For the next week, life became a bloody nightmare for anyone in the Lawless Zone in the Sabaody Archipelago who had anything to do with human trafficking.
Panic spread and festered among them.
“Black Cat Sheriff”—a name with a ridiculous, cartoonish ring to it—had become a nightmare for everyone in the slave industry.
No one knew who this madman was, where he came from, or why he was doing this.
He didn’t steal territory or plunder goods.
His target was terrifyingly clear: to destroy every person and facility connected to human trafficking.
His killing efficiency was astonishing.
Slave auction strongholds were wiped out, one after another.
Guards were slaughtered.
Key middlemen and brokers disappeared without a sound.
In just seven days, the number of people involved in the trafficking industry across the entire Lawless Zone had been cut by nearly a third.
Large numbers of slaves awaiting “conditioning” or transport escaped in the chaos, further destabilizing the market.
Under these circumstances, fear gripped everyone.
During the day, some related shops didn’t even dare to open their doors.
At night, they increased their guard tenfold, hiring more bodyguards, and more expensive ones at that.
But even so, atrocities continued to occur.
The figure in the comical cow-pattern cat mask moved like a ghost, always appearing at the most unexpected times and places, wreaking bloody havoc, then vanishing like a phantom.
Ironically, however, under this extreme pressure and sharp reduction in supply, the price of slaves on the market—especially “premium” ones—didn’t drop.
It rose instead, at an alarming rate.
According to the slave traders, doing business now meant keeping their heads strapped to their belts.
The madman called Black Cat Sheriff could show up at their door any time.
They were risking their necks to supply goods, so charging a little extra was only reasonable.
Besides, with fewer “goods” available, good merchandise cost more.
That was just basic market economics.
Disgustingly, this line of reasoning was accepted by many wealthy buyers.
Panic and scarcity only fueled some people’s pathological possessiveness and desire to compete.
Being able to buy “good merchandise” during this “purge” became a symbol of status and power.
So at the auctions, bidding became even more frantic.
Then Moren stripped several big-spending, notorious buyers naked and left them hanging from lampposts in public display.
The public humiliation and the unambiguous threat of death finally dampened some of their sick enthusiasm.
They started to get scared.
Money could be earned again, slaves bought again.
But you only had one life.
This madman killed not only sellers but buyers too.
For a time, many “respectable” buyers held back, not daring to act rashly.
Of course, such large-scale violent operations couldn’t fail to alert the Marine base on Sabaody.
The base commander had to divert troops to increase patrols and, at the request of “concerned merchants,” provide protection for some important commercial activities.
At the same time, the top-tier power brokers at the top of the slave trade chain began to join forces, offering huge bounties for the head of the “Black Cat Sheriff,” and increasing information sharing and coordinated security among themselves.
But even that had little effect.
The Marines came up empty-handed several times.
Some squads were even ambushed, suffering heavy casualties.
The joint bounties attracted plenty of desperadoes and bounty hunters, but most of them just became extra bodies, only adding to the “Black Cat Sheriff’s” fearsome reputation.
Legends about his elusive nature and bizarre methods grew wilder and wilder.
He even started appearing in the margins of the World Economic News Paper (WEJ), becoming the newest urban legend of the Sabaody Archipelago.
….
Another night, the moon hidden behind thick clouds.
Deep in the Lawless Zone, near the massive main roots of the mangroves, a building that looked from the outside like a large warehouse or small shipyard was on high alert.
Electric fences lined the high walls.
Figures moved in the watchtowers.
Bright searchlights swept constantly across the dark waters and streets around it.
In stark contrast to its rough exterior, the building’s interior was brilliantly lit, even a little extravagant.
A high-level “private auction” was being held here.
The invitation list was limited to true “big clients”—those with deep pockets, strong connections, and a deep-seated preference for “special collections.”
At the entrance, not only were there private bodyguards in black suits strictly checking invitations, but also dozens of fully armed Marine troops had set up a cordon, performing security duties with solemn expressions.
This level of pomp was top-tier for the current Sabaody.
Inside the auction hall, the atmosphere was heated but carried a barely perceptible tension.
The guests were elegantly dressed and chatted in low voices, but their eyes kept darting to the heavily armed guards and Marines around them, as if this heavy security was the only thing giving them a sense of security and assurance.
On stage, a middle-aged man with a pencil mustache, wearing a velvet suit and exuding elegant, refined manners, began his opening remarks in a magnetic voice.
He was “Gentleman” Horn, one of the few real big shots behind Sabaody’s slave trade.
Tonight’s auction was organized by him.
“Good evening, distinguished guests.”
“I know that some of you may have reservations about paying an additional security entry fee and submitting to such strict inspections.”
Horn smiled, spreading his arms, then turned to indicate their surroundings.
“But please, take a look around you.”
“The most expensive and experienced private security to be found on Sabaody Archipelago.”
“And the tightest cordon provided by our righteous Marine colleagues.”
“None of this came out of thin air.”
He paused, raising his voice slightly, his tone confident and persuasive.
“They exist for one purpose only—”
“To guarantee the absolute protection of every distinguished guest here tonight!”
“Isn’t ‘security’ and ‘peace of mind’ the most valuable thing on today’s Sabaody?”
“That entry fee doesn’t buy a seat.
It buys you a worry-free experience tonight.
It buys the assurance of your life!”
These words clearly resonated with many.
The fear brought by the “Black Cat Sheriff” recently was very real.
The sense of security that came from leisurely selecting desired merchandise in a place protected by heavy forces—a place that felt safe—was itself valuable.
With that, the faint murmurs of discontent in the audience quickly subsided, replaced by relaxation and anticipation.
Horn was pleased with the effect.
He stopped and clapped his hands to continue.
“Then, let’s get straight to business.”
“Tonight, I will present to you the true premium goods we have gathered recently!”
“The very essence that has survived the recent turmoil, the best Sabaody has to offer!”
“I dare say, if you miss tonight, you may have to wait several months—perhaps even longer—to encounter collectibles of this quality again!”
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