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...
"Stay here, girl," he whispered, tying Morgan loosely to a tree. He walked toward the ruin. The echo of his boots was muffled by ash and damp earth. Sunlight filtered through blackened beams and shattered columns. Everything lay silent except for the occasional chirp of distant insects, he stepped inside.
The manor had been destroyed in vengeance, Dutch's rage, Hosea's plan gone to hell, Arthur's anger, John's vengeance, as they watched the grand southern house burn. But before all that, before those events would come to pass again… this place already held its treasure.
He found the location easily.
He knelt.
Moved the rubble aside.
Shifted a broken tile, then another.
And there it was.
An iron lockbox, bit scorcedaybe due to fire.
He opened it by force using his civil war knife and there inside a gleaming gold bar.
Reflection shimmering faintly under the soot.
Caleb lifted it with both hands, feeling the satisfying weight.
Into the system inventory it disappeared.
He stood slowly, he brushed the dust off his gloves, letting his gaze linger for a moment on the ruin around him.
The once grand Braithwaite Manor, center of decadence, pride, arrogance, and blood, now lay dead and silent beneath the gray morning light. Charred beams jutted out of the rubble like the ribs of a long dead giant. The smell of old ash clung to the air, carried by a faint southern breeze.
He exhaled slowly.
One gold bar in the system inventory.
And a feeling, one he hadn't had in a long time, that things were starting to shift in his favor.
"Alright…" he murmured to himself. "Let's see what else you old devils left behind."
He opened his map interface, the familiar semi transparent screen shimmering into existence before his eyes. With a thought, he selected Treasure Hunter Skill, and activated this skill.
A pulse rippled outward across the blueprint-like map of the manor ruins. Caleb expected it to come up empty, he'd already taken the known gold bar. Anything else would be a miracle.
Then suddenly a red dot blinked into existence.
Caleb blinked. "No way…"
It was only a few steps away.
"Greedy bastards really did hide more than anyone knew."
He moved through the rubble, boots crunching over charred wood and broken brick. The southern sun cut through gaps of collapsed rafters, throwing lines of gold across the ruins like nature trying to mock the wealth that once lived here. He stepped over a fallen column, ducked beneath half a wall still standing, and slipped into what used to be—
"The kitchen," Caleb muttered.
Or what was left of it.
Blackened iron cookware lay cracked on the ground. Shattered plates and bowls had fused into the burned floor. The old brick stove was half collapsed, with only one soot stained chimney pipe still standing, pointing accusingly at the sky.
He scanned the area, this time using his eyes.
He moved broken tiles. Pushed aside charred planks. Even dug into the dirt with his hands for a moment.
Nothing.
He stood, dusting off his palms. "Damn. Not here."
Then his gaze landed on what remained of an old cupboard, collapsed on its side, its bottom half buried in ash and dirt. He crouched, gripped the burnt wood, and heaved it aside with a grunt.
Underneath, the soil looked… disturbed.
"Found you."
He grabbed a burnt wooden plank and used it as a makeshift digging tool, scraping away charred earth until—
thunk
Something solid.
Caleb's pulse quickened. He cleared the dirt faster, revealing the outline of a small iron lockbox, older than the previous one. The metal was thick, dull, and heavily rusted, its hinges nearly fused shut with age.
"Hello, old timer."
He hauled it out, set it on the kitchen floor, and wiped away the dirt. The metal was ice cold despite the warm air.
Caleb wedged his Civil War knife between the lid and the body.
Then forced it.
It resisted.
He forced harder. The knife bent slightly. The hinge squealed. Then—
CRACK
The lock snapped.
The lid flew open.
Inside—
Two gleaming gold bars, untouched by fire, wrapped in remnants of a rotted cloth.
Caleb stared, stunned. "Two more? These bastards really were loaded…"
He had assumed the Braithwaites had only stored a single emergency stash, the one Arthur normally found. But this? Two more? Hidden deeper? Unknown even to Catherine and the last generation?
But something else caught his eye.
Folded beneath the bars, somehow preserved all this time, was a yellowed piece of paper, brittle at the edges. Caleb unfolded it carefully.
A title scrawled in old ink.
Land Deed — Braithwaite Estate & Adjacent Holdings
Caleb's eyebrows rose higher and higher.
The official deed to the Braithwaite estate. Old. Very old. Likely from decades earlier, predating Catherine's reign, maybe belonging to one of her ancestors.
Deed to all of this.
The manor. The fields. The surrounding lands. The whole damn Braithwaite domain.
He exhaled, long and low. "This… this changes a lot."
The possibilities bloomed instantly.
If he held this, truly held it, he could, theoretically, claim the land legally. The manor, the fields, the tobacco grounds, the surrounding territory.
The Braithwaites were nearly wiped out in the current timeline.
But legitimacy wouldn't be easy. This deed was old. Not updated. Not in recent records.
The government would question it.
The Grays would fight it viciously.
The Grays, unlike the Braithwaites, were efficient. Subtle. Politically connected. They controlled Rhodes. They had friends in high places. They would absolutely want to seize Braithwaite land to expand their plantation empire and finally become uncontested rulers of western Lemoyne.
If Caleb moved wrong, he'd spark a full scale feud before the canonical one even began.
But with money…
And influence…
And timing…
He could maneuver this to his advantage.
Caleb slipped the deed into his system inventory with a mental command.
It disappeared instantly.
"Doesn't matter," he muttered. "With enough money? Legitimacy can be… bought."
He shut the empty lockbox, stood up, and dusted himself off again.
"Time to go."
He left the ruins of the kitchen behind, stepping back out into the gentle southern wind. The Braithwaite Manor groaned faintly as broken wood shifted somewhere deep inside the rubble, almost like the house itself exhaled its last secret.
Caleb made his way back through the skeletal remains of the mansion grounds until he reached the tree where Morgan waited patiently.
She was grazing, tail swishing idly, ears flicking as she heard him approach.
"That's my girl," Caleb murmured, patting her warm neck.
He untied the reins, swung himself up onto her back, and nudged her forward.
"Saint Denis next."
Morgan snorted and set off at a steady trot, hooves carrying them eastward along the main road.
Caleb rode for a good while, the world around him slowly shifting from burnt plantation lands to swampy greenery and rolling hills. Spanish moss dangled from trees the farther east he traveled, swaying like ghostly curtains.
His mind wandered.
The land deed. The gold bars. The power vacuum soon to plague Rhodes.
This world was shifting piece by piece, and he was no longer a passive observer. He planned to disrupt everything. Change fates. Save lives that weren't meant to be saved.
Then something as a memory struck him, born from his Past Life Memory Skill, sharp and clear like a whisper from his previous world.
A flash—
A location—
A piece of history—
A weapon, half legend, half joke among explorers. But real.
The broken pirate sword hidden near the Lannaheche River.
He slowed Morgan and guided her right, toward a stretch of rails that cut through the marsh. They followed the tracks for a bit, then crossed a shallow stream.
Up ahead, the shimmering expanse of the Lannaheche River spread out, calm and reflective.
And there—
A small island, barely more than a lump of mud and greenery.
With the skeleton of a shipwreck stranded upon it.
"Just like I remember."
Morgan waded into the river without hesitation, water rising halfway up her legs but never too deep. They reached the island easily.
Caleb hopped down, boots squelching in the wet mud. He approached the shipwreck, ducking under a collapsed mast.
Inside, on a pile of rotted crates and broken planks, rested:
The Broken Pirate Sword.
A relic. A curiosity. A weapon with history soaked into every rusted inch.
Caleb picked it up.
Despite its age, it felt solid. Heavy. The blade was chipped and partially corroded, but when he swung it lightly, the air sang with potential.
He grinned. "Yeah… that's going in the collection."
With a thought, he stored the sword in his system inventory, watching it vanish from his hand.
Then he mounted Morgan once more, steered her back through the river, and rode north to rejoin the main road.
From there, the ride east was long but peaceful.
Birds trilled overhead. Marsh insects hummed. Distant trains whistled through the wetlands. The air grew thick with humidity, and the smell of smoke, metal, industry, and humanity slowly replaced the scent of open frontier.
Then—
The horizon shifted.
Buildings rose. Rooflines multiplied. Soot drifted from smokestacks.
The southern edge of Saint Denis loomed ahead, towering with brick chimneys, metal factories, rail lines, and the sound of machines grinding day and night.
Caleb slowed his horse as he approached the familiar stable, the same stable he used as Arthur or John, the same stable where countless travelers and businessmen passed through.
Caleb guided Morgan deeper into Saint Denis, weaving through the narrow southern roads that always felt like stepping into another world. Even though he had arrived in the city once already not long ago, that sense of awe always lingered beneath his skin, this place was nothing like Valentine, nothing like Rhodes, nothing like the wilderness.
It felt modern. Alive. Chaotic. And dangerous in a different way than the frontier.
Smoke from the factories drifted overhead like gray ghosts. Streetcars rattled past. Elegant women in parasols strolled across crosswalks while horse drawn wagons squeezed between carriages and pedestrians. The constant noise, machinery, conversation, music, the clatter of boots on cobblestone, wrapped the city in a living pulse.
As he moved further down, the streets widened and the buildings grew taller. Wooden shacks gave way to brick apartments and wrought iron balconies draped with flowering vines. Posters lined the walls, advertising theater shows, operas, and boxing matches.
Then he reached it—
The square.
A circular plaza with a tall stone statue in the center, depicting a triumphant figure pointing toward the sky. Roads curved around it like flowing rivers of iron and cobble. Beneath the statue stood a violist, playing a soft, graceful tune that floated across the plaza like silk in the wind.
Several townsfolk stood listening, ladies with parasols, businessmen with pocket watches, a pair of children holding hands. The musician's bow danced across the strings with effortless melancholy.
Caleb slowed Morgan just enough to appreciate it, Saint Denis with its culture, its music, its contradictions, its dirt and its elegance. He remembered his first time here, how overwhelming it felt, like stepping out of the Wild West and into another era entirely.
But he did not linger long.
He turned left, guiding Morgan toward The Bastille Saloon.
He needed information. Presence. And for Bronte's men to spot him quickly. After all, he'd been gone longer than he should have been, even though he had only recently become an official member of Angelo Bronte's Italian mafia outfit. They would be expecting him. Bronte would be expecting him.
The buildings shifted again as he rode deeper into the city's heart. Apartments grew more lavish, arched windows, ornate balconies, flower pots lining the sills. The streets smelled faintly of perfume, tobacco, and fresh bread. Well dressed merchants and wealthy residents walked with measured leisure.
...
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)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 4)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,798 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 112,142 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 65 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, 1 Ruby, & 1 Broken Pirate Sword
Bank: -