Dual wielding volcanoes, killing through the west

Chapter Two: That Person

The Red Bird Tavern was filled with a noisy atmosphere.

Mike stood out starkly among the group of young men. He neither drank nor gambled; instead, he surveyed every corner of the pub with his emotionless, dead-fish eyes. It was as if a bomb might roll in from any corner at any moment, and this fifty-something-year-old man would be the first to stand up and kick it away.

His hairstyle was striking – a completely bald head. Yet, his physique was as robust as a bear's, not at all like a man in his fifties. Thus, the bald head naturally became the hairstyle of a strong man, giving people a sense of security and reliability.

"Homage to our new friend, the legendary sharpshooter 'Iron Wall'—Mike Reinhardt, who personally experienced the 'Battle of Luxi Town' and the 'Blade Moment in the Snowfall Mountains'!"

"oh---!!"

The young men slammed their glasses against the edge of the table, spilling beer without a care in the world. It was a party for Mike, but interestingly, he was the only one standing outside of it all. Colin, somewhat embarrassed, rambled on for a while, but the mythical figure himself remained unresponsive, making the atmosphere rather dull.

Seeing so many eyes staring at him, Mike shifted his posture slightly and said calmly, "I don't drink at night. That's my rule. Alcohol affects the brain and slows down reaction time."

"See that? That's what you call professional!" Colin quickly gave himself an out, turning around excitedly to show off to his brothers, as if he, who had brought the old man over, was the most professional gunman in the world. "Our team should have someone like that!"

"Ha ha ha ha……"

The surrounding noise felt somewhat unfamiliar to Mike. He stretched his calloused fists and frowned, his half-gray eyebrows furrowing. "I thought I was here to provide security and protection."

"Safety? Hahaha, dear Reinhardt, you're worrying too much." The man in the bowler hat picked up a glass of wine, chuckled, and patted him on the shoulder. "Before you stands one of the heirs of the renowned Cheddar family, and Windswept Sands is our ancestral home! Here, who would dare let Colin have any 'safety issues'? Hmm? That grocery store kid from this afternoon?"

When Chuck casually mentioned what happened that afternoon, everyone burst into laughter as if they'd heard a joke. While laughing, they also mocked Chuck's overestimation of his abilities.

Like an ant trying to move an elephant, even the idea itself is laughable.

"This afternoon?" Mike sensed something was amiss. "What happened this afternoon?"

"It's nothing, it's nothing, just a small problem, it's all been taken care of."

The man in the black hat was very enthusiastic. Whether out of respect for Mike's name or sensing that this old man would hold a significant position in the team in the future, he proactively poured him a drink and said in a friendly manner, "People in the underworld call me 'Armadillo,' and these gentlemen here have all followed Colin for a long time, they are..."

Having said that, Mike probably guessed that the reason he came here was simply to accompany a rich kid and play his Western game.

Although he has been down on his luck lately, he doesn't need to rely on this to make money.

“I’d better go out and stand guard.” He interrupted the armadillo’s introduction, clearly uninterested in the names of the group of little karami. “If you’re all huddled together inside, you could easily be wiped out in one fell swoop.”

When they couldn't agree on anything, he got up to leave.

“Wait, Reinhardt, there’s no need to go out. Nobody’s going to bother us.” Colin put down his glass and called out to him, “Tell us about the legendary gunslinger!”

……

“There’s no such thing as a ‘legendary shooter,’ kid… I hope that answer satisfies you.” Mike sighed. “Never. What you’ve heard are just myths and rumors passed down through generations. It’s like a competition to see who can brag the most.”

"The best way for a gunman to win a duel is to shoot them in the back. These guys aren't heroes, they're just a bunch of desperate criminals with huge bounties on their heads in various states, who can't even sleep soundly, nothing more."

Upon hearing this, the atmosphere in the tavern froze, and Colin wore an incredulous expression.

“No, no… what about ‘The Wolfman’?” He shook his head, seemingly more interested in convincing himself than Mike. “He killed more than twenty bounty hunters in the Snowfall Mountains and even formed his own gang. That’s legendary enough, isn’t it?”

Mike shook his head.

"How did the 'Rose Princess' fare after blowing up New Austin's City Hall during the new police inspector's inauguration ceremony?"

Mike shook his head again.

"'The man in yellow'! He has a golden revolver, and he can draw it faster than lightning. The moment I saw him, I was already hit!"

Mike shook his head again, his dead fish eyes half-closed. "They're all insignificant little guys, believe me, kid. If you asked them to switch places with you and live your life now, they wouldn't even blink an eye."

"Why?" Colin asked, puzzled. "They're all free cowboys! Riding fast horses, galloping across the plains, living outside of towns and rules, robbing whomever they want, doing whatever they want. Is there a more carefree life than that?"

Mike was speechless. The thought of spending the next few months with this playboy who loved Western games and being forced to tell him these so-called "stories" made him sigh again.

Or, after this month, should I just quit?

He swallowed a mouthful of beer, feeling a slightly bitter taste on his tongue. He couldn't stand this kind of youthful stuff, but out of respect for his employer, he didn't spit it out.

"That……"

"What about 'that guy'?" Colin finally asked, seemingly quite certain that Mike knew who he was talking about. "'That guy' who's recently risen to fame, committed a major crime in White Torch, and wiped out the Nordlin family in one fell swoop."

"【Red Center】?"

Mike's eyebrows twitched slightly.

Because he was bald, the bulging veins on his forehead were particularly noticeable. He seemed frozen, his gaze towards Colin slightly angry. He looked like a child watching cricket fighting, standing on the dry bank, excitedly comparing which cricket was stronger.

Anyone who has witnessed that scene would not think that way.

"Heh... Let's put it this way, he wasn't a gunman. He did have two guns on his waist, but judging from the sound of the gunshots, they were very old models, more like decorations."

"He was a 'killer,' a complete killer, capable of using anything to kill."

"For him, killing was not a burden, but more like a kind of exercise, an after-dinner exercise. If used well, anything can be used for exercise, and similarly, in his hands, anything can be used to kill."

Unlike the previous few mediocre individuals, Mike gave a very detailed and sharp assessment of the eccentric "that guy." His original intention was to warn Colin not to underestimate those notorious outlaws, but unexpectedly, the guy's eyes lit up, clearly showing even more interest.

“Yes, that’s right.” Seeing him staring at him like that, Mike continued to sigh and reluctantly admitted, “When the White Torch incident happened… I was also invited to the Nordlin family’s banquet.”

“I was there.”

----

"boom--!"

Just as Colin was about to ask a question, the tavern door was pushed open, and a man who looked drunk walked in, turning left and right.

A cold night wind swept over him, and Mike squinted warily, watching the dark-haired man who had suddenly barged in.

My intuition, honed over 30 years of practice, started issuing warnings like crazy.

Chapter Three: The Red One

"Hey! What are you doing? Don't you know the rules? Look at the time, this is Colin's territory!"

He didn't even need the armadillo to say a word; among these people, there were many underlings of lower status who were naturally responsible for driving people away.

These gunmen were mostly locals who operated in the town of Fengchuisha. Soon, someone recognized the newcomer and exclaimed, "He's that foreigner who lives in the stable!"

Upon hearing this, his figure became more familiar, which elicited an increasingly contemptuous laugh.

Everyone knew that there was such a man living in the stable. He had no place to live, no savings, nothing at all, and even thieves and robbers wouldn't bother with him. The stable owner took him in, gave him food and a shabby shed to live in, and he stayed there day and night, tending to the horses, and he smelled of horse urine all over himself.

In the town of Fengchuisha, this kind of person was already universally disliked, and anyone could come up and kick him.

"哐——!"

He collapsed onto a table, pretending to vomit, which made everyone frown and become even angrier.

"I told you to get lost, are you deaf?!"

One of the underlings, who seemed overly eager to advance, glanced at the armadillo out of the corner of his eye. After receiving a slight nod from the armadillo, he stepped forward, shouting and cursing as he pulled his revolver from his belt. He threatened sharply, "Tonight, I'll slit a hole in your head, throw your corpse into the pigsty, and tomorrow morning, no one will even have a question."

He slammed his hand on the table, his eyes wide with anger.

“Your life here isn’t even worth a penny, a cent. Do you understand, you lowly yellow barbarian?”

"Understood, understood. I won't be staying here long, I'll be leaving soon. Let me say one more thing..." Zhang Renfeng seemed to be in a dream, his unshaven face full of smiles. His gaze swept through the crowd, only lingering briefly on Mike, as if everyone else was nothing more than insignificant insects.

"The Colin Gang, huh? So, the leader is this Mr. Colin. He's quite the young and promising man."

The underling was about to lash out when Colin raised his hand to stop him. He turned his head and looked at Zhang Renfeng as if he were a comical clown performing a magic trick.

He wanted to hear what other interesting things this clown could come up with.

Gina asked me to say hello to you.

Colin's first reaction was confusion.

"And what is Gina?"

"Ha, it's true what they say, important people have bad memories. The old saying is really true." Zhang Renfeng laughed, his gaze towards Colin no longer warm, as if he were looking at a corpse or a part. "You've forgotten everything so quickly."

"It's nothing, or rather..."

He murmured, "For me, it's better this way."

……

In a flash, Mike spotted the grips of the two pistols tucked into his belt—one black, one white, with a greater curve than a typical revolver. Not only that, their barrels were also longer. Mike, with his extensive experience with firearms, recognized them in an instant.

"Volcano Pistol?"

In an instant, my thoughts were drawn back to that banquet in White Torch Town.

Mike clearly remembered the sound of that gunshot; it was completely different from the Schofield revolver that was popular in the West. The rate of fire was lower, and the whistling sound of the bullet leaving the barrel was much more muffled. In his memory, only old-fashioned guns that were about to be phased out of the market made that sound. And the Repeating Volcano pistol, which used a lever principle, perfectly fit that description.

The figure in his memory became clearer, overlapping with the man in front of him, making Mike feel his blood boil and his long-dormant heart seem to start beating again.

thump!

thump!

It is about to leap out of the chest.

"A bunch of idiots, get down!" Mike, realizing what was happening, raised his voice, grabbed the edge of the round table with one hand, and flipped it over, issuing the sternest warning, "This guy is the fucking 'Red One'!"

……

Zhang Renfeng suddenly raised his head and revealed a strange smile.

----

In the end, he couldn't raise his right hand, which was holding the gun.

Before that, two steel-like fingers rapidly magnified in his vision, seemingly just a light touch, with just the right amount of force, shattering his eyeballs.

"ah----!!!"

The screams of the henchman seemed like a starting pistol; the gunmen immediately drew their weapons and opened fire, gunfire erupted, sparks flew, and stray bullets flew everywhere in the tavern.

The bar owner, seemingly used to this kind of thing, was bound to encounter similar problems in a town where everyone had enough money to buy a gun. He expertly ducked under the bar, opened the back door he had prepared for himself—a dog hole just big enough for him—and crawled out.

Gunfire erupted, sounding like a company-wide firefight. Mike's warnings still echoed in their ears. Facing the Red Center, they dared not hold back, unleashing a torrent of fire like madmen. Even the screaming henchman was in the line of fire, and before he could even retreat, he was riddled with bullets.

Smoke. Gunpowder. Alcohol.

The various smells mixed together, making Mike feel irritated.

"Stop! Stop!" Gao Sheng shouted, flipping over the table in front of him to use as cover. "Haven't you fired any shots yet? Don't waste bullets!"

He yelled at them, and the burst of gunfire finally stopped. Mike had completely given up hope on these guys. Given their skill level, their best opponent would be a white-tailed deer on the plains.

As the smoke and dust gradually dissipated, standing opposite was a round table that was almost riddled with bullet holes. The tabletop was riddled with bullet holes, indicating that almost all the firepower had hit this thing.

"Someone, go and see if he's still there."

"..."

Everyone looked at each other, then lowered their heads, like students afraid of being called on by the teacher. Even the usually arrogant armadillo was now pale-faced, head bowed and silent, staring intently at the crack in the tavern floor, as if it wished it could disappear into it.

Although Mike had a premonition of this, he didn't expect these people to be so cowardly. He sighed and lost hope for his teammates on this trip.

“You know what, you’re not cut out for this line of work. No offense, but none of you are.” No one answered, so Mike had to do it himself, adding a sarcastic remark as he went, “Go play Westerns with the white-tailed deer on the tamarisk, at least they won’t be throwing bullets at you.”

He crouched down, keeping the revolver at waist level so he could react should the opponent suddenly attack.

"crunch..."

Mike deliberately stomped on the broken glass on the floor, making a noise, like luring a rabbit into a hole, hoping to provoke a reaction from the other person. But even as he slowly moved to the table, the other person didn't react at all, which made Mike's heart sink.

On the bright side, perhaps the concentrated fire just now killed him?

Deep down, he knew the idea was absurd. Having witnessed firsthand how Hong Zhong killed people, he didn't believe the other man could be taken down by a volley of bullets from an amateur. Right now, he must be holding his breath, lurking behind the round table, waiting to deliver a fatal blow to him when he comes to investigate.

"call……"

Mike took a deep breath.

Having lived for years across various states and successfully survived to his fifties, he knew all too well that the only chance of victory was the instant the two sides met face-to-face. Either he would shoot a hole through him, or he would blow his opponent's head off; there was no third possibility!

With a gentle push, the wooden table standing on the ground was knocked over, raising a cloud of dust.

There was nothing but wood chips and shiny shards of glass.

"?!" This result was completely unexpected by Mike. "Where is he?"

----

"Hahahahaha——!!"