Chapter 68: Once Considered Moving Away from My Protector

His former family was wiped out, and the perpetrator was none other than Capone Bege of the gang. If it hadn't been for Ratwolf bringing it up, Mod would never have made the connection. After all, in the memories left behind by his predecessor, there was no mention of the Bege gang. Whether this was true or not, Mod had no desire to waste energy verifying it. For in his eyes, true or false, the Bege gang was an excellent hunting target.

With a sudden snort, Mod slammed his hand down hard on the bar counter, drawing the attention of Ratwolf and Tatam. As their gazes shifted, they saw Mod speak, his face twisted in anger. “Gangs are a plague on the world. Not only do they seize others’ property, but they even wipe out entire families!”

“Indeed,” Tatam chimed in, for once joining the conversation. He wholeheartedly agreed with Mod. Yet the world was such as this; darker deeds than these were countless. When you see enough of them, they rarely stir the heart.

Ratwolf seemed to sense Mod’s mood and also slapped his own hand down on the bar, cursing in indignation: “Leaving aside the matter of the wine, that gang is utterly inhuman. Their evil knows no bounds—they leave nothing behind!”

Mod turned abruptly to Ratwolf with a look of approval. “No wonder you’re my friend—we see eye to eye.”

A faint sense of unease crept over Ratwolf, but his face maintained its righteous indignation at the gang’s actions. He dared not say another word, fearing that Mod would set a trap for him.

Mod didn’t mind Ratwolf’s sudden silence. With practiced ease, he placed a hand on Ratwolf’s shoulder. Ratwolf stiffened slightly, lowering his head to stare at Mod’s hand, falling into deep thought.

Then Mod spoke solemnly, “Ratwolf, since the gang is so devoid of humanity, why don’t we just—”

Ratwolf shivered at once, about to refuse, but Mod continued, “I’m joking. Organizations like the gang are best left to the just hands of the Navy.”

With that, Mod withdrew his hand with a smile, lifted his glass, and took a slow sip.

A flicker of surprise crossed Ratwolf’s eyes, but he smiled in agreement. “Yes, of course.”

He, too, raised his glass, hiding the trace of unease that had escaped him.

Mod set his glass down and continued pondering the matter of Capone Bege and his gang. He’d considered having Ratwolf act as his hired muscle again, but with the target being the gang, he couldn’t find a convincing excuse and decided to let it go. Then he thought of the powerful Saul.

Ever since he’d started learning to shoot under Saul, the idea of having Saul help him “level up” had crossed his mind more than once. But after spending time together, he’d quickly abandoned that unrealistic notion. Such a thing would only diminish his value in Saul’s eyes—a man who prized value above all. Besides, to ask such a favor of Saul, he’d at least need a reasonable and legitimate motive, and he couldn’t do it too often.

Now, at last, he had the most legitimate reason of all—vengeance for his family.

To hunt Bege, the most difficult obstacle was not Bege’s own strength, but the gang behind him. As the most powerful mafia in the West Blue underworld, their sheer numbers alone posed a daunting challenge for Mod. But if he could rely on the power of Saul, the conditions for a direct hunt would be in place.

With his thoughts in order, a sharp light flashed in Mod’s eyes. Before setting this plan in motion, he would need to gather intelligence on the gang. Gathering information took time, and Mod was unwilling to waste his precious days on such matters—especially when the perfect source sat before him.

“Tatam, are you willing to take on the task of gathering intelligence on the gang?”

“I am, but it won’t be cheap,” Tatam replied without asking for a reason.

“How much do you need?” Mod was short of cash at the moment, but the streets outside were full of walking wallets. A few successful robberies, and his purse would soon be full.

“It depends on the content.”

“The names and abilities of the gang’s officers, especially their abilities—the more detailed, the better. Also, the approximate size of the gang, and Bege’s whereabouts. For now, that’s all. Can you do it?”

Mod immediately laid out his request.

Tatam didn’t answer right away, calculating the difficulty and feasibility of the job, and what a reasonable price would be.

After a moment, Tatam named his price. “4.5 million.”

“Fine. I’ll bring the money in a few days,” Mod nodded.

By getting straight to price, Tatam showed he was capable of handling the task. There was no bargaining in the world of information trade. The price was what it was.

With the details settled, Mod asked briefly about the current situation in Mad Hatter Town.

In two months, little had changed there. The only thing worth noting was the devil sheriff, Lafitte, who stirred up constant trouble yet no one dared provoke.

According to Ratwolf, in just two months, more than three hundred pirates and underworld figures had died at Lafitte’s hands. Among the victims were two notorious pirates with bounties over thirty million, as well as many others with bounties ranging from five to fifteen million.

Listening to Ratwolf recite the names of these well-known victims, Mod felt nothing but pain. Even if Mad Hatter Town was never short on “experience fodder,” it was hard to compete when someone like Lafitte was “stealing all the kills.”

Still, Mod would not risk provoking Lafitte over such matters. With such a dangerous man, it was best to keep as far away as possible for now.

Aside from Lafitte, there were only two matters of note in Mad Hatter Town. One was the clash between Kid, Killer, and a famous pirate crew. The other concerned Ibé, who had now fully recovered from her injuries.

About a month ago, Ibé was almost healed. Since then, in what seemed like a daily venting of frustration, the Ibé Pirates would visit the black market to buy young and attractive boys from slave traders, then clean them up and deliver them to their boss. Usually it was one boy per day; on a few occasions, three were bought in a single day. As for the fate of these boys, it was all too obvious. One could say the Ibé Pirates were keeping both the slave traders and undertakers in business.

With the situation understood, Mod did not stay longer. After paying for his drinks, he asked to buy all the wanted posters. Since they had just done business, Tatam had no reason to refuse. Instead of taking any money, he gave all the posters to Mod for free.

Mod gladly accepted and left the Nightfall Bar.

After his departure, Ratwolf downed several glasses of Bacchus white rum, emptying the bottle before he stopped. He sat in silence at the bar for a long time before heading upstairs to his room.

Earlier, Mod’s offhand comment about “leaving it to the just hands of the Navy” was like a fishbone stuck in his throat—not painful, but deeply uncomfortable.

Once in his room, Ratwolf took out his transponder snail.

No matter what, the fish had taken the bait.