chapter 68 part 1
Chapter 68: Big Mom? I Accept This Mission! (5/10 - Request for First Subscription!)
A few days later.
Naturally, once people in the Underworld learned through various channels about the new missions released by the Great Hand Undertakers and the events that transpired in Assassin Town,
The entire underworld was shaken to its core.
Even outlaws had never imagined such a thing existed in this world.
Of the Twelve Zodiacs, only three individuals had appeared so far.
The first individual stole the Celestial Tribute Gold from the Nismal Kingdom, and the second assassinated the Seven Warlords of the Sea, Crocodile.
And now, the third member to suddenly emerge, Rat, was even willing to undertake missions to assassinate kings and nobles, treating their heads as mere commodities.
"Who exactly established this organization? What exactly do they want to do?"
Countless individuals harbored such thoughts.
Some also began to search for clues within the mission's details.
"The nineteen types of metal ores surely aren't for one person; instead, Rat is collecting them for his organization?"
This clue undoubtedly sent shockwaves through many.
Compared to the previously mysterious organization that had no discernible clues,
An organization that truly existed with a certain purpose and was carrying out specific activities was clearly more worthy of serious attention.
"What is the Twelve Zodiacs' goal in collecting them? To forge weapons?"
"So many types of ore, are they to be melted into alloys?"
"I asked the craftsmen under me, and they said it was absolutely impossible to melt these nineteen types of ores with existing technology!"
Such voices were incessant.
But more powers were, at this moment, very closely observing the matter itself.
Although the Great Hand Undertakers indeed upheld its established rules, and people, no matter how hard they tried, could not uncover any details about the matter,
They knew, however, that change would come sooner or later.
Openly pricing the assassination of kings and nobles — if such a thing truly occurred, it absolutely could not be concealed.
So now, there was only one question.
"Will he really come?"
The sea wind stirred the sand on the shore, blowing against the roughly constructed houses of canvas and wood nearby.
This was an unnamed desolate island.
The village was small, appearing to house no more than fifty residents.
At this moment, the villagers were all gathered at the village entrance.
They were all emaciated and sickly-looking, their clothes tattered, and constant coughing sounds of "cough, cough, cough" emanated from the crowd.
The one who asked the question just now was a young villager.
"It's already been seven years, and no one... cough... no one has been willing... to help us."
He was clearly somewhat doubtful.
"Don't worry, Tena."
But at this moment, another person spoke.
"Didn't the Den Den Mushi message say it had already spread? He will come — others aren't willing to accept our mission because they're afraid, but he's from that 'Twelve Zodiacs' organization... cough... that's an organization that can easily kill even a Seven Warlords of the Sea."
He wasn't very old, appearing to be in his thirties. He wore a simple pendant on his hand that was already rusty and yellowing, seemingly the leader among the villagers.
And after hearing this, the previously restless crowd calmed down slightly.
"But, Brother Abel, even if they killed a Seven Warlords of the Sea, we... cough..."
The young man named Tena seemed anxious, coughing so much after just two sentences that it sounded like his heart would cough out.
Abel quickly stepped forward to pat his back, "Don't worry, he will definitely come."
But upon closer inspection, Abel's eyes were actually full of worry.
Although they had contacted the other party via Den Den Mushi,
But ultimately, they knew nothing about that Rat.
He had no confidence whether the other party would truly come or truly accept their request.
But the struggles of the past seven years had made him painfully aware...
"He is their only hope."
Just as Abel was muttering, his peripheral vision caught sight of something.
On the nearby beach, a figure stood by the shore.
The sunlight fell, making the rat-head mask on his head seem lifelike.
Abel hadn't seen how the other party appeared — he was certain that there had been no one nearby just a moment ago.
But that was clearly not important.
"Are you the clients?"
Rat looked at the tattered villagers in front of him, a little bewildered.
In fact, after his missions were released,
No one had contacted him in the past few days.
Rat wasn't surprised by this — after all, assassinating kings or nobles meant it was normal for clients to want to observe and wait.
He had already prepared to wait a few more days.
But just yesterday, he suddenly received his first "order."
And after arriving here, following the encrypted text on the order, he saw this group of people in front of him.
He had to admit, they reminded Rat of a group of people he had seen before.
That was the small fishing village on the nameless desolate island south of Marster Port, where Drunken Chicken was now located.
Yes — these people reminded him of the slaves from the Nismal Kingdom.
This made Rat wonder if he had come to the wrong place.
But then.
"Yes!"
Upon hearing his words, Abel immediately nodded repeatedly: "Lord Rat — it was us who commissioned you."
He said respectfully, "Please come into the village to speak."
Rat naturally had no objections and followed the other party into a house in the village.
This house had clearly been swept clean by them beforehand — although its overall architectural style still conveyed a sense of dilapidation, it was very clean overall.
Rat politely refused their offer of tea and got straight to the point: "Tell me, who are you? Who do you want killed?"
This overly blunt manner of speaking clearly startled Abel.
But his reaction was very quick, and he immediately changed his tone, no longer polite but equally direct: "We are rebels from 'Honey Island,' refugees who came to this island."
"...Rebels?"
Rat looked at the people gathered outside the house, and the almost incessant "coughing" sounds.
Hmm, how to put it — these people couldn't be called old, weak, or disabled, but the word "sick" was unavoidable for all of them.
Could such ordinary people, who exerted themselves with every movement, truly be called "rebel"s?
"Yes..."
Abel also took a deep breath at this moment.
Then, he began to recount their origins in a trembling voice.
Just as they said, they came from an island in North Blue named 'Honey Island.'