Nobita's Time Heist

"Are you going back again?" a soft female voice came from behind. "I haven't returned your hat to you yet."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Under the full moon and amidst the falling snow, this reunion after 19 years filled Nobita with a myriad of emotions.

"Miss Beth..."

Seeing his uneasy expression, Beth smiled and said, "Come on, it's not like we just met, why are you so reserved?"

The moonlight was exceptionally bright tonight, casting a soft, diffused glow on her profile.

In 1899, before beauty filters were widespread, even the most gifted person couldn't escape the ravages of time. Beth's figure remained remarkably elegant, and from the side, she still looked as Nobita remembered her, but her face no longer possessed the radiance it had when they first met.

As the mayor of a city, Beth had far too many things to handle, and the accumulated pressure made her eyes appear even deeper. She tied her wavy blonde hair into a long braid and tied it back, creating a hairstyle that was quite rare at the time. It seemed that only a fiery cowgirl would have such a long ponytail.

She stood amidst the swirling snowflakes, her emerald eyes brimming with a tenderness unique to young girls.

"To be honest, I don't expect to see you again."

Beth said softly, "For many nights, I looked at the hat you left behind and it felt like a dream... Do you understand, Nobita? I felt... that everything was unreal. Apart from this hat, there seemed to be nothing else that could prove you were really here."

“My father told me that you are a messenger sent by God, and I've come to believe that for now... To see a messenger of God even once in this lifetime is an immense blessing; how could I possibly ask for more?”

……

Seeing her voice trembling, Da Xiong took off his own cotton-padded coat and handed it to her without saying a word. This action surprised Beth, who sighed helplessly and muttered softly, "I knew it, you're still the same...sigh..."

"In short, you guys caused quite a stir in Saint Denis. Gangs causing trouble in the city, while it sounds novel, isn't exactly big news. But I heard that none of the police involved died, and the Pinkerton detectives who pursued you had an abnormally low casualty rate. Witnesses said there was a bespectacled East Asian boy in the gang who was an excellent marksman but didn't kill anyone. At that time, I wondered if it was you who came back?"

“I spent some money to hire almost the best tracking master in the country to follow your trail. From the swamp near Saint Denis all the way to Strawberry Town, and just this morning, when I opened the window, a letter suddenly flew into my face.”

She pulled the letter from her sleeve, shook the paper, and was about to read it aloud in the midst of the heavy snow.

“Dear Miss Beth, perhaps you don’t remember me. Nineteen years ago, on an ordinary afternoon, we met briefly…”

"No, no, no, stop reading!" Nobita was so embarrassed he wanted to dig a hole in his toes. He waved his hands repeatedly. "This wasn't written by me. I used a [standard letter-writing pen]... cough... just consider it as me hiring someone to write it for me. I figured we haven't seen each other in a long time, so we should make it a little more formal. I don't know what's going on with Miss Beth."

“I guessed so. Nobita doesn’t seem like the type to nitpick over words.” Beth half-covered her mouth, then folded the letter carefully and put it back in the envelope. “This… I’ll accept it as a gift. When I’m old and my eyesight is failing, and I can’t move anymore, I can take it out and look at it again, and I’ll remember tonight.”

She tightened the cotton-padded coat that Da Xiong had draped over her and took a deep breath. The biting cold wind seemed to have turned into an unforgettable sweetness for her.

“The sharpshooter Thong Hung did exist, and his legend will continue to be passed down in Morocco. Even fifty or a hundred years from now, people will still remember a legendary young sharpshooter who saved the city.”

"That's why I've been working so hard to get to where I am today."

……

"Miss Beth..."

Nobita, who is usually good at talking at night, encountered silence for the first time.

He was destined to be a passerby in this era, incapable of reciprocating Beth's profound emotions—a fact both were well aware of. He didn't say where he had been all these years, or why he had disappeared without a trace, and Beth didn't ask either. It was as if they were performing a long-rehearsed, intimate dance, each step forward and backward, with an unspoken understanding.

but……

"Can you take me to see Morocco?"

Amidst the heavy snowfall, Nobita suddenly looked up and laughed, "Arthur told me you've turned that place into a wonderful city."

“Of course!” Beth was clearly surprised by his response, her voice brimming with excitement, as if her life's efforts had finally yielded the prize she desired. “But… now? It’s not that close…”

"Yes."

Nobita settled the matter with an unquestionable attitude, and as if by magic, pulled the Anywhere Door from his pocket, saying, "Before this Western dream comes to a complete end, I want to see one more time at the place where the dream began nineteen years ago..."

"Right now."

Chapter 53: The Era of Gunmen Has Come to an End

Three days—not a long time, but not a short time either. For the gang members, it was a mixed bag; some were happy, while others were sad.

Some who had long wanted to break up but hadn't found a suitable opportunity finally got their chance. They were already excitedly discussing their new life, what Morocco was like, and what they would do there… This was mostly young women like Karen. Clearly, even though they had joined the Van der Linde gang by various twists of fate, they didn't intend to squander their prime years in a gang with no future, spending their lives on the lookout for criminals.

Arthur and Hosea are another type. Although they agree to disband the gang, they find it difficult to part with it because they have a deep emotional connection to it.

Especially Arthur, who practically grew up in the gang, felt like his family had fallen apart. Therefore, he spoke very little and didn't seem particularly joyful, only expressing regret. Reaching this point didn't seem to be anyone's fault, which made the once-powerful Van der Linde gang's downfall all the more regrettable.

It's a pity, but I feel helpless.

As for the other faction… led by Dutch, they stubbornly clung to their own worldview. He locked himself in his room for three whole days, and no one saw him. Even his closest former partner, Hosea, went to call him, but Dutch remained silent.

At this moment, Dutch was like a lonely believer. In an era where science was becoming increasingly advanced, what he believed in gradually became a joke, and his companions who had once walked alongside him also abandoned their faith one by one. In truth, he knew everything perfectly well, but in order not to let all the previous suffering be meaningless, he could only hypnotize himself again and again.

Time is always fair; whether one embraces civilization or ventures into the wilderness, every second slips away. And the deadline Beth gave them had quietly arrived without them even realizing it.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"Dutch still hasn't come out..." Arthur glanced at the house. The door was still tightly locked. Despite his previous dissatisfaction, when it came time to part, he still thought of the other's good qualities. "At this point, even if you're unwilling, you should have come to your senses by now."

"Let him go, Arthur, don't interfere."

Hosea and Dutch had spent the most time together, so he naturally understood that "it is precisely at times like these that it is best not to see each other, as this is to leave him with the last bit of dignity."

In the main hall of the wooden cabin, a large group of people had already packed their luggage and were ready to follow Beth to the stagecoach station at Strawberry Station.

They would first ride horses down the mountain, then take a horse-drawn carriage to the nearest train station, and finally take a train to their new home. Clearly, faced with a new life within reach, Dutch's promises became meaningless. The vast majority of the gang decisively chose to sever ties with this unbearable past and move towards a stable and controllable social environment.

For Dutch, this was undoubtedly a devastating fact, tantamount to completely negating everything he had done before.

Javier chose to stay. This Mexican fighter had become a wanted criminal in the area because of his revolutionary activities and was forced to join the Van der Linde gang. Dutch's grand but empty dreams ignited the young revolutionary's anger, a fire that even a blizzard could not extinguish.

As for Bill... perhaps he was simply faithful to one person until the end.

“No matter what, seeing you all with him makes me feel somewhat at ease,” Hosea instructed. “Now, the Cornish affair is over. Remember to remind him not to pursue any more uncontrollable projects; he’s not Superman. This amnesty has used up all our luck.”

“I don’t think Dutch will listen, but…” Javier gave a wry smile, “Goodbye, Hosea.”

“Goodbye, good lad!” Hosea hesitated for a moment, then opened his arms to Bill. “Oh… don’t be so coy, Bill, come on.”

“Old man…” Bill opened his thick arms and hugged him. “I still can’t believe you’re gone just like that? I thought… those days could go on forever.”

“No one betrayed anyone, Bill. I hope you can grasp that.” Hosea sighed. “Good luck, and good luck to all of you…”

In the days before telephones and the internet, in the vast west, this farewell would most likely be a permanent one.

"Hosea!" came the voice from outside.

"Goodbye, Dutch." Hosea took off his hat, said this to the closed wooden door, and turned to leave.

The moment I stepped outside, the world seemed to expand, and the clouds swirled in the sky as if they were dancing.

"Are you alright?" Da Xiong asked, noticing his strange expression.

“I’m fine, son, it’s just…” Hosea mounted his horse, hesitating to speak, “I probably, like Bill, never imagined it would end like this.”

“Let’s save the sad stuff for Morocco,” Arthur said, tightening the reins on his horse. “That’s just how people are. They like to complain about not being free in safe and comfortable places, and about not being safe in the unrestrained wilderness.”

"Say goodbye to your cowboy life, old man, we're heading to the big city."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"Hahaha……"

An eerie laugh echoed from the bushes, and a glossy black foxtrot emerged. A slender figure sat atop the horse, his arm around its neck, looking almost as if he were drunk. The moment that distinctive scimitar-faced man appeared, the previously cheerful atmosphere froze, and a heavy weight seemed to press down on everyone's hearts.

Micah Bell.

It was still just as slovenly and terrible, but the unrestrained laughter always reminded people of some ominous signs.

“Not surprising at all, you bunch of traitors.” He slowly straightened his back from his horse, looking down at the group who had finished packing their luggage. Finally, his cold, scorpion-like eyes focused on Arthur, and he sneered, “You’ve made quite a scene. There are still so many troops down the mountain. It took me a lot of effort to get them all the way up.”

“Micah.” Arthur narrowed his eyes, tightened the reins with his right hand, and reached for his holster with his left. “If you could come back a few minutes later, it would be a good thing for both of us.”

“What a pity, Black Lung, I’ve come back just in time.” Micah then turned around, his eyes sweeping over everyone with utter contempt, and said coldly, “I’ve heard... you’re planning to abandon Dutch and go live the life of those ‘civilized’ people?”

“It should be said that Dutch abandoned us,” Arthur retorted without hesitation. “It’s all over now, it’s that simple.”

“Oh, Black Lung Guy, you’ve got a new backer, so you’re talking tough now… haha…” Micah said sarcastically. “You should worry about yourself. Look at your sickly appearance. No matter where you are, you won’t live much longer.”

“Hey, there’s no need to say that,” Lenny tried to persuade him. “Micah…”

……

In a flash, Micah suddenly sprang into action, pulling a revolver from its holster. Despite his questionable character, he was still one of the gang's top gunslingers, his drawing skills honed to perfection. Of everyone present, only Nobita and Arthur truly saw the gun clearly.

Under the weak winter sunlight, this revolver took on a subtle crimson hue, gleaming with a unique, cold light.

"boom----!!"

A sound like thunder burst from the gun barrel. Before Lenny even realized what was happening, he and his horse were blasted into pieces.

Chapter 54: The Legendary Rat's Counterattack

“Lenny…”

……

"You think this is how it ends? You think you can just change your location, change your clothes, and start a new chapter in your life?!" Ignoring the panic in the crowd, Micah pointed his gun at everyone and sneered, "The world is a jungle. There is no such thing as salvation. Only those who are good at surviving can live!"

"As for me, I happen to be a survivor, gentlemen, a survivor!"

With a backhand shot, he blew the soldiers who came to provide support to smithereens. It was impossible to see what kind of bullet was fired from the gun barrel; there was only a loud bang, and the ground looked as if it had been hit by a meteorite, with a deep crater appearing immediately.

The unfortunate souls caught in the crossfire were instantly reduced to dust, just like Lenny, leaving not a trace of blood. Amidst the chaotic screams, only he laughed, a laugh tinged with a strange madness, as if he were unleashing all his malice towards the world in his laughter.

When someone suddenly gains the power to control the life and death of others, it can indeed be addictive, especially when that person is Micah.

At that moment, he no longer saw friend or foe; he simply unleashed his malice indiscriminately, raising the scarlet revolver and spraying it wildly at the crowd. Watching living individuals explode into dust before his eyes gave him an indescribable thrill.

"boom----!!"

"boom----!!"

"boom----!!"

The continuous loud noises rendered all attacks aimed at him futile.

"Take cover—!"

Despite his serious illness, Arthur displayed remarkable reflexes. The instant Micah raised his hand, he leaped from his horse, tackling Hosea, who was closest to him. The old man couldn't withstand such a jolt; both fell from their horses, breaking several bones in the process.

However, compared to the others who turned to dust, this was a better outcome... Arthur knew that Micah hated him to the core, so he quickly took advantage of Micah's madness, picked up Hosea, used the cabin as cover, and hid behind a rock.

"Damn it! If I'd known it would turn out like this, I should have left him to rot in the Strawberry Town jail!" Arthur spat, setting down his groaning companion. "Hosea? Are you alright?"

“Heh…cough cough…” Hosea gave a bitter laugh. “Arthur, do you believe it? Maybe there really is fate in this world. Maybe…Lenny and I were originally going to die in Saint Denis. The appearance of that boy just postponed everything.”

"Don't overthink it, you just have a few broken ribs at most." Arthur cut off a piece of his sleeve with his knife, tore it into strips, and used them to bandage Hosea. "It's not over yet!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Those venomous eyes fixed on Miss Beth, who was in a panic, in the crowd.

"So that's it. It's this woman who suddenly appeared. What did she promise you? A stable life? A generous salary? Look at yourselves—thieves, liars, bandits, drunken babblers. Do you really think such a bunch of rotten scum will change anything if they go to another city?"

He pointed the gun barrel at Beth from a distance and said coldly, "Let me show you just how worthless everything that 'civilized people' rely on to be superior is..."

"boom!"

Gunfire erupted.

A Minié warhead spun and struck Micah head-on. The immense impact sent his head snapping back with a cracking sound, like a bunch of celery being snapped in two.

A flicker of reluctance crossed Nobita's eyes. This was the first time he had truly felt the weight of the revolver in his hand. Like Batman, he had a principle of not killing, not just because he couldn't bring himself to do it, but because he firmly believed he had no right to take anyone's life. If he had the strength, he preferred to take down his opponent without bloodshed, perhaps through maneuvering the environment or disarming them—a series of difficult maneuvers, though for him, those weren't particularly difficult.

but……

Micah's appearance taught Nobita a very profound lesson.

The chaotic and disorderly West breeds all sorts of people, and some of them are simply not going to change.

Villains have their own way of thinking. Perhaps, in this land that has not yet been unified by law, people like Micah Bell are the majority.

……

"what……"

"Hahahahahaha!"

With a bullet in his forehead, Micah let out a chilling laugh.

"I knew it, kid... you're a hidden sharpshooter. You were behind Saint Denis too, weren't you? If it weren't for you, that old geezer would have been dead long ago."

"Ding Dong——"

The flattened bullet fell from his forehead with a crisp snap. The spot where he was hit only left a shallow bloodstain, with a few streaks of blood clinging to the bullet. This wasn't some magic show; witnessing a living person survive a headshot at close range was a huge shock to anyone, regardless of the era. Most of the soldiers became even more convinced that Micah was the devil incarnate, screaming in terror as they scattered like birds, vanishing without a trace.

On the gradually emptying snowfield, only Nobita stood there, holding a gun, shielding Beth behind him as they confronted each other. "Where did you get this gun?"