Rat Town, Slaughterhouse Pier. It stinks, and it lives up to its name.

At the moment, I was hiding in a dark corner of the docks, breathing in the bloody stench of rotting sea snake carcasses.

A few of the Hook Gang minions shuffled by, and I lowered the brim of my hat and took a step back, shrinking into the shadows.

These guys are notoriously brutal, murderous, and callous. If it is a fair fight, I will only have to surrender; But there is no such thing as a fair contest in my principles. And I'm not here to fight. At least not this time.

So, what is it worth taking such a risk in this infamous forbidden land of Bilgewater? Money.

Or else?

It's a big gamble, and the stakes are high, but the bounty is real — I can't say no anyway. Besides, I've already stepped on it, and if I don't have full certainty, a madman will dare to take this job.

I don't want to stay long, I just want to settle this matter neatly. Once I succeed, I will be able to fly away before dawn with my pay. If it goes well, by the time they find out that the "thing" is missing, I will already be halfway to the Valoran continent.

A few patrolling gangsters turned a corner and walked behind the slaughterhouse. I had two minutes before they turned back, which was more than enough.

The moon sank into the clouds, and shadows covered the entire dock. Huge crates are haphazardly piled up all over the harbor, making them excellent cover for stealth.

There are several figures carrying crossbows on the roof of the main warehouse, which are supposed to be night sentry. But they were chatting with open voices, as loud as scolding the street. Even if I ran all the way with bells all over my body, these idiots wouldn't be able to hear.

Because they don't think any person in their right mind would dare to come here and find fault.

A swollen corpse was hung from a mast with a giant fishhook, swaying slightly in the midnight and wind blowing on the sea, blatantly warning outsiders. This bunch of rough people.

I carefully snaked over the rusty iron chains that snaked on the ground and through the cracks of a pair of tower cranes. On weekdays, workers use them to lift huge sea monsters into the slaughterhouse. The pervasive stench wafted from this place. After that, I had to buy new clothes from head to toe.

Far beyond the murky docks, rows of sailboats lie quietly in the bay, their lanterns swaying gently with the waves. One of them, a battleship with black sails, was huge, like the bulging back of a sea beast. I know whose car it was – no one in Bilgewater doesn't know.

I paused and took a moment to compose myself – I was about to challenge the toughest man on the island. It was like a slap in the face of Death, and I trembled with excitement.

As I expected, the Iron Ditch Gang, like those noble ladies, guarded the gate as tightly as an archway. Every entrance is guarded, and doors and windows are closed and locked. For everyone else, it's a fool's dream to get in – but I'm no one else.

I plunged headlong into the alley across from the warehouse and found it a dead end, a little too bright. If the patrol passes by at this time, they can see me at a glance. If it happens to fall into their hands, my only hope is to be able to give it a good time. However, they are more likely to bring me to that person...... It was a long torment a hundred times more terrible than death.

So, the trick to juggling has always been – don't goof ups.

Footsteps were heard around the corner, and the patrolling thugs had returned a little early. I don't have much time, maybe just a few seconds. A card bounced from my sleeve into my hand and flipped briskly back and forth between my fingers. The craft has been practiced as naturally as breathing. It's an easy step, but the next step is a bit more leisurely.

As the cards lit up, I let go of my mind and let my spirit drift away. Countless images began to appear in front of my eyes, and a huge sense of oppression followed, almost pushing me to the ground. I half-closed my eyes, focused my mind, and found my destination in the layers of images.

A familiar agitation suddenly hit my heart. The figure shook, and a frenzied light and shadow were fleeting. I was standing in the warehouse.

Tsk, good play.

Perhaps, one of the thugs would glance into the alley and notice a card slowly falling. Of course, it is more likely to turn a blind eye completely.

I was a little dizzy and stood for a while before I recovered. A few faint rays of light leaked through cracks in the wall, and my eyes gradually adjusted to the dimness.

His eyes were filled with curiosities looted from the Twelve Seas, and they were filled with glittering armor, exotic works of art, and dazzling silks...... Everything is valuable, but that's not what I'm here for.

I looked at the unloading area near the gate, as the freshly arrived items were usually placed near there. I walked over nonchalantly, my fingers casually running over the various cartons and crates...... Until I touched a small wooden box between my fingers, and some kind of power was constantly radiating throughout. That's it.

I removed the lid and the loot jumped into view: a beautifully forged dagger lying on a black velvet base.

I held out my hand.

Click-

I froze in place. I can't get it right.

Before he could speak, I knew who was standing behind me.

"Trist. Long time no see. ”

That's right, Graves.

I've been standing here for hours.

I can't stand it anymore if I change to someone else, but I'm different because I have anger as a companion. This old account must be settled today.

As the night drew to a close, the slippery ghost finally arrived. He showed up in the warehouse without warning, and it was the same old trick again. I picked up my gun, ready to blow his head out. After all these years, this dog mongrel has finally fallen into my hands. People are stolen and seized, and there is nowhere to escape under the guns of "fate".

"Trist. Long time no see. ”

I had prepared a better opening line, but when he did show up, those words flew all over the horizon.

Trist turned, his face as usual. No fear, no apologies, not even a hint of surprise. Even with a gun in front of him, he remained unmoved. guy.

"Malcolm, how long have you been standing here?" His sneer was so angry that it tickled the roots of his teeth.

I raised the muzzle of my gun and took aim, hoping to pull the trigger and smash his poker face into rotten flesh.

This is long overdue.

But no, I have to hear his confession.

"Why?" The moment I asked, I knew he must have made up a perfect excuse.

"Why do you have a gun? Old friends meet, not to. ”

Friends? This pretentious bastard is laughing at me again. I just want to screw his head off right now - but I've got myself in check.

"You look as dashing as ever." He looked at me and said.

I looked down at the hole in my clothes that had been bitten through by a manta ray—I had swam in to avoid the guards. And Trist, even if he only has a few copper plates, he has to dress up like a dog. I can't wait to blast him into a pile of rotten meat, but first, he owes me an explanation.