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He turned and walked calmly back toward the gate, his pace measured. As he passed through the iron archway, he cast one last glance back at the headstone. 'Sorry, ma'am,' he thought, not feeling sorry at all. 'You can blame your son for this. He's the one who put temptation in the ground.'
Mounting up, Caleb rode back down the hill, his mind spinning with plans. Tonight would be dangerous. If the Pinkertons were watching, as they surely were, any strange activity near the cemetery could draw their gaze. He would need cover, timing, and luck. And luck, at least, was one attribute he had that could surely help him in this situation.
Back in town, Caleb made his way toward the general store, named S. M. Neely Ship Chandler and Grocer that he have passed on when he come into Blackwater.
If he was going to dig up a grave, he'd needed some supplies, a sturdy spade, some sack to put the dollar bills and gold bars he found as he couldn't fit the chest to his inventory, due to the limited capacity, and maybe even lantern oil for light.
He purchased them under the guise of being a traveler preparing for work on a nearby ranch, paying 13 dollars for everything. The shopkeeper, a wiry man with sharp eyes named Sam Neely, didn't ask too many questions and gave Caleb the stiff he buys.
Later, Caleb stopped by the Blaclwater'd Tailor to buy some outfit as well, where he meet the owner of the place, E.H. Kretzschmar, or Mr. Kretzschmar for short. Caleb buy four outfits from the tailor, which was the Donegal, the Josiah, the McLaughlin, and the Farrier, spending around 415 dollars and 50 cents.
Mr. Kretzschmar was surprised and happy to found a big spending customers, to immediately buy four complete outfits form his shop. So he decided to give a 20% discount, cutting the payment Caleb have to pay to 332 dollars and 40 cents.
Caleb smiled and thanked Mr. Kretzschmar, saying that he, Jonathan Granger, was very thankful on the kind gesture from him and took out 332 dollars and 40 cents from his satchel, saying to Mr. Kretzschmar due to his kindness he still have some money left in him, for his future expenses living in the town, to which Mr. Kretzschmar just gave him a kind smile and said it was a problem.
After that he leaves the shop, and it was already afternoon, so he returned to the saloon, blending right back in as Jonathan Granger, the drifter from the outskirts of Armadillo.
He spent the hours playing cards lightly, sipping whiskey, listening more than speaking. He heard talk of Pinkertons still sniffing around, lawmen doubling their rounds at night. Blackwater was calm on the surface, but beneath it ran a current of fear and suspicion.
Every detail mattered. Every whisper might prove the difference between success and disaster.
And as the sun dipped low, Caleb excused himself, heading upstairs to his rented room. He closed the door, laid out his weapons, and prepared. Tonight, he would walk into the lion's den, the grave of Dutch's mother, and steal the stashed chest buried there.
His heart beat faster at the thought, but his resolve didn't waver. For the gang. For survival. For the chance to rewrite fate.
Jonathan Granger would rest for a few hours. Caleb Thorne would rise when the moon did.
Time passed by slowly, and Caleb continued to prepare himself by scrutinizing and analyzing his map interface deeply, so that he could learn the best way to slip out of town and head to the cemetery, but also slip out undetected and unnoticed from the cemetery after digging out Greta Van der Linde's grave for the chest.
His finger traced along ghostly lines of dirt roads and hidden alleys only he could see, running routes forward and back again, rehearsing every possible obstacle.
If the Pinkertons doubled back, he'd know how to cut across to another street. If a lawman's lantern swung too close, he'd know how to melt into the dark behind a warehouse. The map became his chessboard, and he was moving pieces into place.
Thinking of the 150,000 dollars worth of dollar bills and gold bars inside the chest, he couldn't help but let out a very satisfied smile, even though the process of taking this fortune meant besmirching someone's grave, someone's final resting place in this world. His grin faded into something closer to grim resolve.
150,000 dollars, he thought again. That kind of wealth could build empires in this age. Not only could it expand his business in Strawberry, but it could also seed entire ventures across Blackwater and Saint Denis at the same time.
He imagined founding other businesses too, trading companies, shipping, even the dream of a luxurious hotel in Saint Denis, a hotel that could eclipse every inn or boarding house in the city, where many establishments were tied to saloons and rowdy patrons.
His vision was clear, crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, the kind of place where the wealthy and powerful would gather. All of it made possible with the treasure Dutch had buried beneath his mother's name.
As he thought and planned, the night finally arrived. The sun sank behind the horizon, bleeding its last light across Flat Iron Lake, and shadows lengthened through Blackwater until the town settled under the silver glow of the moon.
Caleb changed into the Josiah outfit he had just purchased earlier that day, clean, sharp, and distinct enough to help disguise his appearance. The outfit, with its dark coat and hat, gave him the look of a gentleman drifter, not the same man who had played poker downstairs.
He moved carefully, weapons checked, satchel packed, spade tied to Stark's saddle, oil lamp ready. Then he slipped downstairs, avoiding the creaking floorboards he had already memorized. He didn't head toward the bar where Burt Mackay was serving late-night patrons. Instead, he slipped through the side door of the saloon, making sure no one saw him.
If Mr. Burt thought Jonathan Granger was still upstairs in his room, that was perfect, it provided him with a neat alibi. After all, Mr. Burt had no reason to believe that a stranger who had only just arrived in town would know there was even a side door. Only Caleb's Past Life Memory Skill gave him that kind of map knowledge, an advantage over everyone else.
Outside, the air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of woodsmoke and horses. Stark pawed the ground softly when Caleb approached. He patted her neck before mounting up, adjusting the Josiah's hat lower over his brow.
Using the hidden paths and alleys he had analyzed earlier through his system interface, Caleb maneuvered silently through Blackwater. Lanterns swung in the hands of patrolling lawmen.
The sharper dressed Pinkertons walked with deliberate precision, their eyes scanning, always scanning. But Caleb's Luck stat and his preparation worked hand in hand, each time, he slipped past, unseen, unnoticed, another shadow among shadows.
Bit by bit, he threaded his way out of town until he reached the outskirts. The white chapel loomed ahead on the hill like a sentinel, its iron fence glinting faintly under moonlight. The cemetery stretched behind it, rows of stones like silent watchers.
Unlike in the morning, Caleb didn't hitch Stark outside the fence. Instead, he guided her carefully through the open gate and rode between the graves respectfully, keeping his pace slow. The iron shod hooves clicked against patches of stone and dirt, but otherwise, the only sound was the whisper of wind through the grass.
He halted before Greta Van der Linde's grave. Dismounting swiftly, Caleb reached for the spade tied to his saddle and an oil lamp for light. He struck the flint, coaxing a flame into the lamp, its faint glow casting eerie shadows across the gravestones. He placed it beside him, then crouched before the headstone.
He let out a small prayer, his voice low. "Forgive me, ma'am. I mean no disrespect. If I'm to disturb your rest… you can only blame your son. He left the world no choice."
Then he planted the spade in the earth and began digging.
The soil was heavy and damp. Each stroke of the spade brought up clumps of earth, the sound muffled in the stillness of the night. He worked methodically, sweat breaking across his brow despite the cool air. The grave was deeper than he expected, and he needed to clear enough space not just to uncover, but to pull out a chest.
Ten minutes in, his arms burned, his back ached. He dug anyway, focusing, driving himself to work faster but not sloppily. Then—
Clang.
The spade struck something solid, the sound ringing sharper than wood. Caleb froze, heart hammering. That wasn't a coffin. Coffins gave hollow thuds. This… this was sturdy. Metallic.
His lips curled into a tight grin. Found you.
He knelt, clearing away the soil with careful hands now. Slowly, a shape revealed itself, a broad chest, its edges reinforced, its lid solid. Caleb widened the hole to give himself room, then pressed down again, digging until he struck wood beneath the chest, the coffin. He stopped, breathing hard. Dutch had buried his fortune right atop his mother.
Taking a deep breath, Caleb wiped his hands on his trousers and reached for the chest. The padlock gleamed faintly in the lamplight. Heavy, strong, but not indestructible. Caleb raised the spade and brought it down against the lock.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The noise was sharp, loud against the silence. Each strike made him wince, half expecting lanterns to appear at the gates, Pinkertons rushing in. His Luck attribute, he prayed, was tilting the odds in his favor.
Finally, CRACK. The lock gave way, splitting under the repeated blows. Caleb dropped the spade with a sigh of relief, adrenaline racing through him. He grasped the lid and heaved it open.
The lamplight spilled over the contents, and Caleb's breath caught.
Stacks of crisp dollar bills bundled together, shimmering gold bars gleaming like captured sunlight. The sight nearly overwhelmed him. It was real. The gangs fabled Blackwater fortune was real, sitting inches from his hands.
He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down, to control the rush of excitement surging through his chest. Losing his head now would mean disaster.
Reaching into his satchel, Caleb pulled out the four sacks he had purchased earlier. Quickly and efficiently, he began transferring the loot, dollar bills into one, gold bars into another. His fingers trembled despite himself, but he moved fast, spurred by fear of discovery. Each bar clinked dully as it landed in the sack, each bundle of cash whispering against the next.
He worked at a feverish pace, glancing up every so often to check for lantern light beyond the fence. The cemetery remained still, the chapel silent.
By the time he was done, the chest was empty, the sacks bulging with wealth. Caleb wiped sweat from his forehead and loaded them onto the ground beside him.
Now came the next challenge, storage. He reached into his system interface, trying to store the sacks. The first one slid neatly into inventory, the second too. But when he attempted the third, a warning message pulsed across his vision:
[Inventory Capacity Overload Detected.]
[Warning: Items will be forcefully ejected at random intervals until storage is reduced to maximum capacity.] "Damn it," Caleb muttered, shoving the fourth sack inside anyway. It accepted, but the message flashed again, brighter. His inventory was strained to the limit.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 6/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 3)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 3)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 2)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 2)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 3)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 5x5x5)
- Acting (Lvl 2)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 1,977 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 5,407 dollars and 43 cents, 7 gold nuggets, 8 gold bars, 7 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, 4 gold rings, 2 silver rings, 4 silver pocket watches, 3 gold buckles, 1 gold pocket compass, 2 platinum pocket watches, 2 Colm's Schofields, and land deed (Parcel)
Bank: -