Chapter Thirty-Four: Considering the Second Request

Arlong will absolutely slaughter all of humanity.

This was what Sam wanted to say before dying.

If Mod heard this, he might have burst out laughing.

However, hearing Arlong’s name from Sam’s mouth truly surprised Mod.

After all, the Arlong Pirates were in the East Blue, and this was the West Blue.

Could it be that Sam had tried to join Arlong, got lost and wandered into the West Blue, and then was captured by humans?

Mod shook his head and dismissed the thought.

Just then, a faint crackling sound came from his body, followed by a subtle transformation.

Sensing something, Mod rolled up his sleeve. Muscles were beginning to form on his arm, though still insubstantial.

“To think that just a few words of information could yield such results.”

Mod was a little astonished and couldn’t help but glance at Sam’s corpse.

After all, Sam was the sort of guy who could carve a bloody path through a crowd with nothing but his physique and terrifying grip strength.

Not to mention, even with serious injuries, he’d managed to hold out until now. When he’d charged just now, though much slower, he was still not to be underestimated.

Had Mod not anticipated Sam’s reaction and backed away in advance, he might have found Sam on top of him the moment he finished writing the name.

A fish-man like Sam, with such a strong body—if he had learned martial arts or Fish-Man Karate, his overall strength would likely have increased several fold.

“This guy clearly wasn’t your average fish-man warrior. If he’d escaped tonight and later joined up with the Arlong Pirates... who knows, he might have wiped out the yet-to-be-formed Straw Hat crew in a few years.”

Mod picked up the [Usopp] he’d tossed aside earlier.

Tossing the gun had been a bit unnecessary; the idea was to lull Sam into a false sense of security, but the gun had been empty anyway.

Still, Mod couldn’t help but admire the decisiveness Sam had shown in those few short minutes.

Unfortunately, fate had already set the price.

Even if Sam had been lucky enough to escape the auction house and make it here, death would still have been his only destination.

At that point, even if Mod hadn’t fired, he could have killed the gravely wounded, unstable Sam with just a dagger.

Shooting him had simply been the safer option.

Given a safer option, only a fool would choose to use a dagger instead.

If it were a longsword, maybe it would have been worth considering.

After all, longer means stronger—a longsword is far more reliable than a dagger.

With no reason to linger, Mod left the alley.

Moments later, the air gradually filled with the faint scent of fish.

Tonight’s outing had netted Mod three pirates and a fish-man.

With such a bountiful harvest, he decided to call it a night: no need to join the chaos at the auction house, but to head straight back to the weapons shop.

“The Arlong Pirates...”

On the way back, Sam’s dying words, coupled with the sweet taste of his first fish-man prey, sent Mod’s thoughts spinning.

But for the time being, it was just idle musing.

After all, the Arlong Pirates were far off in the East Blue, and with his current strength, going there would be suicide.

Still, the rewards from a fish-man were truly pleasing.

Of course, if it were just a regular fish-man, there’d probably be little benefit.

But a fish-man of Sam’s caliber made Mod think of only a few places: the Arlong Pirates in the East Blue, Fish-Man Island ten thousand meters below the sea, and the Sabaody Archipelago, where fish-man slaves were in constant supply.

The awkward part was, by the time Mod was strong enough to go to those places, he might no longer need them.

On his way back to the weapons shop, Mod deliberately took unlit routes and unfortunately got lost.

Helpless, he was forced to scale building rooftops to find his way, and eventually returned safely to the shop.

Once back, Mod tiptoed into the bathroom.

In the dark, he removed his mask and death-marked armband, placing them on the sink. He turned on the tap and splashed water on his face.

He planned to get rid of these disguises tomorrow.

If he needed them again, he’d simply make a new set in a different style.

“Whew...”

Mod wiped the water from his face and gazed into the dark mirror, darkness staring back.

With his physique now on the right track, he began to consider whether to fill in a second requirement.

The thought brought immediate hesitation.

Swordsmanship, or martial arts?

When it came to martial arts, what first came to Mod’s mind was the Navy’s Six Powers—Shave, Iron Body, Paper Drawing, Moon Step, Tempest Kick, Finger Gun.

Swordsmanship, on the other hand, brought to mind Zoro’s dazzling techniques and the overwhelming presence of Hawkeye’s mighty swings.

For martial arts, he’d have to learn the Six Powers first for the [Martial Arts Requirement] to be effective.

With swordsmanship, he could be clever and list [Cold Weapons] as his requirement.

But as the scope of a requirement broadened, the experience gains would have to be divided among many skills.

Physique, as a [Passive] requirement, already spread its rewards across strength, endurance, speed, and so on.

If the second requirement were similar, it would mean being broad but not deep.

He could make a ruthless choice and select a talent requirement, but talent was such a mysterious thing, and Mod didn’t want to gamble.

He probably wouldn’t decide anytime soon.

Still, Mod knew he was leaning toward swordsmanship. The limited number of requirement slots meant he had to be cautious in his choices, and the decision wouldn’t be made lightly.

His reasoning was simple: under equal conditions, a blade beats a fist.

Another key point was length.

Thinking along these lines, Mod couldn’t help but picture a scene in his mind.

A stick-figure martial artist darted through a crowd, trailing after-images and shouting, “I can dazzle you until your scalp tingles!”

A stick-figure swordsman whipped out something long and hard and sneered, “Mine’s longer than yours.”

And that was the end of the discussion.

Mod’s thoughts returned to reality.

“Take it slow.”

He habitually reminded himself not to rush.

With enough patience, success is rarely as difficult as it seems.

Click.

The light suddenly snapped on.

Mod blinked and saw Sunny’s reflection in the mirror.

She was the one who’d turned on the light.

He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed her coming downstairs.

Seeing Sunny in the mirror, Mod apologized, “Did I wake you?”

Sunny shook her head. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

“It’s so late and you’re still up?”

Mod was surprised.

But Sunny fell silent, her gaze resting on the mask and armband on the sink.

Especially the mask—if you didn’t look closely, you might think it was Arthur’s work mask.

Noticing Sunny eyeing the mask and armband, Mod turned around, casually blocking her view and changing the subject with a tease:

“You’re up so late—were you waiting for me?”

“Yes.”

Sunny nodded without a trace of the shyness one might expect of a girl.

Mod was taken aback, then burst out laughing. “Oh my, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for me?”

Sunny rolled her eyes at him and walked straight to the kitchen.

“I’m hungry. Make me something to eat, and make an extra portion—Saul should be back soon.”

“You go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Mod smiled and agreed, preparing to take the mask and armband upstairs.

...

Mad Hatter Auction House.

The black smoke had dispersed; chaos reigned.

Gangster Bege, surrounded by his men, held half of a devil fruit in his hand.

His features were twisted by its indescribable taste.

At his feet lay a middle-aged man riddled with bullets.

“Bege!”

The man looked up with difficulty, glaring at Bege. “Guys like you, who started with bootlegging—”

Bege looked coldly at him as he swallowed the other half of the devil fruit.