Dual wielding volcanoes, killing through the west

Dual-wielding volcanoes, rampaging through the West (Author: Hearthstone Literature)

Where have you been? Is this really the West?!

Zhang Renfeng looked at Old Mike, the loyal gang strategist, and gave him a noncommittal smile.

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In 1879, in the American West, civilization and barbarism coexisted.

In this land not yet completely overrun by the monster known as industry, a new gang, the Red Center Gang, emerges like summer thunder. Eventually, their fame will resound throughout this barbaric land.

Their story begins here.

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Volume 1: Thunderclap on the Ground

Prologue: The Final Choice

The room was deathly silent.

Chuck stared blankly at the body wrapped in a white sheet on the ground. He wondered if his sister was still cold, since one of her feet was sticking out.

This morning, her sister Gina went out to buy some dried goods and was kicked by a galloping horse. Her head hit a stone by the roadside and she died on the spot.

The perpetrator hung her on a horse like prey, and led a large group of people around the neighborhood until they found his house.

But he simply stood in the crowd, dressed in a magnificent red and black paisley vest, leaning against the door, smoking a cigar, his eyes half-closed, gazing casually into the distance, as if pondering what to have for dinner.

The mother had already fainted from crying, having shed all her tears. Therefore, the responsibility of communicating with that group fell to the honest and simple father—the owner of a grocery store, a law-abiding man who never did anything illegal. Faced with the tall man and the gleaming rifle behind him, he appeared meek and submissive, nodding repeatedly.

"I think you understand that we don't want to hear this from anyone."

"After you accept this money, even in your sleep at night, you must say that your daughter fell and died while walking, understand? There will be no police, no judge, no trial. No matter who asks, you must keep your mouth shut. If we hear a different version of the story outside, people like you cannot bear the consequences, do you understand?"

The man in the black bowler hat casually tossed out a few crumpled green banknotes, totaling about $50, and threw them on the ground.

From beginning to end, the young man in the black and red vest never once looked into the room.

He didn't say a word, not even a perfunctory apology, just kept smoking one cigarette after another, casually flicking them into the house, as if his home was nothing more than his ashtray.

"That's it?!" Chuck trembled with rage, his fists clenched so tightly his nails almost dug into his palms. He roared, "That bastard killed someone, and all he wants is fifty dollars... and that's it? That's a life! He killed Gina, that's the truth!"

……

The man wearing a bowler hat glanced at him, then suddenly took off the rifle he had been carrying and smashed the butt of the rifle into Chuck's face.

With a dull thud, he fell straight to the ground, his face covered in blood.

The mother screamed and rushed over, but the men picked up chairs and smashed them on her. Her voice seemed to be cut off, and she fell to the ground.

“You little bastard, you’d better watch your mouth. Who told her to be so blind and insist on crawling under the hooves of the Cheddar family? Giving you fifty dollars is already doing you a favor.”

The man shoved the rifle barrel into Chuck's mouth and sneered, "Get this straight, you bunch of mud-dwelling bastards. What will your sister do when she grows up? Either a hostess or a stripper... She's worth fifty dollars."

"So, either you take this fifty dollars and shut your mouth, or... I'll shoot you right now, and your head will explode with a 'bang,' pieces here and there, splattering everywhere. Then... I'll give your father another fifty dollars, or I'll just set this place on fire."

"Do you understand? I want to hear your assurance."

"Woo..."

The gun barrel was pulled out of Chuck's mouth, and he could barely breathe. He tasted a mixture of blood and gunpowder in his mouth, as if he had been cut somewhere.

Fear and humiliation, like tiny snakes, burrowed into his veins, and he could only nod.

"Damn it, it's all saliva, what bad luck..." Before leaving, the man, out of anger, stomped on his knee and broke his right leg.

"ah----!!"

Chuck's screams echoed through the room.

The young man in the black and red vest never once looked into the house.

----

"Accept your fate." As night fell, the father sat at the dinner table for almost twenty minutes before finally managing to utter these words: "The one who killed Gina... was Colin Childer, the second son of the Childer family."

"Oil, sugar, railroads... their family controls this world. Every way you can think of to make money is in their hands. Not to mention the police, in this small town, they are the undisputed Caesars. The police and the courts are basically run by their family."

"Even if they burn this place down tomorrow, all that will be left is a pile of ashes."

The mother silently cleaned up the debris on the floor. Her cheek was swollen, and the injury from being hit on the face by a chair that afternoon had not yet healed.

“Accept your fate, Chuck.” The father sighed again, utterly despondent. “We can’t win.”

……

So, that's it?

Gina, his beloved sister who had been by his side for over a decade, is to be buried tomorrow, as if it never happened. And the real murderer won't even have to pay any price; tonight he'll still be drinking heartily in the tavern of Windblown Sand Town!

Do not……

This shouldn't be happening!

Chuck clenched his fists so tightly that his nails almost dug his palms until they bled.

Having made up his mind, he sat bolt upright in bed and tiptoed to the front of the grocery store, taking all the money from the cash register. By the dim moonlight, he carefully counted it; it only amounted to $68. The father didn't put the crumpled $50 back in the drawer; he seemed worried that these green bills were stained with his daughter's blood.

68 plus 50 equals $118. With his own savings, he barely scraped together $150, which was all the money he had.

"I don't accept this result, I don't accept it..."

When reality becomes unbearable and oppressive, making one want to escape, he is forced to believe in things that might seem like nonsense to ordinary people.

In the small town of Windblown Sand, a stable took in a homeless man from the East. He built a small shed behind the stable and slept there day and night. He had a face completely different from the locals, unlike the Black people or the Native Americans; he came from the other side of the sea. He was like a water sprite from a story, only a violent version—for enough money, he could teach anyone a lesson.

Carrying all his assets, Chuck limped toward the stables under the moonlight, amidst the clamor of the tavern.

Chapter 1: I Miss Home

Pushing open the door, which was barely a door, Chuck heard intermittent crying, which made him feel a little embarrassed for a moment.

Before coming, he had made full mental preparations. Perhaps when he opened the door, he would be faced with a monster. It might have four arms and eight legs, and look like the demon in the story.

Even if he truly was a demon, and demanded his soul as a price, Chuck would accept it. He felt a fire burning in his chest; he was determined to take revenge, no matter what!

but……

Things turned out completely differently than he had imagined.

The chair the Easterner sat on was very low; he had made it himself from wood, and it was not of the same kind as any of the chairs in Windblown Sand Town.

He was broad-shouldered, with the backrest and armrests forming a multi-panel screen. He sat there, looking up at the moon hanging in the night sky, sobbing softly, until Chuck came to his side, at which point he looked up at him.

Chuck finally saw his appearance clearly—he wasn't as terrifying as a demon, just with slightly darker skin, black eyes and hair, and a stubble beard, making him look more like a hermit.

He calmly glanced at Chuck, who had barged into the house, took a soft handkerchief from his pocket, wiped away his tears, and asked in a muffled voice, "Did you bring the money?"

"What?" Chuck was caught off guard by this abrupt turn of events. "You're the one they were talking about..."

"Coming in the middle of the night, they can't be here to buy horses, can they?"

The unshaven man rummaged through the table, pulled out paper and pen, and held the pen in an odd way, more like using his wrist to grip the pen. His English writing was crooked and scraggly, like the scribbles of an illiterate person. Even with such awkward English, Chuck could still barely make out his name.

"Renfeng...Zhang?"

----

“Zhang, Ren, Feng. Why do you guys like to put the name first here… never mind.” Zhang Renfeng sighed, having complained about the same thing too many times, and gradually lost interest. She pushed the papers in front of him. “Simply put, what do you want me to do for you?”

The bloody hatred was once again exposed. As Chuck spoke, his hand, which was gripping the coins, trembled slightly, and he almost bit his teeth to pieces.

No matter how respectful the words, they could not conceal his anger; he wanted something that was almost impossible to find in this small town.

justice.

fair.

"The Cheddar family made their fortune in this small town. The police and judges here are like their employees; they've got connections everywhere. Even if you go to the police, it won't end well. That's what my father said. He told me to swallow my pride and accept it. That bastard in the black bowler hat smashed my mother's face with a chair, and Colin Cheddar's horse broke my sister's skull... those bastards!"

“Gina is such a wonderful girl, sir. Have you met her? She helps her mother with chores, she helps her father count the coins in the box, she…”

"Alright, no need to say more, I understand what you mean." Zhang Renfeng raised his hand, yawned, and said in a somewhat lazy tone, "Your sister's life should be paid for by this Colin Childer, right?"

He shoved the $150 into the corner of the table, waved to Chuck, and said, "I understand. You'll hear from you later."

"That's...it?" Chuck suddenly snapped out of his daze, looked around, and saw nothing but a bed, a table, and the bench he was sitting on. Zhang Renfeng's hermit image seemed to be becoming less and less reliable.

“I need time to figure out the situation.” Zhang Renfeng saw the suspicion in his eyes, but he wasn’t annoyed. He explained slowly, “When does that guy go out? What does he do? Where is the best place to make a move? I can’t possibly sneak into his house in the middle of the night and kill him.”

“He’s not home,” Chuck said bitterly. “Every night at this time, he’s at the Red Bird Tavern in Windswept Sands, drinking, partying, and playing cards with his gang. Every single night!”

For him, trampling his own sister to death wasn't even a "matter".

So tonight will be no exception.

Upon hearing this, Zhang Renfeng sat up straight. "Subordinates?"

"He liked to play those boring gang games, hiring a bunch of vagrant gunmen who chattered around him like some big shot." Chuck felt a chill run down his spine as he recalled the man who broke down the door that afternoon and shoved a gun into his mouth.

Just a little bit.

If he pulls the trigger, his head will be smashed to pieces.

Are you there now?

"What...what are you going to do?" Chuck asked in surprise as he saw Chuck put down his pen and paper and straighten his collar. "Didn't you hear what I said? That's a 'huge' group of vagrant gunmen, about fifteen of them! Are you planning to make your move now?"

"I heard you, don't worry, you gave me... ten, twenty, thirty..."

Zhang Renfeng moistened his finger with saliva and quickly counted the banknotes, "One hundred and fifty, ten yuan per person, that's about right."

Ten dollars for a life?

To put it bluntly, that bastard trampled his own sister to death with his horse and still had to pay $50 in compensation.

Either this person is insane, spouting nonsense from the moment they walked in, or...

Chuck couldn't imagine the latter possibility: how could one person possibly break through the hail of bullets against fifteen heavily armed vagrant gunmen?

Although he couldn't imagine it, he desperately hoped that the latter possibility was true.

Zhang Renfeng pulled a wooden box out from under the bed and blew off the dust. Inside was nothing more than a belt, two heavy-looking Volcano pistols, and an ordinary straw hat. There was also a folded face mask inside, but he hesitated and didn't wear it. Instead, he sat back down on the bench, struck a match with the hard sole of his boot, and lit a cigarette.

"call……"

Under the bright moonlight, he began to smoke, leaning back in his chair with his eyes slightly narrowed.

The embers of the cigarette butt flickered intermittently.

"Wait a moment, let me finish this cigarette and refresh myself." He held the cigarette between two fingers, and by the moonlight, Chuck could see the calluses on the back of his hands, which were frighteningly thick.

It was like a layer of armor, covering the entire hand.

"That Colin Chedell, do you want to personally send him on his way?"

"...Huh?" Chuck didn't understand the meaning of that sentence at first, but when he did, he looked at him like he was a monster. "Can you do it?"

"It's up to you."

"Yes!" He nodded without hesitation, gritting his teeth. "I dream about it! I want to hold a gun to his head, listen to him make up some confessions, and then shoot him dead!"

“Very good. There’s a Shire horse in the stable. Ride it when you go out. Now set off, heading towards the butcher shop, leaving Windblown Sand Town. The grasslands are just outside. Go north for about 400 or 500 meters, to the intersection of the two railway tracks. There’s an abandoned, dilapidated wagon wreck by the roadside… Wait there. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”

After finishing his last puff of cigarette, Zhang Renfeng still felt unsatisfied, so he threw the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with the sole of his shoe.

"The cigarettes here aren't flavorful enough, they're too soft. Back in my hometown... to smoke a genuine Northeastern-style tobacco, you had to be very particular."

He dusted off his knees, stood up, like a general going into battle.

……

"When I first walked in, I think I heard you looking at the sky and crying," Chuck suddenly asked. "Why?"

----

Zhang Renfeng stopped and looked at him with a complicated expression.

"I'm homesick."