The hall reeked of iron and fear. The moment one man turned to run, the rest broke. Panic spread like fire among the remaining traffickers and assassins. None of them cared about honor or loyalty anymore—only survival.
"Idiots," hissed Paulson, the assassin guarding House, his expression twisting in contempt. "You think you can escape? He won't let you go."
Behind him, the clash of steel rang out. Franco, the veteran bounty hunter, was struggling against Gar. Each swing of Gar's twin short blades forced him back a step. The weight and speed behind the Mink's attacks were overwhelming. Sweat beaded on Franco's brow; his breath came short and ragged. He could hear chaos breaking out behind him, but he couldn't spare a glance—one mistake would mean death.
That mistake came anyway.
Gar saw the flicker of hesitation. In an instant, his blade flashed—a clean, precise arc that split the air. The short blade slashed across Franco's waist, biting deep into flesh. Pain exploded through him like lightning. His eyes went wide, pupils contracting as his body seized up. If he hadn't instinctively staggered back, the blade would have cleaved him in half.
But Gar didn't stop. He lunged, driving his left elbow straight into Franco's gut. The impact was brutal—bone crunched, air burst from his lungs, and a spray of blood erupted from his mouth. Franco's body flew backward, slamming into the wall with a thunderous crash. The plaster caved in, cracks spiderwebbing across the surface before he slumped to the ground, motionless. His weapon clattered beside him.
The wound in his abdomen gushed blood. He was still barely conscious but everyone else was too busy fighting for their own lives to care whether he lived or died.
Footsteps echoed from the stairway. Heavy. Unhurried. Dominant.
Teach descended the steps with a wide grin, a large sack of treasure slung casually over his shoulder. Peto followed beside him, calm as ever.
House's face went pale. That bag—it was his treasure. The gifts meant for the Celestial Dragons, the Devil Fruits he'd guarded, all of it was gone. His fortune, his reputation, his future—everything vanished overnight.
"Who the hell are you?" he shouted, voice cracking under the strain. "Do you have any idea who you're offending? You'll bring down the wrath of the Celestial Dragons!"
Teach didn't even blink. "Peto," he said with a smile, "take care of them."
The girl vanished. One moment she was there; the next, only a blur of movement and the faint shimmer of claws slicing through the air. Paulson' eyes widened. He barely caught her afterimage—and that was already too late.
"Fast," he muttered through gritted teeth, snapping into motion. His instincts screamed danger as he lunged toward her, blade flashing. But Peto danced around his strike effortlessly, slipping past him like smoke. She didn't even look at him as she tore through the others—assassins, bounty hunters, mercenaries—each fell before they could scream. Her Observation Haki guided her every move; there was no wasted motion, no mercy.
House's trembling hand reached for his weapon, his fear curdling into madness. "Damn it! Then let's all die together!" he roared, and his body began to swell, muscles bulging grotesquely. His skin thickened, his face distorted, and in seconds, he had transformed into a hulking wild boar the size of a carriage.
"Go to hell!" he bellowed, charging straight for Teach.
A shadow moved. Gar's massive frame stepped between them. The Mink caught the charging beast with one hand. The ground beneath his feet cracked, but he didn't move an inch. House's tusks ground against Gar's grip, sparks flying, but it was useless. He pushed, strained, screamed—but Gar stood unmoved, calm and cold as a wall of stone.
"How foolish," Gar said softly, his one green eye gleaming. "You have strength—but no spirit."
House's struggles weakened. He could see his reflection in the blood-soaked blade raised before him. His mouth opened, maybe to plead—but the words never came.
Gar thrust the short blade straight into his skull.
A fountain of blood erupted, spattering the walls. House's massive boar form twitched, then began to shrink, reverting to his human body as he collapsed with a dull thud. His eyes were still wide open—filled with disbelief and regret.
Across the room, Paulson fell the same way cut down by Peto's claws before he could even turn around.
And just like that, the massacre was over.
No one was left alive.
Teach looked around at the sea of corpses and the faint glint of blood under the chandelier's light. "Not bad," he murmured, slinging the treasure bag higher on his shoulder. "Let's go."
The three of them, Teach, Peto, and Gar, left the castle quietly, stepping into the cool night. Behind them, silence swallowed the building whole.
By dawn, the Sabaody Archipelago looked unchanged. Tourists laughed, bubbles drifted through the air, and the sun glimmered on the mangrove roots. But beneath that bright surface, fear had taken root.
During the night, one of the most notorious figures in the Archipelago—House, leader of the largest human trafficking network—had been found dead. Him, his guards, and hundreds of hired killers, all slaughtered. No survivors.
The Marines investigated the scene, baffled. Judging from the damage, it looked like the work of only three individuals. The use of the Finger Pistol hinted at Marine techniques—but that made even less sense. House's Devil Fruits and treasure had vanished without a trace.
Rumors spread like wildfire. Some said it was revenge. Others whispered it was the work of a pirate hunting Celestial Dragon collaborators. No one could agree but every trafficker on the island went silent. The slave trade halted for the first time in years.
At Shakky's Rip-off Bar, the news reached the two people who weren't surprised at all.
"That little fellow did it, didn't he?" Shakky said, taking a long drag from her cigarette. The smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling.
Rayleigh chuckled, swirling his drink. "Hah! His first day in Sabaody, and he's already caused this much chaos."
They both knew who had taken House's head. Teach had asked them about the trafficker just the day before. They hadn't expected him to act so quickly or so decisively.
"He must've taken the Devil Fruits and treasure," Shakky said with a knowing smile.
Elsewhere, in a quiet inn, Teach leaned back in his chair, counting Berries and waiting. The night before, he'd already sold off most of the treasure through the black market—changing his appearance with Life Return to avoid suspicion. The influx of gold had caused waves across the underworld.
Even after paying fees and accepting low prices, he'd earned nearly a billion Berries. Enough to make any pirate a target. The rest, he'd traded for Devil Fruits.
He smiled faintly, his Observation Haki spreading out like a tide. Somewhere far away, he sensed a familiar presence closing in—a powerful aura, like a storm wrapped in calm.
Mostima had arrived.
Teach could see him in his mind's eye; a tall figure in a silver cloak, feathers brushing against the wind as he descended from the sky. Even without colors, the clarity of Teach's perception was startling. His microscopic-level Observation Haki painted a colorless world of detail—something no other user could achieve.
Moments later, Mostima entered the inn, his expression composed but curious. "Teach," he said, "I brought a billion Berries. Should be enough."
Teach's grin widened. "More than enough. With what I've got, that's two billion total. Perfect for the auction."
He recounted the night's events briefly—the slaughter, the treasure, the three Devil Fruits. Mostima, for all his composure, couldn't hide his surprise.
Teach laid the fruits out on the table: the Wolf-Wolf Fruit, Gray Wolf form; the Ape-Ape Fruit, Silverback Gorilla form; and the Lizard-Lizard Fruit, Giant Lizard form.
"They'll suit your remaining cadres," he said. "Use them well."
Mostima nodded. Behind him, his silver cloak rippled as feathers detached, wrapping around the fruits before drawing them beneath the fabric. They vanished as if swallowed by the cloak itself.
"Then let's move," Teach said, rising. "There's an auction tonight—big one. Happens maybe twice a year, sometimes only once. I know a place where we can get the item list ahead of time."
Mostima followed silently, curiosity flickering in his gaze. Beside them, Gar walked with heavy steps, while Peto skipped lightly, humming as if she hadn't killed a dozen people hours ago.
Mostima's sharp eyes flicked toward Gar, sensing the primal aura radiating off him. "A Mink," he thought. "A strong one."
Gar noticed the glance and met it evenly. He could feel the threat Mostima represented. This was no ordinary pirate.
The four soon reached Shakky's Rip-off Bar. Inside, Rayleigh sat quietly, glass in hand, while Shakky leaned on the counter with her usual smirk. The air felt still—charged with quiet recognition.
"Teach," Shakky greeted. "You've brought quite the crowd this time."
Rayleigh glanced over, his eyes narrowing slightly. Beside Teach stood Mostima—the pirate with a 210 million Berries bounty. A man whose calm power had already drawn the Marines' eyes more than once.
White Sand Island, under Mostima's management, had grown rich and stable. He'd fought off invaders, pirates, and even Marine pursuers without much fuss. Though his bounty hadn't risen, everyone who mattered knew he was far more dangerous than his price suggested.
Rayleigh's smile returned. "Looks like you've been busy."
Teach only chuckled, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar grin—a grin that promised more chaos to come.