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...
"Well, Doran, you might've been a bastard," he murmured, "but you sure knew how to save." Caleb packed the bills away into his inventory. A strange sense of calm settled over him as he looked around the room one last time, a place that had been alive with noise and arrogance only minutes ago now reduced to silence and corpses.
He stood, rolling his shoulders, and reached for the oil lamp burning weakly near the stove. He stared at the flame for a moment, then said under his breath, "No sense lettin' anyone else use this place. Lets let the swamp the one takes it."
He hurled the lamp at the far wall. It shattered on impact, the oil igniting instantly, flames racing up the wood and crawling across the old curtains. The cabin's dry boards caught like kindling, the heat swelling and the air filling with the crackle of fire. Within seconds, smoke began to roll along the ceiling, black and thick.
Caleb turned and stepped out into the humid air, the firelight blooming behind him. The shack was already roaring, its reflection dancing across the swamp water like a ghostly inferno.
Mick Doran, tied to Morgan's saddle, had started to stir, groaning faintly and thrashing against his bonds. The moment he saw Caleb emerge, flames flickering behind him, he began to shout.
Caleb sighed, walked over, and with one sharp motion, swung the butt of the repeater again, striking the outlaw squarely across the jaw and dropping him back into unconsciousness. "Not yet, partner. You can wake up when we're in Saint Denis."
Caleb slung his repeater over and then mounted Morgan, tugging the reins, and with a soft whistle, the horse started moving. Behind him, the burning shack collapsed inward with a thunderous crack, sending sparks into the night sky.
The sound carried across the swamp, scattering the frogs and birds. Caleb glanced back once, watching it all sink into the darkness, then faced forward again. "Another one for the books," he said quietly, giving Morgan's reins a light tug.
The ride back to Saint Denis was slow and steady. The swamp mists thickened, swallowing the edges of the world, and by the time he reached the dirt trail leading toward civilization, the sun have gone right above him as it break through the fog. Sounds of insects hummed, and the sound of distant frogs became the only chorus following him out of the wild.
Caleb's hand still stung faintly where the knife had grazed him earlier, though the pain was dulled by his skills. He looked down at the bandage he'd tied during the ride and flexed his fingers. "Could've been worse," he muttered, then gave a dry chuckle. "Hell, has been worse."
By the time he reached the edge of Saint Denis, dawn was painting the horizon in faint strokes of orange and gray. The city's gaslights flickered of as the workers began their second shift. Caleb rode through the cobblestone streets, Morgan's hooves echoing softly, the tied up figure of Mick Doran limp and unconscious behind him.
At the Saint Denis Police Station, the officers were doing whatever they want. Caleb dismounted, tugging the rope to pull Doran off the back of Morgan, and brought him inside the police station.
Inside, the same officer from before was on duty. His eyes widened as Caleb dragged the unconscious form of Mick Doran through the door.
"Hell's bells, McLaughlin... you got Doran, too?" the officer exclaimed, rushing to open a cell. "And alive! The chief is gonna want to shake your hand personally."
After securing Doran in a cell, the officer went to the back and returned with the police chief, a stern faced man with a thick mustache and broad shoulder named Leclerc. "Mr. McLaughlin," the chief said, his voice laced with respect. "Two bounties in two days, both brought in alive. That's fine work. That's two dangerous bastards off my streets in as many days. We've been after Doran for months."
Caleb gave a small shrug. "Just doin' my job, chief."
He handed Caleb two stacks of cash. "Your payment for Weller and Doran. The total of 250 dollars, as promised. There's a little extra in there from the city council, 75 dollars, as a... bonus for your discretion and efficiency."
Caleb accepted the money, adding it to his now bulging inventory. "Much obliged, Chief."
As he turned to leave, the chief added, "Rest a day or two. Saint Denis might be calm for now, but there are still many more bastards in the Bayou's and around it needed capturing. There's four names you could still brought in alive for us on that board."
Caleb tipped his hat. "When it does, you'll know where to find me."
He stepped back out into the late afternoon light, the streets beginning to be less crowded with wagons and carriages. The warmth of the rising sun brushed his face, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself a breath of peace.
Morgan pawed the ground softly beside him. Caleb patted the horse's neck. "C'mon, girl. Let's get us some dinner first, before then we go to that cemetery."
Morgan snorted when she heard that, ears flicking as if she knew her rider was about to drag her into another one of his schemes. Caleb chuckled under his breath and adjusted the brim of his hat. "Yeah, I know, girl." He said softly, patting her neck before swinging himself up into the saddle.
The familiar creak of leather and gentle jingle of tack filled the humid afternoon air as he tugged on the reins and guided Morgan toward the Bastille Saloon.
The ride through Saint Denis was calm but alive, the city's heartbeat never really stopped. Wagons rattled down the cobblestone streets, workers shouted to one another as they carried crates or pushed carts, and a faint melody from a street violinist drifted from somewhere near the square. Caleb let the rhythm of the city wash over him as he rode, the tension of the swamp melting away little by little.
As Morgan trotted through the broad avenue, Caleb flicked open his system interface. The faint shimmer of blue light appeared before his eyes, invisible to everyone else. He swiped through the menus until the map function opened.
The top down view of Saint Denis spread out like an intricate maze of streets, buildings, and waterways. His Treasure Hunter Skill had marked three glowing icons within the cemetery district, faint golden pulses deep within the old graveyard walls. He smiled faintly, muttering, "Well, now that's interestin'. Three little treasures in a city full of ghosts."
He zoomed in closer, studying the placement of each mark. One near the eastern wall. Another in the heart of the cemetery, close to what looked like a chapel. And a third one somewhere in the far northwest corner, tucked behind a row of mausoleums.
If luck was on his side, maybe he'd find something more than old trinkets. Gold bars, gemstones, antiques, anything that could make his coin purse a little heavier. His recent bounties had filled it nicely, but he knew well enough that fortune never stayed long in this world.
By the time he reached the Bastille, the late afternoon sun had mellowed to a soft golden hue, shining through the mist that still clung to the edges of the city. He hitched Morgan to a post outside, giving her mane a soft rub. "Stay put, girl. Won't be long."
Inside, the saloon was bustling. Smoke hung in the air like fog, mixing with the warm scent of whiskey and roasted meat. The piano player in the corner was running through a lazy tune while a few tired patrons drank in silence. Caleb walked to the counter, boots clacking against the wood, and met Ezra's familiar grin.
"Well, if it ain't Mr. McLaughlin again," Ezra said with a chuckle, polishing a glass. "You look like you been through a swamp, a storm, and a gunfight, all in the same day."
Caleb smirked. "Ain't too far off, friend. Two prime rib steaks and a bottle o' beer'll set me right."
Ezra nodded, already reaching for a bottle from the shelf. "That'll be 10 dollars and 50 cents."
Without a word, Caleb reached into his satchel and counted out the cash, crisp bills from his earlier bounty haul, and set them neatly on the counter. Ezra pocketed the money, popped the cork on the beer, and placed the bottle down in front of him. "Food'll be right up," he said, giving a short nod before heading toward the kitchen.
Caleb took the bottle, the cool glass sweating in his hand. He raised it to his lips, took a slow sip, and exhaled. The bitter, yeasty taste was grounding after a day that felt like a fever dream of fire and gunpowder.
He made his way to a table near the counter, sitting with his back to the wall out of habit. From there, he had a clear view of the doors, the bar, and the windows, his instincts already drilled deep with swnse of danger.
Ten minutes later, Ezra arrived with a tray, two thick prime rib steaks still steaming, the smell of charred meat and butter making Caleb's stomach growl. "Hot and fresh," Ezra said with pride.
"Appreciate it," Caleb said, digging in immediately. The first bite was glorious, tender, salty, and dripping with juice. He devoured both plates with the quiet intensity of a man who'd gone too long without real food, pausing only to sip his beer between bites. When he finally leaned back, plate empty and bottle drained, he felt human again.
"Worth every damn cent," he muttered, wiping his mouth with a napkin before standing. He tipped his hat toward Ezra. "Tell the cook that's the best steak I've hads since I come stay here."
Ezra grinned. "I'll be sure he hears it."
Caleb stepped back out into the street. The air had cooled, the sky a deep wash of amber and blue as the sun dipped behind the rooftops. The lamps along the boulevard flickered to life one by one, their warm glow mingling with the haze of cigar smoke and carriage dust. He untied Morgan and swung himself into the saddle again.
"Alright, girl," he said quietly. "Let's go find ourselves a little fortune."
The ride north through Saint Denis was quieter now, the streets thinning out as he approached the cemetery. The ornate stone walls loomed ahead, tall, old, and weathered, like they'd seen every story the city had to tell.
The steel gate at the entrance was half open, creaking softly in the breeze. Caleb slowed Morgan and found a hitching post nearby. He tied her reins securely, giving her neck a gentle pat.
"Wait here, girl. Won't be long," he said. Morgan snorted softly in response, her ears flicking as she settled.
Caleb turned toward the gate and stepped inside.
The cemetery was beautiful in a way that only the dead could make it, rows of stone mausoleums, marble angels, and ornate crosses, each one standing like a monument to pride and loss. The air smelled faintly of earth and flowers long dead. Lanterns glowed faintly on the path, their light barely cutting through the thick shadows between the graves.
He pulled up his map again in the faint blue shimmer of his system interface. The nearest mark pulsed on the right. Caleb followed the stone path, boots crunching on gravel until he came upon an elaborate grave marked with a weathered statue of an angel. The side of the grave was stone, but the top, unlike the others, was a patch of earth. That was a clue if there ever was one.
He crouched, scanning the area with his Eagle Eye. The world dimmed to shades of gray and blue, and there, at the corner of the grave, a white glimmer blinked faintly beneath the soil. Caleb grinned. "There you are."
He pulled his Civil War knife from its sheath and began to dig. The earth came away easily, and soon enough the blade struck something metallic. Brushing away the dirt, he uncovered a small steel lockbox. The hinges were rusted, but with a firm tug he managed to pry it open.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 3)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 3)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 2)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 1)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 3)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
Money: 2,621 dollars and 25 cents
Inventory: 104,069 dollars and 72 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 58 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, & 1 Lancaster Repeater
Bank: -