Soon, the bartender returned with four glasses of orange juice.
Kane took the chance to continue the conversation.
“The Heavenly Yaksha is in the Grand Line?
When did he go?”
“You don’t know?
He left two months ago.”
“Haven’t been paying attention.” Kane took a sip of his drink and pressed further.
“But I just saw the Donquixote Family symbol — on that most prominent building in the town center.”
“You saw right.
That building does belong to the Donquixote Family.” The bartender looked around, leaned in, and lowered his voice.
“The Heavenly Yaksha has plenty of business in the North Blue that needs looking after.
Take Dark Sail Island, for example — it’s managed by Donquixote Family executive Lao G.”
“So Dark Sail Island is Donquixote turf.” Kane shot Law a look.
Law understood.
He closed his eyes and began mentally preparing for the coming battle.
“Uh…
you could say that.” The bartender chuckled, turned to serve other customers, and soon brought over the fried rice.
Not bad at all.
They ordered another dozen plates, ate their fill, and got ready for action.
The Human Auction House.
Kane stood in front of the entrance, completely speechless.
This was way too brazen!
The name was so straightforward, as if they wanted everyone to know exactly what kind of business they were running.
“We asked around.
Today’s some kind of festival the slave traders cooked up.
They’re holding a joint auction today.
All the slaves on the island are here.”
Law briefed him, hesitating as if he wanted to say more.
Kane saw his uncertainty and explained: “Lao G is still an executive.
Fighting him will make quite a commotion.
When those bastards see things going south, they’ll likely try to flee with the slaves.
Chasing them down afterward would be too late.”
“If that happens, most of those poor souls will never escape their slavery.”
“Instead, we rescue them first and free the slaves.
Lao G won’t run — as the family’s local manager, he’ll have to come deal with the trouble.”
“I understand.” Law hugged his katana tighter, his gaze turning cold.
The auction house security guards were idling at the entrance, bragging about which slave had the best physique, letting out disgusting laughs.
“Stop!
The auction’s already started.
You’re late.” A guard stepped forward to block them.
Seeing Kane’s impressive bearing, he quickly changed his tone.
“Ahem, hello.
Thank you.”
CLANG — a crisp sound rang out as the long sword was drawn.
“Wh-what are you doing?!”
Kane held the blade with one hand, the cold gleam blinding the guard.
“You wanted a ticket, didn’t you?”
The long sword swung, the blade transforming into a silver streak that shot straight toward the guard.
“This is my ticket.”
BOOM!
The doors shattered.
Wood splinters flew everywhere.
Several guards flew backward like broken puppets, crashing heavily into the corridor behind the auction hall.
Blood spread along the floor’s grain, staining the passage red.
The guards lay motionless, their fate unknown.
The auctioneer on stage froze in place, his gavel frozen mid-swing, mouth wide open but no sound coming out.
The beautiful slave girl waiting to be sold beside him changed expression drastically, curling up with panic in her eyes.
The buyers in their seats turned around one after another.
The boisterous bidding fell silent.
Murmurs of displeasure rippled through the crowd.
The slave traders, who had been counting their earnings and discussing how much profit this trip would bring, drew their weapons and fixed their eyes on the smoke-shrouded entrance.
Cutting off someone’s money was like killing their parents!
Coming here to cause trouble — they must have a death wish!
The next moment, the smoke slowly cleared.
Five figures stepped through the shattered doorway, entering the hall one by one.
“You four, head to the backstage.
Find all the keys and free every slave.” Kane’s voice was cold.
The four moved without hesitation, darting toward the backstage passage.
At the same time, the shadows beneath Kane’s feet surged violently.
One grotesque, terrifying ghost after another crawled out from the darkness, their shrieks piercing the hall’s oppressive silence.
The Ghost Ghost Fruit ability activated.
Dozens of ghosts split into two groups.
One group flanked the four, forming walls of ghosts to intercept any sneak attacks.
The other group charged indiscriminately at everyone — buyers, slave traders, staff, and even the pitiful slaves on stage.
The difference was that the ghosts charging at the slaves used their massive bodies as shields for them.
Everyone else faced the ghosts’ fangs and claws.
The hall erupted into chaos.
The well-dressed nobles, wealthy merchants, and underground brokers who had been leisurely raising their bidding paddles just a minute ago were now pale with terror, screaming as they scrambled toward the exits.
Glasses shattered across the floor.
Some were frozen in their seats, trembling uncontrollably.
Others fell in their frantic flight, tripping over each other — a stampede waiting to happen.
A few calmer ones tried to negotiate: “Do you know who’s in this hall?”
“Do you have any idea how complex our networks are?”
“If you withdraw now, we won’t pursue this.
I might even consider becoming your friend.”
The cold indifference in his eyes made the man swallow his next words.
“Coming to a place like this — to buy, to sell, to watch the show.” Kane let out a cold laugh, gripping his blade as he walked forward slowly.
His gaze swept across the entire hall, every face that had participated in the bidding burned into his memory.
“If you choose to stand on the side of slave trading, you’d better be prepared to pay the price.”
His tone was calm, yet carried a bone-chilling coldness.
“Today — none of you are leaving!”
A noble, unable to bear the suffocating tension, mustered all his strength to hurl insults: “If you dare touch us, you’re dead too!
You’ll be hunted down for the rest of your life!”
“Enough talk!
Forget about those four brats for now.
He’s the only one here.
Let’s all rush him together — take him down!” The slave traders were far more savage than the buyers.
They were the real fighters.
Those words were like a starting whistle.
Gunfire erupted instantly.
Slave traders with swords and blades charged at Kane under cover fire from their companions.
The buyers were reinvigorated.
Those who believed their bodyguards were competent immediately ordered them to attack.
“Then come!” Kane lunged forward, zero frame start, blade flashing.
The ones at the front were cut down in an instant.
Kane did not stop.
Five consecutive slashes carved through the charging line, his murderous figure standing in the center of the hall.
The terrified guards faltered, caught off guard as ghosts pounced and tore into them.
Screams rang out one after another.
The brutal scene shattered the resolve of most.
All they could think of now was escape.
Nothing else mattered.
Only the slave foremen from each crew and their core members could still muster the will to fight, desperately clashing with the ghosts.
The auctioneer on stage was so frightened his legs gave out.
He rolled off the platform and huddled in a corner, trembling so violently he didn’t dare breathe.
Just then, a chilling, bone-cold presence emanated from the back of the crowd.
The oppressive aura slowed the ghosts’ movements.
The hall’s chaos inexplicably stalled.
A heavily tattooed, burly man stepped forward slowly, carrying a large cleaver.
He was a four-meter-tall bald man with eerie green eyes, the air around him condensing into twisted currents.
“Looking for death.
Daring to cause trouble here!”
A flash of green light swept across Kane’s body.
He quickly checked himself but found nothing wrong.
Yet a nameless unease crept into his heart.
This guy was no pushover!
Seriously — another bald guy.
Why were there so many bald men lately?
Hopefully, the next one wouldn’t be called Saitama.