave.

The Fishman slave was startled, suddenly halting.

His blood-depleted, weakened limbs couldn’t support such abrupt braking, causing him to stumble forward.

Damn...!

His heart raced in panic.

To his surprise, the human before him did not seize the opportunity to kill.

Regaining his balance hurriedly, the Fishman slave, still fearful, panted heavily—eyes wary, fixed on the man who had suddenly landed in front of him.

His gaze swept over the human’s dagger and the long-barreled gun peeking from his shoulder, and he was instantly alarmed, disregarding his lack of strength, and bolted forward.

Strike first!

Bang—

The Fishman slave stopped abruptly.

A lead bullet struck the ground before his feet, wisps of smoke rising.

“Foolish human.”

Seeing Maud fire the only bullet from his flintlock, the Fishman slave was reassured.

In this terrain, what he feared most was the gun; upon noticing Maud’s flintlock slung behind him, he had dared to charge.

But the opponent had intentionally fired wide.

No need to dwell on the reason.

Now, the Fishman slave was in no rush to attack, quietly regulating his breathing.

Having stopped the Fishman’s charge with a single bullet, Maud tossed the empty “Usopp” aside.

“Though you are of the Fishman race, I, Arthur, have never liked taking advantage of the wounded.”

Maud raised his head slightly, his eyes within the mask’s holes locked onto the Fishman slave’s body.

“I see your injuries are grave, and your breath is disordered from fleeing. I’ll give you five minutes to recover.”

“……”

The Fishman slave’s eyes widened.

So that was it.

No wonder the shot was deliberately off.

Hmph, such tedious principles.

Humans are so foolish.

Five minutes?

He only needed less than three to recover.

He thought silently, adjusting his breath accordingly.

Once he regained his composure, there was no way he would wait the full five minutes.

He’d strike first, then escape this troublesome place as soon as possible.

Maud watched the Fishman slave recover, and solemnly said, “I do not slay nameless men. State your name.”

He raised his dagger before him as he spoke.

The Fishman slave glanced at the dagger and sneered.

Even wounded, as long as it was close combat, he was confident he could dispatch this human with nothing but a dagger in an instant.

“Hetton Sam.”

He answered coldly without a second thought.

He wanted to add a threat, but decided it was unnecessary.

Soon enough, he’d be able to crush the head of this self-righteous human.

“Hetton Sam, is it.”

Maud smiled, studying the blood-streaked contours of the Fishman slave’s face.

After a moment, Maud suddenly retreated, sheathing his dagger.

Sam was taken aback, uncertain of Maud’s intentions.

Maud, having put away his dagger, summoned the Hunter’s Notebook.

“Hm? Is he a Devil Fruit user?!”

Seeing Maud produce a notebook from thin air, Sam suddenly sensed danger, abandoned his breath regulation, and lunged for Maud.

Maud remained unperturbed, like a judge, swiftly scribbling Sam’s name and the remarkable grip strength he’d displayed in battle onto the pages with a goose-feather pen.

“No matter what your ability is, as long as I get close…”

As Sam charged, he raised his right hand, webbed fingers poised to crush Maud’s face upon reaching him.

Suddenly, his expression changed dramatically.

He saw Maud’s notebook vanish, and Maud drew a flintlock pistol from within his clothes.

Bang—

Maud pulled the trigger.

The shot struck Sam.

Blood splattered, the impact of the lead bullet jolting Sam’s body and halting him.

“You…!”

Sam collapsed in disbelief.

Maud drew a second flintlock and fired another shot into Sam’s body.

“Shameless Arthur… Arlong will… will definitely…”

Before he could finish, Sam died.

“Arlong?”

Hearing Sam’s final threat, Maud raised a brow.