“What the hell is going on?!
Is this bastard a Devil Fruit user?!”
“Damn it!
Hiring an assassin like this to kill me?
Am I even worth that much?” The proprietor cursed inwardly, his eyes wide, as he continued swinging his gun around.
In that same instant, the Black Cat Sheriff mask suddenly emerged from the darkness beside him, appearing right in front of him.
“Looking for me?”
The voice from beneath the mask was calm, utterly devoid of emotion.
The proprietor flinched in terror and instinctively kept pulling the trigger.
But Moren was faster.
He simply raised his hand, and an invisible wave of energy spread across his palm.
Pfft!
With a soft sound, the speeding bullet vanished instantly, turned into stickers that fell into Moren’s hand.
“Your turn’s over.
Now it’s mine.”
Moren spoke in a low voice.
He formed a gun shape with his hand.
At his fingertip, a small sticker glowed faintly.
It was [A Flintlock Lead Bullet That Has Already Been Fired – Condition: Heated, Spinning, Retaining Kinetic Energy].
This was a more subtle and practical ability he’d just realized in the heat of the moment amid the chaos of flying bullets.
Much like the throwing axe attack sticker he’d captured by chance before, as he developed and gained control over his fruit’s power, he could now turn incoming attacks into stickers as well.
“Who are you?!”
“The Black Cat Sheriff of Justice.”
“What?!—”
Before the proprietor could finish, the sticker at Moren’s fingertip flared brightly.
Fwoosh!
The bullet produced by the sticker had no sharp report, only a faint, barely audible sound of cutting air.
The proprietor’s head snapped backward from the immense kinetic force.
A deep, bloody hole appeared in his forehead, blood mixed with gray-white cerebrospinal fluid slowly oozing out.
His eyes were wide, his face frozen in terror.
His body slid down the table to the floor.
The flashlight clattered out of his hand, rolling a few times, its beam tilting crookedly toward the ceiling.
The entire “auction house” fell completely silent.
Only the acrid smoke slowly settled and dissipated, and the thick, nauseating smell of blood remained.
Barely two minutes had passed.
In that short span, Moren had eliminated everyone except the slaves.
He could feel his swordsmanship and Shave becoming smoother, more natural through real combat.
Before this, his training had been solitary.
This was his first true battle.
Even if his opponents were weak, the experience still sharpened his techniques.
His Devil Fruit ability also became more refined.
A quiet sense of satisfaction surfaced behind the mask.
Standing in the center of the corpse-littered scene, Moren flicked the blood off his blade and sheathed it.
Nearby, the slaves huddled in their cages, watching him in fear, unable to understand his intentions.
From their perspective, he was likely just another ruthless player in the underworld.
Now that the killing was done, they would simply become “assets” again.
Hope had long been beaten out of them.
They no longer dared to imagine rescue.
The last known slave liberator was Fisher Tiger—but men like that were rare beyond belief.
Moren said nothing.
He opened the cages and spoke calmly:
“You’re free.”
“Take what you can.
Leave this place however you can—together, alone, hiding, or getting off Sabaody.
Do whatever you can to survive.”
His voice was muffled through the mask, but clear enough.
For a moment, they froze.
Then survival instinct took over.
They rushed out, stepping over corpses without hesitation, slipping on blood but never stopping.
To them, this place was hell.
After most had fled, a few remained—including Number Three, once up for auction.
She looked at the escaping crowd, then at Moren.
“We can’t run.
These collars will explode.”
“Mask Sir… please leave.
Don’t get caught in it.”
“If they all detonate together, it’ll be a large explosion.
You don’t need to be involved.”
The others nodded.
They had already accepted death.
Moren said nothing.
He walked over, gripped the collar, and focused.
Click.
It came off.
A sticker appeared in his hand: [Explosive Collar – Slightly Worn, Still Highly Powerful].
So it could be taken like this too.
“…It’s gone.” Number Three whispered, touching her neck in disbelief.
Hope returned—but faintly, cautiously.
“Don’t move.
One by one.”
He worked through them in silence.
Soon, quiet sobbing filled the air.
They fled afterward, disappearing into the night of Sabaody.
Moren watched them go.
Then he raised his hand and tossed several stickers.
[Refined Wheat Flour – Snow-White, Fluffy, Excellent Taste]
The powder spread through the air.
It formed a combustible dust cloud.
Then he tossed another:
[A Matchstick That Is Already Burning – Burning, Low Heat]
He checked a rough map under the dying light.
“Second target.”
He disappeared into the shadows.
Moments later, the match ignited the dust cloud.
The warehouse exploded in roaring fire.
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