Chapter Thirty-Six: The Thousand Birds

"Chidori..."

Mod glanced at the long sword resting on the table.

A row of diamond-shaped patterns was engraved on the hilt, and the sheath was an eerie blue, slender and textured, its surface adorned with scattered white star-like motifs.

The interplay of blue and white, even at first glance, evoked a sense of profound depth.

After observing it for a while, Mod’s curiosity about the blade hidden within the sheath grew stronger.

By contrast, Sunny showed no interest in the sword at all. She was wholeheartedly focused on scraping the last bits from her bowl, not letting even a single piece of chopped scallion escape.

Saul slurped a mouthful of steaming noodles and turned to Mod, "What’s wrong, want to try how it feels?"

Mod nodded instinctively, "Yes, it looks impressive. I wonder what it’s like to hold it."

"Heh, why not try it and find out?" Saul freed a hand, picked up Chidori, and handed it over.

Seeing this, Mod’s eyes lit up as he reached for Chidori.

But just then, Saul’s smile vanished. He reversed his grip, wielding Chidori like a stick, and knocked Mod on the forehead.

"When you do something, do it with a single mind. You haven’t even mastered guns yet, and now you’re getting interested in swords?"

Mod rubbed his forehead, speechless, staring at Saul who had switched from smiling to expressionless in a heartbeat.

It was just a look at the sword—was that really necessary?

Knowing Saul was sensitive about such matters, Mod didn’t argue.

He’d been pondering whether to write down a second request tonight, and Saul had happened to buy Chidori at the auction.

He really wanted to experience firsthand the allure of a famous blade from the world of pirates.

But Saul wouldn’t even let him touch it.

He resented anything related to swords, yet was so eager to collect famous ones.

Who knew what went on in the old man's head?

Mod glanced regretfully at Chidori, which Saul had returned to the table.

But soon, he remembered that this famed sword would be displayed on the shelf, and Saul usually went to exercise on Flower Street every morning...

Mod withdrew his gaze quietly, calculating in his mind.

He didn’t notice Saul’s meaningful look, as if saying: “Kid, give up already.”

The next day.

Morning mist blanketed everything.

The air was heavy with salty moisture.

Mod awoke from sleep, donned his weights, and immediately rushed to the shop.

"Why isn’t it here?!"

Staring at the unchanged shelf, Mod’s face fell with disappointment.

Hearing his voice, Sunny came over from the corridor, puzzled.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Mod replied perfunctorily.

He didn’t want to explain, but Sunny glanced at the shelf and, recalling Mod’s behavior last night, instantly guessed his thoughts.

"Don’t bother. If Saul wants to collect a sword, he’d never put it on the shelf for sale. He doesn’t need those famous blades for show."

"I see."

Mod’s disappointment deepened.

He’d hoped Saul might handle it for a few days and then put it on the shelf, but Sunny’s words shattered that hope.

"The swords bought at high prices are all in Saul’s room. But I advise you not to mess around—even if an ant enters his room, Saul knows."

Sunny glanced at Mod’s crestfallen face and headed toward the kitchen.

"Breakfast will be a little late today. Clean up the shop first, then come over."

"Alright," Mod replied weakly, once again looking at the shelf.

Though many long swords were displayed there, none had the dazzling presence of Chidori.

The difference between them was astronomical.

After all, fame never comes without merit.

As one of the fifty Excellent Grade Blades of Industry, Chidori had a presence and quality no ordinary shelf sword could match.

Yet, the blades on the shelf weren’t bad—they were far inferior to Chidori, but not so much as to be worlds apart.

Mod’s impression was mostly shaped by reputation.

He couldn’t help it; influenced by the original story, he naturally believed only the near hundred blades classified as Industry Weapons were truly good swords.

But the world was vast—how could there be only a hundred good blades?

Even an average-quality long sword, if wielded by a swordsman skilled in Armament Haki, could, after prolonged use and infusion of Haki, become a fine blade in its own right.

Although he couldn’t touch Chidori, Mod found himself wanting to acquire a sword.

However, he’d have to do it secretly and keep it hidden in his room.

When free, he could take it out to get familiar with its feel.

With that thought, Mod wasn’t in a hurry.

Instead, the transcription of the "Notebook" became more important, since he’d have to return it to Sunny after dinner.

No longer obsessed with Chidori, Mod cleaned up the shop at top speed, then asked Sunny for a new notebook.

It took over two hours to copy all the information.

He already had some impression of the intelligence in the "Notebook," but this time, some points became much clearer.

Mod estimated that even without matching bounty photos, he could recognize targets on sight.

The day wore on, and the weapon shop’s business remained as bleak as ever.

Not a single customer came.

It wasn’t until mealtime that Saul, reeking of alcohol, strolled back carrying a jug.

As soon as he entered, Saul glanced at the weights on Mod’s legs.

"No lunch for you."

With that, he went straight upstairs to his room.

He’d probably feasted outside.

Watching Saul ascend, Mod returned to the shop and glanced at the half-closed door.

He figured Saul would sleep for hours and wouldn’t wake soon.

That meant he wouldn’t be supervised for afternoon training—perhaps he could go out hunting in the street.

He acted on the idea immediately, skipping lunch and heading to his room.

First, he removed the weights and secured his two flintlock pistols close to his body. As for "Usopp," he left it behind—the aging marks on the gun were too conspicuous.

"About five hundred thousand Berries..."

Mod counted his remaining stash and tucked it away securely.

He’d scavenged this money from his prey after hunts.

Prepared, Mod hurried downstairs to the shop.

"Sunny, I’m going out."

He tossed the words quickly, not giving Sunny a chance to reply, and slipped out the door in an instant.

Behind the counter, Sunny stared blankly at the door, then gritted her teeth.

"Mod!"

But soon, she noticed the speed at which Mod had just slipped away.

"No way, in just a few days..."

Sunny wondered in confusion.

Even with remarkable talent, it shouldn’t be possible to see such obvious progress after only two days of weighted training.

She was thoroughly baffled.

...

Walking through the alley, Mod suddenly remembered there were several neighbors he’d yet to visit.

But thinking he could always drop by, and pressed for time, he left the idea for another day.

"Come to think of it, this is my first time out in the daytime."

He sighed softly, then pondered where to go.

The tavern was the obvious first choice.

Though filled with all sorts, the chance of finding the right prey was high.

Still, Mod was tempted to stroll through Cape Street in daylight, as well as visit other weapon shops and the place where Saul often trained in the mornings... cough, cough.

The more he thought, the more excited he became, quickening his pace.

His spirits high, he failed to notice the watchful gaze trailing him from behind.