Inside the auction hall, the atmosphere was being pushed to an unprecedented climax.
One “treasure” after another sold for several times the normal price.
Horn’s seductive sales pitch intertwined with the excited chatter and competitive boasting of the bidders.
Crystal chandeliers cast their light evenly over every face flushed with greed and possessiveness.
The air was thick with cigar smoke, perfume, and an almost suffocating sense of euphoria.
No one noticed a figure slip in through the entrance.
He wore a low-pulled Marine cap and a Marine cloak, moving unhurriedly along the edge of the crowded hall, even brushing past several wealthy men locked in heated disputes over bids.
In this feverish atmosphere, the presence of a Marine drew no attention.
He was assumed to be nothing more than a routine patrol officer.
He paused at several key positions in the hall, then continued forward like a silent ghost weaving an invisible net of death.
It wasn’t until he ascended the side steps toward the brightly lit auction stage that Horn finally sensed something was wrong.
Just as Horn frowned and opened his mouth to speak, the disguised Marine stopped at the center of the stage, only a few meters away.
He raised his hand and undid the clasp of his cloak, letting the symbol of “justice” fall to the ground.
Beneath it revealed dark, form-fitting combat gear designed for mobility.
He removed the Marine cap and tossed it aside.
Only then did everyone see what had been hidden beneath the brim—a black-and-white calico cat mask, a symbol already feared in Sabaody as the nightmare known as the Black Cat Sheriff.
Under the stage lights, the mask gleamed with a cold sheen.
From its hollow eye sockets, an indifferent gaze swept across the crowd below.
“?!”
“!!!”
Time seemed to freeze.
Horn’s smile stiffened.
His open mouth remained half-open, forgotten.
Below, the buyers who had been throwing money around moments earlier froze as if their throats had been suddenly seized.
The noise died instantly, leaving only ragged, terrified breathing.
Fear and shock spread rapidly through the hall, swallowing every trace of greed and excitement.
“B-Black Cat Sheriff?!” someone choked out.
“Attack!
Protect the guests!
Guards!
Marines!
Shoot him!” Horn finally snapped back to reality, scrambling backward while shouting.
Guards and Marines stationed throughout the hall snapped into motion.
Rifles were raised.
Blades were drawn.
Dark gun barrels and gleaming steel all aimed at Moren on the stage.
But Moren simply tilted his head.
With a single calm motion of his fingers, the seals he had placed throughout the hall began to glow.
These were talisman seals—inscribed paper weapons, not ordinary objects.
[Viscous, Flammable Whale Oil] + [Raging Blazing Flame]—dual states activated.
Flames erupted from each seal, spreading violently as they linked together.
In moments, flames surged across the space beneath the stage, turning it into a roaring inferno.
The sticky fire, both explosive and adhesive in nature, swallowed the panicked crowd without mercy.
“AHHH!!!”
“Fire!
Help!”
“My clothes!
Save me!”
“NO!!”
Screams of agony replaced all sound, merging into a symphony of hell.
The elegantly dressed buyers, along with their guards and Marines, became living torches thrashing helplessly in the flames.
The air filled with the stench of burning flesh and collapsing furniture.
In mere moments, the luxurious auction hall became a furnace that consumed both sin and life itself.
Only the elevated stage remained untouched—a fragile island suspended above a sea of fire.
On it stood Moren, a completely broken Horn, and the enslaved captives still locked in their cages, too stunned to react.
Moren ignored the chaos below.
He stepped forward and raised his hand.
In his palm appeared several talisman seals marked with cannon impact inscriptions.
“Go.
You’re free.” he said quietly.
With a subtle motion—
BOOM!
BOOM!
Two cannon-like forces slammed into the reinforced wall behind the stage.
The impact was overwhelming.
The thick reinforced wall was violently blasted apart, collapsing in a storm of debris and dust, revealing a massive opening.
“An exit!”
Instinct took over.
In a desperate scramble, the slaves pushed, dragged, and supported one another as they poured through the opening, fleeing the burning hell behind them.
Watching their figures disappear into the moonlight, Moren turned his gaze toward Horn.
He approached without urgency, grabbed Horn by the neck as if he were a powerless chick in his grip, and lifted him up.
Then he dragged him to the edge of the stage.
Below them stretched a sea of screaming figures writhing in the flames.
Horn trembled violently.
His expensive suit was ruined.
Sweat and soot smeared his face.
His vision was filled with hell itself.
The smell of burning flesh filled his lungs.
The screams shattered what little sanity he had left.
“S-spare me… please…”
“Anything… I can give you anything…”
“Money… women… anything…”
He clung to the last remnants of dignity as he begged.
“You have to know… killing me changes nothing!
The slave trade won’t stop!”
“This is how the world works!
You can’t kill everyone!
You won’t change anything!”
Moren looked down at him silently.
Then he spoke.
“I know.”
His voice was calm—too calm.
“I never believed I could kill everyone.
I never deluded myself into thinking I could destroy the entire system alone.”
“I’m just creating something else.”
“A legend.
A nightmare.
A shadow that will never fade.”
“From now on, every quiet night… every time you count money stained with blood… every time you step into a warehouse to inspect your ‘goods’… you will remember me.”
“And you will fear.”
“The name Black Cat Sheriff will not belong to a man.”
“It will be a legend etched into your nightmares.”
“I want everyone to understand one thing.”
“You’re not special.”
“People die when they’re killed.”
“…And so do you.”
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