Chapter Seventy-Seven: Armed Infiltration (Part One)

Bringing out the “Black Blade: Night” as a stand-in appeared to be a bold move, even tinged with a hint of recklessness, but upon closer consideration, Qiubai’s actions were not as grave as they seemed. As long as “Hawkeye” Mihawk was not roaming the North Sea in the near future, there would be no issue at all.

At this time, Mihawk’s reputation as the “World’s Greatest Swordsman” was steadily rising, and the notion that his weapon had been stolen would undoubtedly be sensational. However, even if there was a one-in-ten-thousand chance that the rumor reached Mihawk himself, it would hardly matter. Given his temperament, he would never travel all the way to the North Sea for such a frivolous rumor.

The “Black Blade: Night” remained strapped to his back, and Mihawk had the breadth of mind to ignore such implausible gossip. Thus, the real concern was not Mihawk, but whether the auction house would see through Qiubai’s replica—the answer, of course, was no.

Black Blades are a rather unique class of swords. Qiubai had never handled the “Night,” one of the Twelve Supreme Grade Swords, but he had encountered other Black Blades—namely, Ryuma’s “Black Blade: Autumn Water.” Therefore, analyzing the material posed no difficulty; then it was simply a matter of copying the template. With Qiubai’s abilities, his creation might even surpass the world’s foremost blade—if one were to ask who currently wielded the “world’s strongest” sword, the answer would undoubtedly be Qiubai, not Mihawk.

The “Bounded Field: Unlimited Blade Works” was already home to various high-defense, low-quality replicas, such as Excalibur Image or Excalibur Gallatin, which represented the pinnacle of swords Qiubai had encountered. Yet even without these, there existed multiple swords of grade A and above. Of course, most were mere shells, their only attributes being “durability” or “sharpness”—hoping for him to unleash a wave of light was impossible.

After all, he lacked the ability to invoke a sword’s true name; at best, he could use some of them as makeshift bombs. Nevertheless, even so, replicating the Black Blade: Night could not be called “passing off a fake as genuine”—for what he produced was more authentic than the real thing.

Therefore, the auction house’s appraisal would yield no results. If one wished to discern the difference between the counterfeit and the original, there were two methods. First, have the blade’s true owner, “Hawkeye” Mihawk, personally inspect it. Second, break the blade by force.

If someone were to snap the Black Blade, the deception would quickly be exposed. No matter how precise the imitation, Qiubai’s creation was ultimately a “magical construct,” not a genuine metal artifact. Once broken, its internal structure would be plain as day.

But… no one would ever do such a thing.

Thus, the Black Blade could only be regarded as genuine.

“We guarantee that our merchandise is flawless. The Cat-Eyed Trio has never missed; unless ‘Hawkeye’ Mihawk himself wields a counterfeit,” Qiubai declared with confidence.

“Trio?” came the response.

“…You misheard. It’s the Cat-Eyed Brothers,” he corrected.

At that moment, a group clustered before Qiubai, scrutinizing the Black Blade. In truth, even if the weapon was “highly imitated,” as long as it possessed sufficient quality, what name would be used during the auction—genuine or replica? The answer was obvious; naturally, the name that fetched the highest price would be chosen.

Moreover, this was an “underground auction.” The rule was simple: “Once bought, no returns.” If buyers failed to discern authenticity, the fault lay solely with them, never with the auction house.

After a period of meticulous inspection, the appraisers nodded one by one at the supervisor. Both the supervisor and Qiubai noticed this gesture, but neither commented.

“Cat-Eyed… Brothers. Not a name I’ve heard before. Where did you encounter Mihawk? And by what method did you obtain the blade?” The supervisor’s attention remained fixed on these details.

Qiubai thought, How should I know where I supposedly met Mihawk? This question is entirely unnecessary. Thus, his answer was formulaic:

“No comment.”

Such information was never to be divulged by a thief. From Qiubai’s position, a slight lift of his head caught the light, revealing an amber eye to the supervisor, so clear that the supervisor could see his own reflection within.

That “chilling” gaze made the supervisor unconsciously step back—the look was indeed reminiscent of a cat’s eye, but far more sinister.

“There is no issue with the Black Blade; it can serve as one of the grand finale lots at this auction.”

In the end, the supervisor’s conclusion was exactly as Qiubai expected.

Here, as long as no obvious flaws were found, the item was deemed genuine. If, by chance, some unfortunate soul bought it and took it home… it simply meant he was truly unlucky.

“What about our entry pass…” Qiubai pressed.

“Of course, there’s no problem. However… according to our rules, we take fifty percent commission from the auction proceeds.”

The supervisor’s reply left the Cat-Eyed Brothers in silent contemplation.

Ordinarily, such silence would be filled with resentment, even anger, for the cut was egregiously steep.

Yet the Cat-Eyed Brothers offered no protest. They seemed to understand the fundamental principle: “On someone else’s turf, follow their rules.” They simply took the entry pass from the supervisor’s hand and departed without another word.

Their tact earned the supervisor’s approval, for even if they had reneged in protest, they would never be allowed to leave with the goods—in fact, they might lose their lives instead.

With a starting price of at least two hundred million, and no cap on the final bid, how could the auction house possibly let them go? Who would turn down such a windfall? At worst, they would resort to outright robbery.

As for Qiubai? He had never cared about the Black Blade. As for his inner thoughts—if Mihawk ever learned of them, he would surely cross mountains and seas to hunt him down:

…That worthless thing—whoever wants it can have it.