Dual wielding volcanoes, killing through the west

----

The wind blows through the sandy town. The train station.

"Mike Reinhart – 50-60 years old, white male, former mercenary gunman, at large. Reward: $500."

Mike pulled down his hat brim and looked at the wanted poster on the bulletin board, his expression grave.

The good news is that his appearance hasn't been revealed yet.

After all, he had just gotten off the train last night, and the only person he had ever been in contact with was dead at the Red Bird Tavern. Except for Colin, who was now hanging from a cross on the church steeple.

But it was only a matter of time. He had left his mark in too many places: trains, hotels, arms shops… The Pinkerton detectives were like a swarm of annoying ants; once they got a taste of success, they weren't willing to stop and would chase him to the ends of the earth. At most, they could delay for a while longer before their portrait was added to the wanted poster.

The bad news is that the name Mike Reinhardt can no longer be used in Windblown Sands.

Although it has only been a short time, some people may still associate themselves with this name.

……

"Sir, how can I help you?"

Mike didn't flinch, but looked him straight in the eye and said, "Um... help me find... if there's a letter sent to 'Il Ilan'."

Chapter Twelve: Family Hero Mike

After standing at the door for a while, Mike didn't go in. Instead, he crouched down and rummaged around in front of the door, finally finding the inconspicuous fishing line—which he had tucked into the crack of the door before leaving. Now, the fishing line lying on the ground meant someone had entered the house, and perhaps… was still inside!

This was where he stayed after being wanted by the authorities, a hunter's cabin that was some distance from the town and had long been abandoned.

He wasn't originally from Fengchuisha, and his original plan was to find a hotel to stay in, but after last night, that idea naturally vanished. Mike returned to the hotel immediately, enduring the pain, and took all his belongings with him. Under the cover of night, he rushed to the hunter's cabin.

This is a haven for homeless people, a place where these pathetic, homeless fellows make temporary shelter. When he arrived, he encountered two or three drunken homeless men.

Mike was injured and didn't argue with them. He gave them $20 and sent them away.

However, he did not expect that someone would follow the trail and find his "new home" so quickly.

"Hell..."

Mike didn't rush in through the front door. He put the envelope in his coat pocket, took out his revolver, and circled the room. The side windows were already shattered. He tried to climb in as quietly as possible. During this process, Mike truly felt that he was getting old. His hands and feet weren't as nimble as before, but fortunately, in the end, the floorboards only creaked, which was acceptable.

The room was silent, but the dust that had settled on the floor was Mike's helpful tool. In addition to his own footprints, there were two more sets of footprints of different shoe sizes, very fresh, extending towards the inner room.

There are only footprints going in, but none coming out.

"..."

Mike's right hand, still bandaged after a simple treatment of his wound, trembled as he gripped the gun. He switched to his left hand, and just to be safe, searched every other corner, eliminating all possibilities, concluding that the intruder was inside the house.

He picked up an iron basin and smashed it on the ground.

With a loud "bang," like a firecracker being dropped in a quiet house, Mike hid in the shadows, watching the door. Sure enough, two men, peeking out cautiously, slowly pushed the door open and carefully emerged. Their suits looked cheap, and their attention was entirely focused on what was in front of them, oblivious to Mike hiding to the side.

Not all burglars are fearless thugs. In fact, most of the time, thieves are much more nervous than the homeowners. Judging from their timid and hesitant manner, they're probably not seasoned criminals.

When you're down on your luck, all sorts of monsters and demons seem to come your way.

Mike cursed under his breath, then kicked the door hard, smashing it onto the second man's head.

"what……"

"boom!"

Mike didn't give him a chance to scream before shooting him in the head. Blood splattered onto the door and floor, adding only some indelible stains to the hunter's cabin that would eventually dry with time.

Keep only one of the questioners.

"Boom!"

Turning his gun around, Mike swung his Colt M1873 single-action revolver and slammed the butt of the gun into the man's forehead and brow. The man was caught off guard and fell to the ground, bleeding profusely. Mike then bent down and took the gun.

"I'll give you five numbers. Shut your mouth. I'll ask you questions, and you'll answer them, understand?"

"Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm!" Seeing that his companion had already been blown off his head, the man dared not act recklessly and nodded repeatedly like a chicken pecking at rice.

"name?"

“Gene…Gene Pain, the bounty hunter!”

How did you know it was me?

“A bounty! It said there was a white man in his fifties. I thought, if you were injured in last night's battle, you'd definitely need a place to recover. You can't stay in Windblown Sand Town any longer; it's too, too dangerous there! But you can't go too far either.” Gene swallowed hard. “So, this is the most suitable place. We were just trying our luck, but we didn't expect you to actually be here…”

Mike gasped, his expression turning grim.

The situation was worse than he had imagined.

In this place, his foothold was still too shallow, and he couldn't think of a good place to go for the time being. Obviously, the places he could think of, others could think of too. He really only had one night; he simply treated his wounds, dozed off for a while, and the next day someone came knocking on his door. Once there's a first, there will be a second; $500 is no small sum, and it will attract more and more bounty hunters, following the scent of blood.

It has to be moved.

But...where should we move it to?

"I...I've told you everything, really, I've said everything I know. I just wanted to earn some bounty. You know how it is in this world..." Gene stammered, his face contorted with grief. "Please spare my life, spare me, I promise I'll never betray you..."

Mike glanced down at him; his deeply lined face was almost expressionless.

……

boom!

The room fell silent.

He let out a long sigh, walked to the corner, squatted down, let out another long sigh, and opened the letter.

----

A letter to Il Ilan:

Dad, I don't know if you arrived safely at Windblown Sands. I pray to God for your safety every day. But sometimes, I wonder if He can hear me. If He can, why did He let Ned leave us? Even now, when I think back to the moment I received the news, my hands and feet still feel cold.

Getting back to the point, Dad, I didn't want to write to you so soon, it would feel like I was urging you to send money home quickly.

You've just arrived in Windblown Sands and landed a well-paying new job, which should be a cause for celebration. But things have changed at home. I've always kept our finances a secret from you, not wanting you to worry too much about our family. The truth is, we didn't have much savings to begin with, and since Ned's passing, my meager income as a seamstress hasn't been enough to cover Molly's tuition.

If we can't pay the tuition, little Molly might be forced to drop out of school, and there's nothing I can do to help.

Dad, it wasn't easy for me to write these words, but I have to admit, we need your help now.

It is especially needed.

----

"call……"

Mike's hands trembled violently. He looked at the money several times, put it away carefully, and leaned against the wall to stand up unsteadily. He always carried his money with him, and after checking every pocket on his body, he found $30 in his hand.

"F**k! F**k!"

He suddenly lost control of his emotions, cursing loudly at the empty house and kicking the bounty hunter's corpse hard. One kick wasn't enough, so he kicked it again and again, until blood stained the soles of his shoes and he was almost exhausted. Only then did he calm down, panting heavily.

In the quiet, deserted hunter's cabin, time ticked by. The letter infuriated him, leaving him with a burning anger with nowhere to vent it.

Anger rises from the heart, and evil... springs from the gall.

He knew very well that even if Colin were still alive, and he sent his entire monthly salary home, even if he didn't eat or drink, it wouldn't be enough to support Molly's tuition in the long run. She was only eight years old this year, and every year thereafter, tuition would be a considerable expense.

He needs money, more than ever before!

----

After a moment's thought, Mike turned and went into the house, picked up his satchel full of personal belongings, and decisively pushed open the small door of the cabin.

Head towards the stables where the wind blows sand.

Chapter Thirteen: I've come to find you, Mr. Hongzhong

Feeding the horses, carrying hay, collecting horse manure, and brushing each horse until it shines – these are Zhang Renfeng's basic tasks.

It was dirty, tiring, and didn't pay much, but Zhang Renfeng enjoyed it immensely. He loved working with horses; for some reason, he always felt it was easier than working with people. The small, dilapidated hut next to the stable where he temporarily stayed was his one-time payment for everything.

In a foreign land, having a place to stay like this is already quite good.

As he pushed open the door, a cold metal gun barrel protruded from the side and pressed against his temple.

"Your head isn't bulletproof, is it?" Mike gently closed the door for him, pressing the firing pin to chamber the bullet.

"I haven't reached that level yet," Zhang Renfeng said with a smile. "Welcome to my home, sir. Is your hand alright?"

"Thanks to you, it's much better than last night." Mike glanced at his bandaged right hand and said irritably, "Go sit down in the chair."

Despite having a gun pointed at him, Zhang Renfeng displayed an unusually relaxed demeanor.

His gait remained unchanged. He walked to the table, but instead of sitting down, he began to fiddle with the tea set. "Would you like some tea?"

“No, thank you. You’d better sit down quickly.” Mike raised the muzzle of his gun slightly, threateningly. “If you don’t do as I say, things will get very complicated.”

"Are you planning to shoot me and use me to pay the bounty? Your own name is on the bounty poster too."

Zhang Renfeng was completely unfazed by his act. He casually picked up a kettle of hot water, placed it on the firewood pile to boil, and ignored everyone else. "If that were the case, you could have shot me through the wall two minutes ago. That was the optimal shooting angle. The walls of this house are too thin to stop a bullet. Why wait until I went inside?"

“You…” His description made Mike a little nervous, “You knew I was in the house all along?”

"I can hear your breathing, like a heavy water buffalo." After casually stirring the burning firewood a couple of times, Zhang Renfeng finally sat down, crossed his legs, and asked with a smile, "So, let's get back to the point. What do you want with me?"

You can hear people breathing through the walls... It sounds like a superpower, it's ridiculous beyond belief.

However, for Mike, who had witnessed firsthand how Red Center dodged bullets and shotgun shells, it wasn't entirely impossible, but it once again shattered his worldview. For a few seconds, he genuinely wondered whether this guy was human or some kind of monster in human skin.

“Mike.” He tucked the revolver back into his belt and announced his name, “Mike Reinhardt, at least that’s what he’s called outside.”

Regardless of whether it's true or not, being willing to give one's name signifies the initial establishment of a relationship of trust.

Zhang Renfeng smiled and nodded, signaling him to continue.

"That train you mentioned last night, what's your source?" These words were far worse than he'd anticipated, but Mike gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue, "Is it reliable?"

"What's wrong, old man? You've thought about it all night and changed your mind?" Zhang Renfeng asked with a grin. "Want to come with me to rob a train?"

"I need to find out first whether your so-called source is reliable. This includes what route the train is traveling, what the security is like on the train, and where the operation will take place. It's a very delicate and complicated task, and forgive my bluntness, it's not the same as you trying to storm into a bar with two old-fashioned guns."

Mike tapped the table, his expression serious, and said methodically, "The more valuable the cargo on the train, the more security resources are required. This is a universally applicable axiom. So don't expect things to be as simple as they were last night, you know what I mean?"

Seeing his serious expression, Zhang Renfeng seemed to understand and guessed Mike's purpose. "What's wrong? Is your family in urgent need of money?"

“None of your business.” Mike’s face remained cold. “We’ll only work together this once, and after it’s done, we’ll go our separate ways.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid I can’t meet your conditions.” Zhang Renfeng took out a roll of tobacco from his pocket, rolled it up with paper, lit it, and showed an expression of enjoyment. “The train is scheduled to depart in about two months, around March. If you want to do it, you’ll have to wait another two months.”

Upon hearing this, Mike's expression changed instantly. His brows furrowed, and he felt utterly hopeless, his last glimmer of hope extinguished.

two months.

Judging from the urgency in the letter, there are probably less than two months left. He must send the money back before his savings at home run out.

He sighed and slumped down on a small, low chair, its creaking under his broad frame.

"...How much did they pay you for killing Colin Chedell?" After a moment of silence, Mike licked his lips, feeling a little uneasy.

He knew he had overstepped his bounds: according to industry rules, you can't just ask around about these things. Only when you've built a good relationship with someone, for example, if you've worked together on a few jobs, and they think you're trustworthy, will they take the initiative to introduce you to the circle.

There are circles within circles, and everyone is interconnected. Every connection within these circles is precious, and it's hard to expect people to share with you willingly. After all, everyone's doing the dirty work that's not public knowledge; if you do more, I'll definitely do less. Therefore, when he asked, he was already mentally prepared to be rejected.

To his surprise, Hongzhong's answer left him completely bewildered once again.

“They gave me $150, which I lost to the owner of the Red Bird Tavern.” Zhang Renfeng shrugged and laughed. “I didn’t get a single penny.”

"Wh...what did you say?" Mike felt like he'd been struck by lightning, utterly shocked. Even his dead fish eyes widened in disbelief. "Wasn't it Cheddar's political enemy who hired you to kill his son? But without a proper reward, why would you take such a risk to do something like this!"

----

As the light and shadow shifted, the rays of the setting sun pierced through and fell upon Zhang Renfeng, casting his face in a mixture of light and shadow.

He looked at Mike with a smile, and after a long while, he said with a smile, "In my opinion, money is money, and people are people."

“People deserve to die, so the amount of money they have isn’t that important. Don’t you always say, ‘God’s wrath has reached its peak’?”

Zhang Renfeng lifted the scalding hot teapot with his bare hands and brewed himself a pot of Wuyi rock tea, but did not drink it immediately. Instead, he held it to his nose, letting the refreshing aroma, infused by the boiling water, fill his nasal cavity and reach his brain.

"Perhaps, I am the punishment that God brought upon him after His extreme anger."

……

"crunch-"