The Hunter of Pirates

May 30, 2024

Death in Mad Hat Town was an everyday occurrence. It happened so often that it barely raised eyebrows anymore.

But Lagren's death was anything but ordinary.

The unusual aspect lay in the fact that no one within a hundred meters heard a single gunshot when it happened.

What was even more terrifying than the silence was the revelation that the bullet had pierced through a wooden wall before striking Lagren.

This wasn't a matter of raw power alone. It suggested that the shooter wasn't targeting Lagren directly—it was more like someone had casually fired a shot.

And Lagren had the misfortune to be in its path.

The pirates near Lagren at the time were shaken when they pieced together the truth.

After their initial panic subsided, they cursed a few times, then resumed drinking and chatting as if nothing had happened.

The next morning, in a dimly lit alley bar, Ratsnout sat despondently at the counter.

Staring at the blank-faced bartender in front of him, he sighed dramatically. "Tatam, I'm done for. Before I meet my end, I want you to inherit my fortune so it doesn't go to waste."

Tatam, who had a physique like a grizzly bear, paused his robotic glass-polishing routine momentarily before resuming without a word.

Seeing no reaction, Ratsnout's expression darkened. "I'm serious! That damn Lagren! He had to drag me down with him when he died!"

Tatam continued his silent polishing but finally fixed his gaze on Ratsnout. He realized his companion wasn't joking.

"Not an accident?" Tatam's soft, birdlike voice was a stark contrast to his massive frame, a mismatch so extreme it was almost absurd.

Ratsnout was unfazed by Tatam's incongruous voice, having grown used to it over time. "No, it wasn't," he muttered grimly, staring into his drink.

"I'm certain that bullet was meant for Lagren."

Tatam's eyes flashed briefly with shock, but he said nothing.

Ratsnout sighed. "Imagine living with the knowledge that a bullet is always ready to take your life, waiting for the perfect moment. I might step outside right now and get shot in the head."

"Condolences," Tatam said simply, raising his glass in a mock toast before downing its contents.

Ratsnout drained his drink and stood abruptly. "The only way to conquer fear is to face it. Farewell, Tatam!"

He stormed out of the bar, slamming the door behind him.

A few seconds later—

Bang!

The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed from the street.

"Shit!" Ratsnout's startled expletive rang loud and clear, causing Tatam to lower his head briefly in a silent prayer for his ill-fated friend.

Moments later, maniacal laughter echoed through the alley.

"Hahaha! I'm alive! I'm alive! Hahaha!"

Tatam glanced toward the empty doorway, his expression twitching in annoyance.

He sighed, looking down at his drink, then at the collection of rare spirits behind the counter.

"What a waste."

Two days later, Lagren's death had already faded into the background noise of Mad Hat Town.

Mobin believed he had covered his tracks well, unaware that people like Ratsnout—relentless and unconventional information brokers—were active in the area.

He also didn't know that Saul had quietly eliminated one of the potential threats against him after taking Mobin under his wing.

Without Saul's intervention, Lagren's resourceful and persistent nature might have led him to strike back in secret.

Oblivious to these developments, Mobin felt secure enough to prepare for his next hunt.

Late at night, Mobin geared up.

Before heading out, he checked his equipment—a pair of flintlock pistols and a sturdy dagger.

These were items he had gotten from Saul.

Before establishing a relationship with the old man, asking for weapons had felt like an impossible task. After becoming Saul's student, however, it became the simplest of matters.

After ensuring his weapons were in good condition, Mobin slipped out of the weapon shop under the cover of darkness. Moving with the agility of a monkey, he climbed onto the rooftops and headed for his target's location.

His enhanced physical abilities made climbing and leaping across buildings an effortless task.

This time, feeling more confident, Mobin planned to eliminate his target with the dagger.

This approach reduced the risk of exposure, while the two flintlock pistols served as a safety net in case anything went wrong.

After some effort, Mobin managed to infiltrate the building where his target resided.

He crept silently to the door of the target's room, pausing to listen to the sound of snoring within.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed the door open and peered inside.

In the dim light, he could make out two figures lying on the bed.

"Two again…" Mobin muttered to himself, slightly surprised as he crept closer to the bed.

The room reeked of sweat and alcohol, a nauseating combination that made Mobin wrinkle his nose.

Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he pulled out his dagger.

"Can't waste this opportunity…" he thought, focusing on his target.

With swift precision, Mobin stabbed his target twice in the back, then reversed his grip and slashed the man's throat.

The three strikes were quick and deadly, a far cry from the clumsiness of his first kill.

The man, fatally wounded, managed to open his eyes briefly and let out a faint, wheezing gasp before succumbing.

Without hesitation, Mobin turned his attention to the second man, gripping his neck with one hand while plunging the dagger into his abdomen three times.

The second man woke abruptly and struggled, but Mobin's growing strength and tactical advantage allowed him to pin the man down.

Maintaining control, Mobin forced the man to look at his dead companion.

"Let's talk," Mobin said coldly.

Minutes later, Mobin exited the building.

Two new stars now adorned the black cover of his hunter's notebook.

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