The Hunter of Pirates

"Am I… still alive?"

Mobin opened his eyes, sitting up abruptly, only to find himself lying on a crude wooden bed.

Before he could take in his surroundings, a sudden sharp pain stabbed through his head.

Fragmented images, like fleeting lantern shadows, spun rapidly in his mind.

They were unfamiliar.

Some were clear.

Some were blurry.

The chaotic mix of memories swirled into a jumble, seemingly the cause of the pain in his head.

"I was supposed to be…"

As the sharp pain subsided, a look of confusion appeared in Mobin's eyes.

He clearly remembered the turmoil in the Hunter Association's hall, where he had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire of the power from that wishing device of the Zoldyck family.

Not just him—neither the protagonists of the Hunter world nor the many elite members of the Hunter Association had been spared.

Against that seemingly dimension-breaking, unreasonable force, he hadn't done anything wrong but had still ended up as collateral damage.

In an instant, without even a chance to resist, his body had been twisted like a rope.

The sudden and violent incident had come so quickly, leaving behind a lingering pain that shrouded his mind like the shadow of death.

He could almost still feel the faint, tearing pain from his skin.

Only after a long while did the oppressive feeling of death fade away.

He was alive.

And that was enough.

Finally, Mobin turned his attention to his surroundings.

The room was a small, wooden space of less than ten square meters, carrying a faint musty smell in the air.

The wooden walls and floor were riddled with visible cracks.

The room's furnishings were extremely sparse. Besides the single bed he lay on, there was only a plain wooden table and chair, devoid of decorations, and a mirror hanging on the wall.

A dim, low-wattage incandescent bulb hung from the ceiling, casting limited light into the room.

Other than that, there was nothing—not even a window.

His gaze swept past the dust-covered table and chair, eventually landing on the mirror coated with a thin layer of dust.

In the reflection, Mobin saw an unfamiliar black-haired boy.

The boy appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years old. His features weren't striking but had a delicate, pleasing look.

His forehead was wrapped in blood-stained bandages, and his complexion was unnaturally pale, giving him a frail and sickly appearance.

Mobin stared blankly at the reflection of "himself" in the mirror. Gradually, those foreign memories in his mind became clearer.

As the unfamiliar memories washed over him, Mobin endured the lingering pain, his expression shifting with growing uncertainty.

"So, that's what happened…"

He had transmigrated.

And this time, it wasn't his body that had crossed over—it was his soul.

This was how he had survived.

Letting out a slow breath, Mobin didn't immediately get off the bed to investigate further.

Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to accept the fragments of memory left in this body, hoping to extract some useful information.

After a while, he reopened his eyes, his pale face now damp with a fine sheen of sweat.

"A slave ship… and a pirate ship…"

He murmured to himself, wiping the sweat from his cheek with his finger.

He had pieced together the origin of this body.

The body's former owner had been part of a merchant family, captured by pirates during a trading voyage.

Aside from the young boys like this body's former self, all the adults aboard the merchant ship, including his parents, had been slaughtered by the pirates.

The young survivors were sold onto a slave ship, crammed into a room strewn with hay.

A few days later, the slave ship was attacked, and a cannonball blew open the room where the boys were confined.

The memories ended there.

And then… nothing.

Mobin touched the bandages on his forehead. The wound didn't hurt much anymore.

He had no memory of how he ended up in this room.

But having narrowly escaped death, Mobin felt nothing but gratitude and relief.

"Pirates… Could this be the world of One Piece?"

Mobin pondered, uncertain.

The only thing he was sure of was that he would have to start over from scratch.

"If only my abilities were still intact…"

As the thought surfaced, a thin, black notebook suddenly appeared in his hand without warning.

Its black cover was etched with two bold silver characters: Hunter.

Below the title were four blank, parallel silver lines, while the notebook's spine held a feathered quill with no ink.

Staring at the materialized notebook and quill, Mobin's eyes widened in disbelief.

Even without nen, his ability had activated.

But…

Mobin's gaze shifted to the blank silver lines.

The lines should have reflected four of his recorded "desires," but now they were empty.

He opened the notebook.

The pages were blank.

Rustle, rustle…

He flipped through the second, third pages…

Still blank!

In the past, these pages had been filled with the results of four years of low-key "hunting" in the Hunter world. Now, they were all gone.

"A reset… No wonder I don't feel any 'boosts.'"

Despite the reset wiping away his previous gains, Mobin was ecstatic that his ability remained intact.

The Hunter's Journal was an ability Mobin had painstakingly developed in the Hunter world to maximize the information advantage of a transmigrator. It allowed him to convert intelligence into power to the greatest extent.

To activate the ability, he had to complete five steps:

Set hunting objectives.Identify targets.Prepare for the hunt.Execute the hunt.Reap the results.

Initially, Mobin had recorded four objectives: nen techniques, Spirit Echoes, potential aura quantity, and visible aura quantity.

TL: Spirit Echoes (Shinteki Kenchō) is a martial arts term used to describe the phenomenon that occurs when two powerful warriors clash. Basically like life and death moments when you get huge improvement in martial arts.

In the world of One Piece, however, these objectives were clearly inapplicable.

Still, certain objectives could work universally—such as physical strength, swordsmanship, Devil Fruit experience, or haki training…

Once objectives were recorded, he could write a target's name in the journal and visualize their appearance in his mind, completing the second step.

For the third step, he would document the target's abilities in detail. The more thorough the information, the richer the rewards for successfully eliminating the target.

The ability still existed, and with it, he could grow quickly again.

Excitement surged in Mobin, but he soon calmed himself.

He realized one critical issue.

Though the Hunter's Journal had survived, he wasn't sure it would work in this world.

If it didn't, all his hopes would be for nothing.

Closing the notebook slowly, Mobin muttered, "At least it's a good start. For now, I need to figure out my situation."

Just as he finished speaking, a gunshot rang out from outside.

His eyes sharpened, and he instinctively rolled off the bed, staring warily at the closed door.

The gunfire grew more intense, resembling the crackling of fireworks in the distance.

Determining that the shots were coming from outside the building, not within, Mobin remained on high alert, gripping the Hunter's Journal tightly.

In his current frail state, any unexpected event would make him easy prey.

The gunfire persisted for five minutes before gradually ceasing. Mobin stayed fixed on the door the entire time.

The chaotic world he had found himself in began to dawn on him.

Clutching the notebook brought no comfort.

Until he completed his first hunt, the Hunter's Journal was as good as useless.

Thud, thud…

Just as the gunfire subsided, footsteps approached the door. Mobin tensed, swiftly making the notebook disappear.

He moved quietly, pressing himself against the wall beside the door.

Given the circumstances, this position offered a better advantage than crouching by the empty bed.

The footsteps drew closer.

Mobin tilted his head slightly, holding his breath.

Creak…

The wooden door groaned as it opened, the sound piercing the silence.

No one entered. Instead, the dark barrel of a gun emerged, pointed at Mobin from an unnatural angle.

His heart skipped a beat.

With his current body, a single shot would mean certain death.