If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
...
Caleb smiled, releasing the man's wrist. "Appreciate the honesty." He stood, tossed a dollar onto the table, and left without another word. Outside, the air was thick with the scent of the river. The sun was dipping low, painting the harbor in orange and gold. Caleb's mind was already working, mapping the docks, marking exits, calculating how many shots he might need.
He walked back to Morgan, his thoughts clear and sharp, as he then gets on her. "Looks like we're going to move our position a bit, girl."
Morgan hearing that let out several snorts, before then Caleb flicked the reins and have her ride toward the east side of the docks. When he reached the east side of the docks, he began to look for the warehouse with red lanterns and soon he found it, it was right on plain sight and doesn't try to be hidden.
Caleb chuckles at that as he dismounted near the warehouse, where after a closer look there's a faded sign reading Marseille Shipping Company, truly smart move by Chen Lei creating his front with a disguise using something gtaht couldn't be traced to his Chinese heritage so to speak.
Caleb tightened his gloves, eyes scanning the workers and the alleyways nearby. He knew better than to charge in guns blazing here, too public, too many witnesses, and the Saint Denis police doesn't patrolled this district often. Instead, he'd have to blend in, listen, and pull on the right threads until the web unraveled.
He then looked around and found what looks like a small dining area for the workers, so he moved toward it which was right to the side of the warehouse. The men inside looked tired, dirty, and drunk, but talkative. Perfect. He decide to just blend in as he stood at the the corner, listening to the conversation happening without looking suspicious whatsoever.
At this time, a pair of workers two tables away were talking low but clear enough for Caleb to catch due to his high perception stats. "You hear about the shipment the boss bringin' in tonight?" one said. "Opiates, I think. Big money. He's meetin' the buyers hisself."
"Yeah," said the other. "But word is, only trusted men get close. The warehouse have been cleaned up, I heard it was after midnight. Nobody else could even gets near the warehouse by then."
Hearing that, Caleb smirked faintly as he hide his face under his hat. That was all he needed. He let the nettle of information sit in his gut like a hot coal. Then, quietly as a shadow leaving a room, he walked out into the dusk air, where the salt and soot of the river mixed with tobacco smoke and coal dust, and walked back to Morgan.
When he reached her he reached up and patted her neck, feeling the warm, steady muscle beneath the coarse hair.
"We'll be around," he told her softly, because the animal took comfort in routine. Morgan snorted and shifted her weight. Caleb swung into the saddle, every motion was small and casual, designed to say he belonged to the docks, another drifter watching ships spool ropes.
He rode east along the wharves, not rushing, studying the way lanterns threw gold onto the water, the angles of crates stacked like city blocks, the little alleys where men could vanish.
He treated the whole scouting like a man out sightseeing, the gait of his walk, the casual nod to a worker hauling a sack, the way he let his hat dip as if the wind tugged his brim. No tourists ever came this far into Saint Denis's eastern side, this was where the city's teeth showed, warehouses, rusted cranes, men who smelled of brine and greed. Caleb liked that. The fewer eyes that looked at him twice, the better.
For hours he covered the perimeter. He mapped it in his head the way he'd map a dungeon in a game, exits, entry points, chokepoints, hiding places, the places where sound traveled and where it strangled. He counted guard shifts, the slop of their boots, the cadence of their patrols.
He took note of the warehouse itself, Marseille Shipping Company, painted and faded, the red lanterns a deliberate, unsubtle signal. A front, designed to be plain, to avoid suspicion. Chen Lei's hand was inside something larger than this one warehouse; that much was already clear.
He found vantage points, two scaffold platforms above the docks that allowed a view of the main doors, a narrow alley behind a row of barrels that would block any line of sight from the river, a half collapsed catwalk that bridged two warehouses and ended on the roof of Marseille.
He found an entrance that could swallow a man without being noticed, a low service door tucked beneath a sagging sign, almost flush with the crates lining the quay. It was the kind of gap made by neglect and maintained by the indifference of men who cared only for profit.
When the afternoon turned the color of old coins and the needle of his pocket watch tipped toward midnight, Caleb left Morgan fastened to a hitching post a few frets away from Marseille.
The post was obvious to anyone impatient enough to look for the obvious, it was also several streets removed from the main clamor. He put his bow and quiver into his inventory. He then took out his navy revolvers into his hands, one in each hand, cool metal against the heat from his palms, and moved like a man walking into a dream.
Night thickened, the docks turning into silhouettes. The warehouse's red lanterns hung like blood bells, there were voices from within, a low hum, the occasional laugh that had no humor. He crouched behind a crate, letting the smell of tar and damp wood cover him as the four guards paced around the perimeter.
Caleb caught the quick, telling differences in their manner, a black man whose shoulders flared like a boxer who'd been waiting for a chance to land, a white man with a king's nose and a habit of tapping his foot, a Chinese guard who watched with the still, careful eyes of someone who'd learned to measure everything, and an Indian man whose hands were restless, fingers never idle.
They paced the perimeter, repeating the same slow circuit around the warehouse. The black man muttered something, his voice low but sharp enough for Caleb's trained ears to catch. "Boss's pissed tonight. Shipment's short again. Heard him say the deal's about to go sideways."
"Yeah," the Indian guard replied. "He said we're supposed to wait for his signal. If the buyers don't agree to the new price, we light 'em up. Damn, I hope they don't. I could use some excitement."
The others chuckled darkly. Caleb's mouth curved in a faint smile. So it's that kind of meeting.
He waited.
Minutes passed. The tension built like a coiled spring. Then, from inside the warehouse, a voice barked, sharp, commanding. "You outside! Three of you inside! Now!"
Three of the guards started moving, but one of them paused mid step. The voice inside called again, changing tone slightly, "No, just two of you. Leave the others out."
Perfect.
Two guards gone, two left behind. Caleb's fingers tightened on his revolvers, but he didn't pull the triggers yet. He had something else in mind.
He holstered both guns quietly and reached into his inventory, pulling out his bow. The familiar weight settled comfortably in his hands. He drew two arrows, nocked one, and activated Dead Eye.
Time slowed to a crawl. The world bled into shades of amber and gold. His vision sharpened until he could see every flicker of movement, the flutter of the red lantern flames, the faint puff of mist from the guards' breath.
He marked both their heads.
Two glowing red Xs shimmered over their skulls.
Then he released.
Thwip. Thwip.
Two silent flashes. Two bodies dropped without a sound, collapsing onto the wet boards. The arrows lodged perfectly at the base of their skulls. Caleb exhaled, calm and precise.
He moved fast, dragging the bodies one by one behind the fence line and tucking them beneath a stack of tar covered crates. Quick, clean. No blood trails visible.
Then he slipped through the narrow vent he'd found earlier.
The air inside the warehouse was thick with the smell of salt, wood, and old opium. Crates were stacked high, forming shadowed corridors. Caleb's boots barely made a sound as he climbed up a lower pile, crouching behind the higher ones.
Voices drifted up from below.
"Now listen," a deep voice said, not Chen Lei's, but one of the smugglers that smuggled the items for him. "We agreed on the price last time, and this batch might be lighter, sure, but the quality's still the same. You start threatening us, we might just take this product and walk to Angelo Bronte."
Chen Lei's reply was measured, but the venom in it was unmistakable. "You think you can cheat me? I know your kind. Always trying to squeeze a little more, eh? But you forget, this city may belong to Bronte, but the docks and opiates answer to me. You sell in Saint Denis, you pay my price."
The man across from him started to protest, but Chen Lei raised his hand. A subtle gesture, but his men responded instantly.
Guns drawn.
"Boys," Chen Lei said quietly, his voice like ice. Then he pointed toward the smugglers. "Kill them."
The warehouse erupted into chaos.
Gunfire exploded, echoing like thunder in the enclosed space. The flash of muzzles lit up the dim interior, throwing wild shadows across the walls. Men shouted, cursed, scrambled for cover. Crates splintered under the barrage.
Caleb pressed himself lower behind his stack, eyes darting across the carnage below. This was his opening and his risk. If he waited too long, Chen Lei might escape in the confusion.
He drew both Navy revolvers again. The smell of gunpowder hit his nose like a storm wind.
When he saw Chen Lei duck behind a crate near the far end, barking orders in Mandarin, Caleb made his move. He dropped down silently onto a lower stack, then onto the floor, rolling behind another set of boxes.
He peeked around the corner, three of Chen Lei's men were reloading near the stairs.
Dead Eye.
He marked all three with the red Xs, chest, chest, and head.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The shots were deafening inside the warehouse, but precise. Three men dropped in a heartbeat. The fourth turned, shouting, "What the hell—!" before Caleb shot him clean through the neck.
Screams erupted. The smugglers, realizing another party had joined the fight, started firing wildly, some hitting Chen Lei's remaining guards by accident.
Chen Lei himself rose from cover, eyes scanning the chaos. Then his gaze locked onto Caleb. Immediately recognize who he was.
"You!" he shouted, fury twisting his features. "You're not supposed to be here!"
Caleb smirked. "Guess I missed the invitation."
Chen Lei fired first, the bullet whizzing past Caleb's head, splintering a crate. Caleb returned fire, forcing Chen Lei to duck. The two danced between cover, trading shots in the rising smoke and gunfire.
One of Chen's men lunged from the side with a machete, Caleb sidestepped, slammed his revolver's barrel into the man's throat, and fired point blank. The body dropped instantly.
Another man rushed him with a shotgun, firing wildly. Caleb ducked behind a crate, feeling the splinters cut his cheek. He spun, rolled, and fired twice, one shot hitting the man's leg, the second ending him.
The last of the smugglers bolted toward the exit, shouting something about "the law are going to come."
Caleb's eyes found Chen Lei again, the man was limping toward a side door, clutching a briefcase. "Not tonight," Caleb muttered. He holstered one of his revolver and drew his lasso. With a practiced flick, the rope sailed through the smoky air, catching Chen Lei's torso. Caleb yanked hard, dragging the smuggler mastermind backward to the ground hard.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 7/10
- 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 4)
- 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 3)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 2)
- 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: 3,048 dollars and 20 cents
Inventory: 104,369 dollars and 72 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 64 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, & 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key
Bank: -