The Hunter of Pirates

Who fired the assistive shot ultimately remained a mystery to Morin. It didn't seem particularly important either.

Listening to the intensifying sounds of battle nearby, it wasn't hard to imagine the brutality of the scene.

As the instigator of it all, Mobin could only feign regret.

When you live by the sword, you die by it.

Feeling no guilt toward pirates, Mobin circled through the cluster of buildings, eventually climbing to the rooftop of a nearby structure.

Upon reaching the rooftop, he was surprised to find numerous people already gathered on the surrounding buildings.

Some of them were even holding food and bottles of liquor, spectating the chaos below like a form of entertainment.

From their cheers, Mobin could hear their excitement loud and clear.

Glancing at them briefly, he pondered.

Taking them out could be an option.

But there was a better choice available, so he abandoned the thought.

Silently withdrawing his gaze, he turned his attention to the battlefield in front of the auction house.

His focus landed on the blood-soaked fishman slave fighting desperately.

Meanwhile, the pirates he'd swept his eyes over just moments ago felt an inexplicable chill run down their spines. Thinking it was merely the evening chill, they quickly took swigs of liquor to warm themselves.

Below, the brawl was reaching its peak.

Some, sensing the worsening situation, withdrew from the melee in time.

But many others stayed, spurred on by wounded comrades and the fact that their leaders were still inside the auction house.

Initially, the explosion within the auction house had the underlings concerned for their bosses. They wanted to rush inside to check, only to be stopped by the venue's armed guards.

From the guards' perspective, allowing a mob to storm the auction house after an incident would only worsen the situation inside and threaten the goods already purchased by the guests.

Convinced by the guards' rationale, the underlings hesitated to escalate the situation further.

However, as the chaos escalated beyond control, they threw caution to the wind, forming groups to fight recklessly while pushing toward the auction house entrance.

In mere minutes, over a hundred corpses littered the ground.

Of these, at least a third had been slain by the fishman slave.

From escaping the auction house to slaughtering anyone in his path, the fishman was still in a daze.

He didn't know what caused the explosion inside the venue.

He didn't know who had unlocked his cage amidst the chaos.

He didn't know why the humans in the auction house, including the one who had paid a hefty price for him, had let him go unchallenged, allowing him to flee unscathed.

What he didn't realize was that to the auction guests, he was merely a commodity—a product with a price tag, something that could be purchased with money.

Why risk their lives for something money could buy?

Even Kazt, who had been determined to acquire the fishman, wouldn't dare risk himself in such a scenario.

After all, if something went wrong, it would be the auction house's responsibility.

This deep-seated mindset was something a fishman, frantic for freedom, couldn't understand.

Though he'd managed to escape the auction house, the fishman quickly found himself in another predicament.

As despair began to take hold, he witnessed something that defied his understanding once more.

The humans started killing each other.

This gave him a glimmer of hope.

"Arlong was right. Humans are vile creatures who don't deserve to exist!"

With the pressure eased, the fishman launched into a frenzy, unleashing deadly attacks.

He ignored the blades slicing toward his back, focusing solely on breaking through the encirclement.

This reckless approach left him with several deep, bleeding wounds in just seconds.

However, his efforts paid off as he finally reached the edge of the crowd.

Blocking his path was no longer an impenetrable wall of bodies, but a thin human barricade he could break through with a single charge.

"Get out of my way!"

With a furious roar, the fishman smashed through the last line of defense.

Now free, his bloodied form dashed down the long street.

Just get to the sea… Just get to the sea…

That singular thought consumed him.

Seeing the fishman break free, several pirates spectating nearby were startled.

Some immediately drew their pistols, treating the fishman as a moving target for sport.

Gunshots echoed through the night, bullets whizzing toward the fleeing fishman.

Most shots missed due to poor aim, but a few grazed his arm and side, spraying blood into the air.

Despite the pain, the fishman kept running, unwavering.

"Ha-ha!"

The pirates laughed wildly, entertained by their cruel game.

Another volley of gunfire followed, turning the scene into a storm of bullets.

The fishman staggered like a ship battered by wind and rain, barely holding on.

From a nearby alley, Clara watched the scene unfold.

The chaotic mix of gunshots and raucous laughter grated on her nerves.

Her brows furrowed deeply, and her grip tightened on the blueprint in her hand, crumpling it slightly.

Her feelings were not entirely out of pity for the fishman, but rather disgust toward the atmosphere.

Her childhood experiences had taught her one thing:

There were good and bad fishmen, just as there were good and bad humans.

Morality transcended race.

Bang! Bang!

The gunfire continued.

But this time, it was followed by the dying screams of two pirates.

Somewhere unseen, two precise shots had taken down the pirates who had been firing the most gleefully.

Startled, Clara's sharp hearing allowed her to pick out the faint gunfire amidst the noise.

Her gaze followed the sound to a masked figure moving swiftly across the rooftops.

"That's…?"

Clara's eyes widened as she watched.

The figure quickly holstered their pistol and pulled a long-barreled musket from their back. Without pausing to aim, they fired again.

Following the shot, Clara saw another pirate, who had been aiming a rifle at the fishman, collapse.

"That person… is saving the fishman?"

Clara's disbelief grew as she stared at the figure.

Who could it be?

A marine?

A bounty hunter?

It couldn't be a pirate, let alone another fishman, could it?

Her thoughts churned as she watched the figure disappear into the distance.

She couldn't fathom why anyone in this wretched place would go out of their way to save a fishman.

Meanwhile, the shooter, none other than Morin, had been monitoring the situation all along.

Seeing the fishman break free filled him with satisfaction. He quickly followed, only to witness pirates treating the fishman as a live target.

"Dare to mess with my prey?"

Without hesitation, Mobin drew his gun, taking down three of the rowdiest pirates.

This was the scene that had left Clara so incredulous.

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