《The Beast of the Black Hills》


 Synopsis of Flamespitter

    Flamespitter takes place in a setting that is based in America circa the 1880s, on the heels of the civil war, with the American Indian Wars boiling towards their conclusion over the gold found in the Black Hills and so forth. The world of the Elemental Gunslinger is one in which humans have cores within them that allow them to harness mana of one of four affinities, fire, wind, water, or earth. The Americans, and as such the main character, who uses the alias Mr. Jones, use their mana predominately to create bullets for their guns. Each mana type can create different types of bullets, which have different traits to them.


    Within the world, people are generally born with an affinity for a single mana type. Very rarely, they can awaken to a second mana type. Mr. Jones, when his core came into being at the age of eight, found himself able to utilize all four types of mana. What many would consider a blessing though, turned immediately into a curse for him. His parents were murdered by government officials intent on stealing him away to turn him into a weapon of the nation, and he barely survived the burning wreckage of his household thanks to his family''s butler, Randal. For the next six years of his life, Randal and Mr. Jones are on the run, with Randal, who was secretly a retired US Marshal, teaching Mr. Jones the basics of how to use his mana. During that time, he grows to become extremely efficient in crafting mana bullets of all types, and considers himself to be an extremely powerful and deadly gunslinger.


    Shortly after his fourteenth birthday, disaster once again strikes, as while Randal is incapacitated due to a rattlesnake bite, they are ambushed by a group of Outlaws. Randal uses the last of his strength to buy enough time for Mr. Jones to flee, before he ultimately dies. From that moment on, Mr. Jones puts himself on the path of vengeance, seeking the time, and opportunity, to track down those who''d robbed his mentor from him. Flamespitter begins with him finally getting the chance to begin that hunt. Word has reached him of the first Outlaw on his list for vengeance, and he quickly leaves St. Louis via train westward, to begin the hunt.


    On the train, he meets an individual named Thomas Cane, who offers Mr. Jones a ''beneficial deal.'' The man, taking note of Mr. Jones''s dual, pearl handled Peacekeepers, seeks to hire him to help track down various outlaws and bandits, in order to collect their bounties. At the same time, their travel by train sees a brief interruption, as an unlucky gang takes a shot at robbing the very traing Mr. Jones is riding up. He dispatches the entire gang, in the span of a handful of breaths, and leaves no doubt in Mr. Cane''s mind that he''s a force to be reckoned with. At the same time, becuase of the speed with which he needed to dispatch the bandits, to ensure the safety of the passengers, he relied on two of his four affinities. Mr. Cane takes note of that, and his interest in Mr. Jones becomes even more intense.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Upon arrival at their destination, word spreads quickly about his efforts on the train, and while he attempts to hide the truth of his powers, the owner of the town, one Miss Emma Watts, takes special note. She approaches Mr. Jones with her trusted bodyguard, none other than Civil War hero Clint Westbrook, known by many as the Whisper of Death, for his notorious skills with a rifle, and the piles of bodies he left during the war. Around this time, Mr. Jones learns a rather disturbing fact. Miss Emma Watts is the niece of a man known as Bloody Bill Watts, a Rail Baron with an extremely bloody and violent past. Even worse, Thomas Cane is employed by Bloody Bill. All of this leaves a sour taste in Mr. Jones''s mouth, yet he can do nothing about it. He''s caught between a rock and a hard place, as it''s known by Thomas, and Emma, that he can use at least two affinities. Something that he really doesn''t want spreading, as it will make his efforts at keeping a low profile, and avoiding the government, even more difficult.


    Through some... forceful negotiations, he works to build a posse with Thomas Cane, at the behest of Emma, in order to take out an outlaw who has begun amassing a small army outside of her town. This outlaw''s identity being the only lucky break for Mr. Jones in this situation, as it is a man by the name of Black Jack Pickam. The first man on his list of those who killed Randal four years ago.


    His fortune is short lived however, as Thomas Cane turns on him during their attack on Black Jack''s fort, and it''s revealed Bloody Bill has actually struck a deal with the Outlaw, in an effort to kill his niece, and steal from her the town. Mr. Jones barely escapes the treachery with his life, and he limps back to town, bruised, bloodied, and barely concious. When he next wakes, he finds himself in the care of Emma and Clint. His bad luck comes into play once more though, as a US Marshal appears at the town, the very sort of government official Mr. Jones has been attempting to hide from for his entire life. What''s worse, the Marshal, Mr. James Holiday, can see the mana of people, and therefore, immediately discovers Mr. Jones''s secret.


    His past, and his secret aside, Mr. Jones begrudgingly joins forces with Holiday, Clint, and Emma, to take on the immediate threat to the town that is Black Jack Pickam and his gang. Following an extremely bloody battle, the outlaw is finally brought to justice, and Mr. Jones gets a lead on his next target. At the same time, Thomas Cane is taken into custody by Holiday, who is working on a case to bring down Bloody Bill Watts, who he lets slip, is a part of a larger conspiracy involving a group known as the Golden Circle, who are working in the shadows to overthrow the US Government.


    Holiday promises to keep Jones''s identity a secret, in exchange for Jones aiding him in another matter regarding the outlaws he''s seeking vengeance on, and the Golden Circle. As they part ways, Mr. Jones also learns that Emma has the knowledge he needs to take his core to the next level, and that she, and Clint, will be accompanying him northward, where his next quarry, awaits.

 Chapter 1

    Chapter 1


    ¡°It ain¡¯t right,¡± I grumbled as I watched the town burn. ¡°None of this is right.¡±


    The three of us sat atop our horses, watching as stop between St. Louis and the west proper, was consumed by flames.


    ¡°Take it as a reminder that life don¡¯t care about right and wrong,¡± the old man beside me said. He was older, surely in his fifties by now, with a face worn by weather, and hair greyed with age. His eyes though, piercing and focused, showed he still had plenty of fight left in him. This fire, the events of the past few weeks, had reignited something within him. Colonel Clint Westbrook, feared as the Whisper of Death by Confederate Soldiers, a living legend, and my latest mentor.


    ¡°I¡¯ve grown rather tired of such reminders,¡± I said bitterly, my hands resting on the twin pistols at my side. The pearl handled revolvers, known as Peacemakers, gave me comfort. They were the last gift I had from my original mentor, my family¡¯s butler, who apparently, had once even been a US Marshal. He was the reason I was still alive today. And he was the reason for my current path in life.


    ¡°Until you stop grumbling about them,¡± Clint countered, ¡°then you still need ¡®em.¡± Clint looked at the third member of our party. The member that looked the most out of place, between the three of us.


    ¡°Now then, Miss Watts,¡± he said, his tone immediately switching from that of a bored instructor, to one of respect and care, ¡°have you seen enough?¡±


    ¡°Just about,¡± she replied. Her lips pursed tightly together, forming a thin line on her face, as she watched the town, her town, continue to burn. Up until I¡¯d arrived, she¡¯d owned the place. A gift, of sorts, to her from her father, before he passed away. Unfortunately, her uncle, a bloodthirsty Rail Baron by the name of William V Watts, otherwise known as Bloody Bill, wanted that town. And he wanted it so much, well, he¡¯d planned to murder his own niece to get it. As it stood¡­ he¡¯d won. Emma was leaving her town. The people who¡¯d lived there, her people, had all fled West already. We¡¯d lost. But¡­ that didn¡¯t mean he was going to get his way exactly.


    ¡°Let me know when you¡¯re ready then ma¡¯am.¡± Clint glanced from Emma, back to me. A sad smile on his face. His horse, a grey speckled Morgan he¡¯d acquired shortly before the end of the Civil War, munched lazily on some grass. He patted its neck, and then one by one, removed his leather gloves. Without saying anything else, he drew his rifle, a Model 1873 lever- action repeating rifle, from the scabbard on his saddle. The weapon was ornate, covered in intricate soul-silver patterns, ensuring the weapon could handle the large amount of mana Clint could push into his rounds. Even though Clint only had an Iron Core, like me, which was apparently the lowest type of core, he still had a large amount of mana. Meaning, he could push his weapon to limits normal folk couldn¡¯t.


    Which made his next action all the more surprising to me.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I asked, as on instinct I pushed mana towards my eyes, triggering their ability to see the mana of the world around me. Instantly blues and silvery-purple flared across my vision, temporarily blinding me for a moment. Clint¡¯s core was the reason for the latter color, his wind mana so strong it radiated in the air around his body. The blue, a rich sapphire just as bright, if not a little brighter and larger than Clint¡¯s, was provided by Emma. She, of the three of us, was the only one who¡¯d advanced their core from Iron, the lowest and base tier for cores, apparently, to Copper. That fact was the only reason she was coming with us. So she could teach me how to do the same.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see,¡± Clint said mysteriously as he loaded a single, soul-silver cased bullet, into his rifle with less than practiced ease. While every gun had the ability to be loaded with physical rounds, we didn¡¯t use them. That was a function meant for people with barely any mana or skill. People who had to rely on ¡®pre-loads¡¯, special bullets made of Soul Silver with mana preemptively loaded into them. The bullet Clint had just inserted into his rifle, the first I¡¯d ever seen him physically load, glowed, just barely, with crimson. It was a fire round.


    I glanced from Clint to Emma. She looked at me, and for a moment her expression softened. Her amber eyes glinted with amusement, and she brushed a bit of her straw-colored hair away from her face as the wind tried to take it. Then, her smile turned to something else. Something¡­ predatory. Something vicious. The look of a viper preparing to strike.


    ¡°My uncle has won my town,¡± she said, voice laced with venom. ¡°Or, at the very least, he¡¯ll get the land. Everything we built, everything that had the blood, sweat, and tears of the people who¡¯d lived there though, he doesn¡¯t get a claim to. And,¡± the look intensified as she nodded towards Clint, ¡°what he really wants, the railway, the access and power it will offer to him. Well, he will get that after Hell¡¯s froze over.¡± she laughed, and the sound caused me to shiver atop Baron. Even my horse, in all his wisdom, caught her tone, and pawed uncomfortably at the ground.


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    I stopped speaking as Clint lifted his rifle to his shoulder. The veteran sharpshooter took in a deep breath, and slowly exhaled, his body becoming motionless as he took aim down the sights, looking far off, past the town, at the wooden tracks that headed back East. The same tracks I¡¯d arrived on. The same tracks that had taken Holiday, and his quandary, Thomas Cane, back East just a few days prior. The tracks that, in just under two days, were supposed to deliver Bloody Bill¡¯s little army to the town he¡¯d intended to steal. Without warning, just as he finished his full exhale, he pulled the trigger. A flash of red escaped the muzzle of the weapon, and I looked off into the distance, wondering what it was he¡¯d been shooting at. My question was answered a moment later, in a manner that even a blind man would be able to understand.


    The wooden rail ties splintered and shattered, screeching and snapping and cracking in horrendous ways as a brilliant blue flash erupted across the tracks. Spanning twenty feet I¡¯d reckon in diameter, a massive bloom of ice ripped ground and railway asunder. It was a dark blue, grander even than the ice that formed from my dynamite during my assault on Pickam¡¯s fort a few weeks ago.


    ¡°A personal parting gift, for my Uncle.¡± Emma said, her tone bemused, yet cold. ¡°I wanted him to know, in no uncertain terms, that he¡¯d pushed me for the last time. It¡¯s one thing, to burn a town down. That¡¯s easy to repair, especially with a railway to provide supplies.¡± She pointed towards the towering structure of ice. It gleamed in the sunlight, and I knew it would take a good bit of time before it melted away to nothingness, even with the heat of the burning town.


    ¡°That, however, will ensure his plans are frozen for a good bit of time. The crater it¡¯s made, which will fill with the water from my melting dynamite, will no doubt slow progress. And that¡¯s assuming the first train heading this way, the train carrying his men, doesn¡¯t crash into the freshly made pool. Past that, the damage, while not catastrophic, is a bigger blow than I figured he¡¯d been expecting. And, combined with the fact that worm Thomas Cane will no doubt squeal and give Mr. Holiday all he needs. My uncle is going to find himself unable to worry much about me, and my actions, for a long while.¡±


    I looked at the ice pillar. Her intention, her message, I got that. But the thing that impressed me most, the bit I didn¡¯t think she even realized about her final act of defiance to her uncle, was that in that moment, more so than anything else she¡¯d claimed or done, she¡¯d proven why she was coming with us. If her dynamite was that powerful, purely because her mana came from a copper core, instead of an Iron one, then I needed to refine my core as soon as possible. If Emma could do something like that, with her mana levels, I could hardly begin to imagine what I¡¯d be able to do. And that was a power, a goal, I needed to accomplish as soon as possible.


    ¡°Well then,¡± I said as I looked away from the carnage. I turned my eyes north, towards our destination. The Dakotas, home of the Black Hills, and the next man on my path of vengeance. It was time to begin my hunt for the Mountain Man.

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2


    We spent most of the day in silence. It was clear Emma was bothered by the loss of her town. There had been no doubt in my mind, from seeing her, and the town, that she¡¯d loved it. And the people, their dust-covered faces tear stained as they left through the town¡¯s gate, heading west to an unknown future, had spent a long while on giving her heartfelt farewells. No one had blamed her for the fate of the town. No one had held any ill will towards her. No, as they¡¯d all left, the only person they cursed as they left their homes and livelihoods, had been Bloody Bill.


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if that man would haunt Emma as we traveled north. Her Uncle, and his blood soaked history, had been one of the many reasons I¡¯d originally protested to her traveling with me. My quest for vengeance was my own, of course, and I didn¡¯t want anything hindering my path towards justice. And while Clint accompanied Emma, which arguably meant I was gaining a powerful ally for the bloody task before me, it didn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t potentially gaining an even more dangerous enemy.


    Course, that was a bit of a moot point considering I needed her to teach me how to refine my core. And, considering what Holiday had told me ¡®bout the Golden Circle, Bloody Bill was likely less of a worry to me than I originally had believed. My hand drifted to my chest as I thought back to the Marshal and my conversation with him. Around my neck, the ruby pendant hung, the jewel warm against the flesh of my chest, hidden underneath my clothing. Holiday had asked me to keep it safe and close. I didn¡¯t know why it was important, nor why some secret organization wanted it. Regardless, the fact it had apparently been something Randal had been tasked with tracking down, meant it was the most important thing in the world to me now, next to of course, avenging his death.


    The Marshal claimed Pickam, and the rest of the no-good outlaws who¡¯d killed Randal that night had made off with the gems, of which there were apparently five. According to the good Marshal, each of the bastards who¡¯d had a part in killin¡¯ Randal, likely had one. Considering I was already intent on hunting those men down, well, I¡¯d agreed to collect the gems and keep ¡®em safe. Randal had gathered and protected them, and they¡¯d been important enough to him, that he¡¯d kept them with him even when we¡¯d fled my family¡¯s burning estate, and the whole time we¡¯d been on the road. That, had to mean something.


    My hand tightened on the hidden gem, and it almost felt like the stone pulsed in response. I felt my anger flare, felt my fire mana rise to the surface as it so often liked to, and I let it. Flames, for the briefest moment, danced across my fingers, before they faded away, and I cooled my mind, and my heart. As my emotions subsided, I let go of the gem, the stone seeming even warmer against my chest than it had been a moment before.


    ¡°You alright boy?¡± Clint asked, pulling his horse, Ghost, up beside Baron. His eyes took note of my shirt. I glanced down and saw the faintest singe marks on the white cotton. I brushed my hand across the material, and the few black spots flicked away, leaving no trace of my moment of anger.


    ¡°Just thinking,¡± I said, not lying to the man, but not offering him anything else. Clint was perceptive. He had the eyes of the most skilled marksman in the world, far as I knew, but beyond those sharp eyes, were his sharp senses. Keen eyed was an understatement. And the man didn¡¯t let anything slip from his gaze.


    ¡°Just thinking, huh?¡± He pulled his pipe from his saddlebag, and with it, a bag of tobacco. With practiced ease, his body swaying in perfect unison with his horse¡¯s gait, he began to load the pipe. Careful and methodical, with hands that betrayed no sign of old age. He looked grizzled and worn, and there was no doubt in my mind he¡¯d lived a long, hard life, and yet, he still seemed perfectly fine. A man his age, should be retired. Yet here he was, riding off once more on the dusty trail. Just what was he made of.


    ¡°You know,¡± Clint began, as if he felt my questioning gaze on him, ¡°if there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve learned through all my years,¡± he shot me a sideways glance, a grey eyebrow raised in a bemused way, as thumbed down the tobacco. Seemingly content with the bowl, he put the tobacco away and continued, ¡°it¡¯s that there¡¯s a time when thinking is helpful and necessary.¡± He pulled a match from his saddlebag and drew it quickly across his jeans. The white tip lit instantly, and he took a moment, holding the flame over the tobacco, his mouth puffing in, to light the pipe. One it glowed cherry red, and smoke drifted lazily from his nose, he finally finished his statement. ¡°And other times where thinking is damn near the worst thing we can do to ourselves.¡± He flicked his wrist, dousing the flames from the match, and tossed it to the ground.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Is that so?¡± I asked, trying to puzzle where he was going with this.


    ¡°It is,¡± he said simply, taking a long drag from his pipe. ¡°Judging by your singed shirt, I¡¯d say this time around, the thinking you¡¯re doing is pointless.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t pointless to me,¡± I countered.


    ¡°Maybe you think that now,¡± another puff. I could smell the tobacco in the air around us, and my mouth watered at the pleasant scents. I had my own pipe of course, but it was buried in my saddle bag. However¡­ I reached my hands into my coat pocket, searching expectantly. Clint, continued speaking, ¡°but was what you were thinking about, anything you can do something about here an¡¯ now?¡±


    I found my prize in my breast pocket. A tube that I popped open without a second thought. Judge had gifted me about a dozen cigars before he¡¯d closed up his saloon and prepared to leave town. I¡¯d sent the box of them ahead, along with the rest of our main belongings, with the group Emma had sent northward to set up our travel plans. Because carriages traveled slower than three people on horseback could, we¡¯d had to send most of our gear and supplies ahead to the next town, while we stayed behind to oversee the evacuation, and destruction, of Emma¡¯s town.


    ¡°No,¡± I said, cigar between my teeth as I bit the end off. I spit the small portion onto the ground, and then held my trigger finger against the end of the cigar. I willed my mana to the tip of my finger, and this time, the flames that appeared were purposeful, controlled, and not a sign of my emotions getting the best of me. Clint shook his head as he watched me light the cigar.


    ¡°That¡¯s a bad habit you¡¯ve got there,¡± he said as he chuckled against his pipe. ¡°It¡¯s going to get you in trouble.¡±


    I puffed on my cigar, letting my saliva soak into the tobacco, feeling the warmth of the smoke fill my mouth as I drew in a breath.


    ¡°This?¡± I asked, holding my hand up and summoning another flame.


    ¡°That too,¡± Clint said with another chuckle, ¡°but the thinking part, is what I was really getting at.¡±


    The flames on my fingers died down. I glared at him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve no shortage of bad habits, actually,¡± Clint continued, ignoring my glare, ¡°and I figure I¡¯ll have to fill in and work them out of you on this trip. One at a time, huh?¡±


    Before I could say anything, Emma¡¯s horse slowed ahead of us, as she masterfully positioned her thoroughbred on the other side of Baron, so I was sandwiched between her and Clint.


    ¡°If we¡¯re talking about sorting through Mr. Jones¡¯s bad habits here,¡± she offered up, her tone light and amused, ¡°It¡¯s only right I aid in those lessons, Clint. After all,¡± she eyed me up and down. Her lip twitched in a smile, as she seemed to weigh me with her eyes, ¡°I cannot have it being said that one of my bodyguards is lacking in the proper mannerisms of one of my station.¡±


    I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could, she held up her hand. ¡°And don¡¯t you go saying anything about it, Mr. Jones,¡± her eyes sparkled, ¡°if I¡¯m expected to teach you to refine your core, I¡¯m going to teach you how to refine much more than that.¡± She sat up taller on her saddle, and even in simple riding clothes, it was undeniable she was a woman from wealth, power, and high class. ¡°By the time we reach the Black Hills, you¡¯ll be the perfect gentleman.¡±


    Clint snorted, and immediately started coughing on his pipe smoke. I just stared, dumbfounded at Emma, as she held me with her gaze. There was mirth in her eyes, but her tone, and the way she tilted her head slightly¡­ I was still that poor little mouse, caught between the cat¡¯s paws. Perhaps, Clint was right. My thinking had been pointless. And there was something more important, I realized, that I should be thinking about, than Bloody Bill, or Randal, or the Golden Circle, or even the mysterious Mountain Man. Right here and now, I really needed to start thinking about what exactly having Emma along for the ride was going to entail. I had a feeling, between Clint and her, that she was going to be the one who favored the stick more than the carrot.

 Chapter 3

    Chapter 3


    Fire crackled as we finished setting up camp for the night. Normally, I¡¯d advise against a campfire. After all, it was nothing but a beacon for trouble. In fact, a campfire, much like this one, had been what had drawn those poor fools of Pickam¡¯s gang to their demise when I¡¯d first begun hunting them for Emma. Before that though, a campfire such as this had been what had drawn Pickam¡­ and the other coldblooded bastards who haunted my past, to Randal and I that fateful night. The night Randal died.


    The flames danced before my eyes as my memories drew back to that night. The smell of the burning wood, the taste of soot and dust on my mouth. I let my vision waiver for just a moment, enough to imagine, for a split second, Randal¡¯s form on the ground, sweating and frail as his body fought the rattlesnake¡¯s venom. Then I pushed the image away, returning to the present. I was haunted by nightmares enough when I slept. I¡¯d not let them take hold of me now. After all, I had more important things to focus on.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take first watch,¡± Clint said as he finished double checking the tent he¡¯d had me help set up for Emma. The tent, a dog tent according to Clint, was something he¡¯d used during his time in the Civil War. It came in two parts, and he¡¯d had one half on his horse, and the other on Emma¡¯s. The canvas and poles set up the basic triangle shaped structure, and buttoned together to create the tent that now sat roughly a dozen feet away from the fire. The horses were staked on the other side, and munched happily on some of the oats we¡¯d brought for them.


    ¡°I can handle both if you¡¯d prefer old man.¡± I wasn¡¯t trying to act tough. But with the bitter memories fighting to take hold, I wasn¡¯t much in the mood for sleep. ¡°Should be a boring night as is. Figure what with our handling of Pickam¡¯s gang, there¡¯s likely not to be anyone foolish enough to be robbing people again in the area. Pretty sure we killed all those fools, and it¡¯ll take a while before more fill the area.¡±


    Crime always happened. When there was easy money to be made by ignoring rules and preying on others, well, there were always people willing to take that path in life. Like cockroaches, no matter how many you squashed, more would show up. But, they didn¡¯t breed like rabbits, and they didn¡¯t just magically appear. As it were, I had no doubt we¡¯d be safe tonight. And our travel tomorrow would be boring as well, ensuring we reached our destination, the town known as Bison¡¯s Rest, before the moon reached its peak. From there, we¡¯d have a day to rest, before our caravan headed north, and we began our trip to the next leg of our journey. First was Bison¡¯s rest, then, the town of Lincoln. After that, the Black Hills.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not have you wearing yourself ragged again so soon into our trip.¡± Emma said as she exited her tent. She¡¯d actually argued against the structure even being put up, but Clint had refused to listen to her complaints. Something about a proper lady needing a proper sleeping arrangement. Her frustration with her bodyguard had made me chuckle¡­ which probably hadn¡¯t been wise. I had no doubt Emma would get me back for that at some later point in our trip.


    ¡°I can sleep in the saddle tomorrow,¡± I said with a shrug. ¡°It makes more sense for you an¡¯ Clint to be fully rested for tomorrow¡¯s journey. You know the path, I don¡¯t. Besides,¡± I pointed at my eyes, ¡°I¡¯m a see¡¯r remember. Makes me better suited for watching over the camp. Can see people coming from a much further distance than Clint will likely be able to make out with the low moonlight.¡±


    Emma¡¯s mouth closed in a scowl at that, her eyes locked on mine. The expression was cute, I had to admit, but I didn¡¯t like how intensely her eyes bore into mine. I could tell she wanted to fight me, but at the moment, she couldn¡¯t think of a logical counter. When it came to facts, what I said was true. Thanks to my ability, I could see the mana of others. Moonlight or not, people¡¯s cores would glow just the same to my eyes. And as it stood, if I pumped enough of my mana into my eyes, I could see people¡¯s cores from a good hundred plus yards away. Further even, if someone was especially strong.


    ¡°You said it yourself,¡± Clint spoke up, taking a seat on the ground across from me, ¡°it¡¯s likely going to be a slow night. Even if there were to be trouble, it¡¯s likely it¡¯ll take a few hours before anyone stupid enough to try and cause problems arrived. Get some sleep before then Mr. Jones. I¡¯ve no intention of letting you take the full night of watch. Even if Miss Watts hadn¡¯t insisted against it, I¡¯d be a fool to let you. A group is only as good as its weakest link. And no matter how strong your mana is, if your mind¡¯s sluggish from sleep depravation, you¡¯re just going to bring us all down.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Why you fighting me on this?¡± I said, feeling my anger rise. ¡°There¡¯s not going to be any trouble. And tomorrow¡¯s an easy enough journey as is.¡± I looked from Clint, to Emma. The flickering flames caused shadows to dance across their faces, twisting them, making them almost look like sinister demons in the night. ¡°Is this how it¡¯s going to be? Are you both going to fight me every night, for this whole journey?¡±


    ¡°No one¡¯s trying to fight anyone,¡± Emma said as she walked towards the fire, adjusting her dress as she sat. ¡°If anything, we¡¯re trying to ensure the trip goes as smoothly as possible for the whole duration. And the first part of that, is setting up expectations, and understanding.¡±


    She looked at me, then at Clint. ¡°And I cannot stand by you taking on unnecessary burdens in some pointless show of stubbornness or pride. You¡¯re a loner, I get that.¡± Her tone softened, ¡°you¡¯ve spent a long time on your own. You don¡¯t trust easy, and you don¡¯t expect help from others.¡± She looked at Clint, and her posture straightened, as if she got a boost of strength from him. When she next spoke, her voice was steel. ¡°But as it stands, you¡¯re no longer alone. And you need to trust us, and work with us, else this journey will be nothing but a constant headache and strife. On top of that, you¡¯re going to need your full strength, physical and mental, Mr. Jones, once your lessons began as we make our way to Lincoln. Refining your core isn¡¯t a simple task. I felt like I was going to die, when I accomplished it. And as far as I know, the older you are, the more difficult, and painful, the process becomes. If you¡¯ve any hope of accomplishing this feat, you¡¯re going to want to be at your best,¡± she offered me a smile, ¡°and not pointlessly drained and sleep deprived because your foolish pride or whatever it is kept you from trusting us to stand watch at night.¡±


    ¡°Trusting me to stand watch,¡± Clint cut in. ¡°Mr. Jones needs to let me take watch, not you Miss Watts. I¡¯ve said it once, and I¡¯ll say it again. Standing watch isn¡¯t a task for you. No matter how much you kick and scream and cause a scene.¡±


    ¡°And who¡¯s going to stop me?¡± She asked, looking Clint up and down. ¡°After all, last I checked, I was the one in charge. Not you.¡±


    ¡°And as far as I see it,¡± Clint countered, their argument towards me standing watch all night seemingly forgotten, ¡°my duty towards keeping you safe, as your bodyguard, means ensuring I protect you from all dangers. Including yourself.¡± He smiled at her, his moustache twitching. ¡°Which is why, you and I both know, I¡¯ll win this argument. As you said yourself, Miss Watts, we need to all work together, and trust each other, for this journey to go smoothly.¡±


    I thought Emma would fight him on that. After all, if I weren¡¯t here, wouldn¡¯t that mean Clint would be standing guard all night? Doing exactly the same thing Emma was saying I wasn¡¯t allowed to do? Instead though, she let out a sigh, and leaned back, her eyes gazing up at the stars. ¡°If there is a god out there,¡± she said, almost like she were speaking to herself, ¡°I¡¯d like to have a word with him, about the men he continues to put in my life.¡± She glanced then, from Clint to me. ¡°The current ones, are nothing but a headache.¡±


    ¡°Rather a headache, than a heartache.¡± Clint said with a chuckle, standing as he continued to laugh. ¡°Now then, how about I cook us up some food, before the two of you get some rest. It¡¯s still a hard day of riding tomorrow, and there¡¯s not much use wasting more time arguing about pointless things.¡±


    As he made his way to his saddlebag, grabbing out a few metal stakes, spices, and the rabbit¡¯s he¡¯d expertly shot earlier in the day for just this reason, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a small, content smile form. Maybe, just maybe, they were right. I¡¯d traveled for so long on my own, that I¡¯d forgotten what it was like, to travel with companions. Maybe, just maybe, it was time for me open up, and begin trusting those around me, to help handle some of the burdens of life.


    Or, maybe, I needed to simply pick and choose which battles I¡¯d fight, and this one, at least for now, wasn¡¯t worth it. I¡¯d let Emma have this win, this small victory. But, if she thought everything would go exactly as she said, well, she had another thing coming. Just as Clint had proven, Miss Watts¡¯ word wasn¡¯t law, and once I got more accustomed to the two, I¡¯d find my own way to ensure she wasn¡¯t the only one claiming victories. Sooner or later, I¡¯d finally get one up on Miss Watts. After all, I was no one¡¯s prey, and she¡¯d had me on my back foot since the day I met her. But all of that, well, one day that would all change. After all, I wasn¡¯t some little mouse, I wasn¡¯t some obedient dog. I was a man on mission, cursed with an affinity for all four mana types, and destined to pave my way forward with grit, determination, raw power, and bloodshed. And no one, not Clint, not the Marshal, and sure as hell not Emma, would keep me from doing as I pleased when it came to my goals. I was my own man, and I would bow to no one.

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4


    If there¡¯s one thing that holds true about towns, it¡¯s that a town can feel very different depending on when you arrive. Early morning a town feels very different than it does once the day¡¯s started. Same as if you arrive when people are winding down for the night. Or, if it¡¯s a Sunday, or holiday, chances are the town will be very different than normal.


    Showing up past midnight, well, that¡¯s a whole different story.


    First, let me make it clear, if not for Emma and Clint, there¡¯s a good chance I wouldn¡¯t have found Bison¡¯s Rest this late at night. The term town was¡­ generous. I¡¯d argue that the place itself was more a watering hole for people in between locations. No rails ran through the town, and it was too close to Emma¡¯s town to be a center for trade or commerce. Instead, if I had to guess, some business minded folks had set it up as a last stop before the trek north to Lincoln. Considering far as a I knew, there weren¡¯t any proper railways laid just yet to connect anywhere near Bison¡¯s Rest and Lincoln just yet. And until one came about, well, Bison¡¯s Rest was the stop.


    As we silently approached the so called town, a lone burning torch illuminated what I took to be the main entrance. The town itself didn¡¯t even have any proper walls or defenses. Instead, just an old, worn dirt path that led up to a couple fence posts, atop which the torch burned. Beside it, I could make out the shadow of a figure. And a quick burst of mana to my eyes showed me the guard, a wind user, was pretty weak. But again, with a town such as Bison¡¯s Rest, of which there appeared absolutely nothing of note, I doubted they worried much about troublemakers. And that was before Clint and the Marshal, and I had gone and rid the area of the most recent outlaw infestation.


    Small as it was, in the dark of the night, barely illuminated by the sliver of the moon above, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a chill run down my spine. The buildings, a variety of which appeared to be in different states of build or repair, looked more like the bones of structures than proper houses and homes. The eerie silence, the lack of well, anything, made it feel like a right proper ghost tone. And then, most notable as we drew closer, was the bleach white skull atop the makeshift gate the guard stood by. It was a bison¡¯s head, no doubt about it, with massive black horns curved upwards at close to ninety-degrees. So large was the skull I figured it could fit over the chest of the man guarding the city. And the empty sockets, staring out towards us, felt¡­ damning.


    Each step closer towards the town, felt like we were moving closer and closer to a land of the dead.


    I wasn¡¯t the superstitious sort. Nor was I squeamish ¡®bout the dead. And even still, I found my hand pressed gently against Baron¡¯s neck. His warmth, the rhythm of his breathing, his strong pulse, helped me steady my breathing, as I fought to chase away the specters that seemed to attempt to haunt my mind.


    ¡°Eh,¡± I heard the man at the gate say, to himself I was pretty certain, as he looked in our direction. We had been traveling in the dark, Emma and Clint guiding use carefully along the worn path, and it made us hard to spot. The man had probably just now heard the sound of our horses, the occasional clipping of an iron shoe striking stone, and the rustle of our saddles and gear. He reached up to his side, and a moment later lit a lantern. The light bathed outwards from him, giving him a better view of our approach. It also caused me to squint, my eyes, so accustomed to the darkness of the night from our travels, suddenly assaulted by the firelight.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°An who might you be?¡± The man called as we neared. ¡°Bit late for normal folk to be out and about.¡±


    His right hand was at his side, resting on his pistol, while his left held the lantern towards us. ¡°You here to cause trouble?¡±


    ¡°If we were here to cause trouble,¡± Emma said, her voice bemused, ¡°then you¡¯d have already been gunned down by my dear friend here.¡± She motioned towards Clint. The weathered veteran tipped his hat towards the man, before patting his rifle that was resting in its scabbard. ¡°I¡¯m sure you got word of our intent to arrive today, Mr¡­¡± she trailed off, fishing for his name.


    ¡°Oh, well then,¡± his hand didn¡¯t move away from his pistol, as he shone the lantern between the three of us. We were close enough now that I could get a good look at him. He was probably in his thirties, with shaggy hair, that could have been blonde and filthy, or just a light brown. He didn¡¯t have any defining features about him, other than the star he wore proudly on his chest. He was a deputy for the town. Though, given its size, I didn¡¯t really think that was all that impressive. Hell, they probably gave badges to any old fool that wanted to ¡®keep the peace¡¯ in the area or die trying. I bet the sheriff handed those stars out quicker than a lady of the night could lift her skirts.


    ¡°Names Dave,¡± he said after another moment, ¡°an I think I remember the Sherif mentioning we was supposed to have some visitors coming in. Supposed to be some friends of his.¡± He peered at the three of us. ¡°That you?¡±


    ¡°That would indeed be us,¡± Emma said as she gently clicked her heels into the sides of her horse. She started trotting easily forward again. The man¡¯s fingers twitched as she drew nearer, but luckily, for his sake, he didn¡¯t draw. ¡°I know my way to his house, and as you said, he¡¯s expecting me.¡± She drew closer to him, looking down at the man from atop her horse. ¡°So no need to bother yourself with us. I hope you have an uneventful night, Dave,¡± she smiled down at him, the firelight flashing off her white teeth, ¡°and I¡¯ll make sure not to mention how unprofessional you were towards the Mayor¡¯s guests.¡±


    At that, Dave¡¯s back stiffened, and finally, his hand left his pistol. He swallowed hard as he watched Emma ride past him. Clint followed shortly after, and I brought up the rear. All I could do was chuckle at the man as I looked down at him, his eyes still trailing Emma. In one turn of phrase, she¡¯d put the man on the backfoot and taken complete control of the situation. By now, I wasn¡¯t sure if she did it on purpose, or it was just a natural skill of hers, a product of her upbringing. Either way, at least for this one time, it wasn¡¯t me on the other end of her comments.


    ¡°A good night to you then, Dave,¡± I said with a chuckle, ¡°if it makes you feel any better,¡± I slowed Baron¡¯s pace as I got beside the deputy, my voice dropping to a whisper, ¡°the fact she left it off at that, means she¡¯s not going to get you fired. At least, not tonight.¡±


    The look on his face, made me smile all the more, as I followed after Emma. It was childish, sure. But, well¡­ I really didn¡¯t like authority figures. Especially weak ones.

 Chapter 5

    Chapter 5


    The mayor¡¯s house was easily recognizable, even in the dark streets of the town. For one¡­ the town had maybe a dozen buildings. So not many buildings to try and choose from. And beyond that, well¡­ there were only a total of three, two-story houses. One, was the heart and soul of any proper town, the saloon. The second, on the one side of the saloon, was the hotel. And on the other, well, that was the mayor¡¯s house. Considering most of the business would happen at those two other buildings, it made sense that in such a small town as this, the mayor would put his house there.


    As we approached, the sounds of the saloon betrayed the dead feeling of the town. Laughter, shouting, music, and other sounds of the night came from the telltale batwing doors of the Saloon, and the open windows of the second floor. Most of those rooms upstairs were dark, but the sounds coming from there were enough to ensure anyone listening that the people inside were very much alive.


    Not that I was a modest man by any means, but as I heard some of those sounds, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a bit of heat reaching my face as I looked at Emma. There were some things that just weren¡¯t proper, after all. And well, night noises while in the company of one such as Emma didn¡¯t seem right.


    If they bothered her though, she didn¡¯t show it. She paid no mind to the saloon, made no comment about the sounds, and instead rode right up to the mayor¡¯s house and tossed her stirrups on the hitching post. Clint reached her just as she was leaping from her horse, not having bothered to wait for him to help her down. At every step of the way, Emma continued to prove she didn¡¯t view herself as fragile or delicate, and while she spoke so highly of decorum and proper mannerisms that needed to be upheld, when she wasn¡¯t in ¡®proper company¡¯ she was quick to skirt those rules herself.


    The door to the house opened as I neared it. A young boy rushed out quickly, heading towards the hitching post that Emma and Clint were currently working to affix their horses to. As the boy reached for the stirrups, another figure stepped out of the doorway. He was an older gentleman, with dark hair streaked with silver. He had a pointed goatee, and a twisted moustache that gave him a predatory, opportunistic look. His beady eyes glanced to Emma, before dancing across Clint, to me. He pushed the door open further, the lamplight from within serving to better illuminate the area around his front porch.


    ¡°I was beginning to wonder if you¡¯d actually arrive tonight,¡± the man said, clasping his hands together in front of him. He had a portly stomach and was dressed sharply. It was obvious he¡¯d been waiting up for us, as he¡¯d not changed into his night clothes. ¡°It¡¯s reckless traveling this late at night.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°You¡¯ve always said I have a bit of a reckless streak,¡± Emma laughed as she walked towards the man. Instead of holding out a hand, the man spread his arms wide, and the two shared a quick embrace. ¡°Its arguably one of my best qualities,¡± Emma said through the hug.


    ¡°It¡¯s the most prominent quality of your father¡¯s that has stuck, with you,¡± the man patted her on the back, before he let go, ¡°that¡¯s for sure.¡± He held her at arms-length, looking her over and tutting as he did. ¡°It pains me to hear you¡¯ve run into so much trouble.¡± He looked back at the boy, who had finished seeing to Emma¡¯s horse, and was now working on Clint¡¯s. I hopped off Baron and moved to stand beside Clint in the process.


    ¡°Come, let us discuss matters inside, outside of the chill of the night.¡± He looked at Clint, and then me. ¡°And I can have Clara warm up something for everyone to eat. You¡¯ve been through a lot, and I¡¯m eager to hear it all.¡±


    Emma nodded and followed the man inside. I looked at Clint, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°That¡¯s the mayor of Bison¡¯s Rest,¡± Clint said quietly. ¡°He¡¯s an old friend of Emma¡¯s father. He actually established Bison¡¯s Rest as a way to¡­ get out of the way of Bloody Bill when Emma¡¯s father passed away.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± I looked at the boy, who was stroking Ghost¡¯s mane, whispering softly to the horse as he worked to secure him. ¡°And the boy?¡±


    ¡°The Mayor¡¯s son.¡± Clint said, ¡°and Clara¡¯s the Mayor¡¯s wife. You¡¯ll get proper introductions once were inside. It might take a little though. He¡¯s quite the talker, and any time he gets a chance to chat with Emma, well,¡± he snorted, ¡°you¡¯ll see.¡±


    ¡°Alrighty then,¡± I followed Clint towards the doorway as we continued our discussion. Inside I could hear the mayor and Emma quickly talking back and forth. It was as if we¡¯d been forgotten.


    ¡°He¡¯s good people, if you¡¯re close to him,¡± Clint said softly as we walked up the steps. He kicked his boots against the wood, knocking the dust and dirt clear of them before he stepped inside. ¡°But he¡¯s also a businessman through and through. He¡¯s quick of wit, and has a tongue laced with gold. I¡¯ve always found it¡¯s best to let him an¡¯ Miss Watts do the talking. Else you¡¯ll find yourself telling him secrets you¡¯d not realized you had before the night is done.¡±


    ¡°Emma doesn¡¯t have any normal acquaintances, does she?¡± I asked, half a jest.


    ¡°Unfortunately for us,¡± Clint grinned, ¡°not that I know of. Then again,¡± he continued as I kicked the dust off my own boots, and we finally stepped inside the house. ¡°I¡¯m not sure you can say much on the matter.¡±


    He held my gaze for a moment longer than was comfortable, and I could tell he wanted to say something else. However, he stopped himself, and then turned his back fully on me as he headed towards the sound of Emma and the Mayor¡¯s voices, now joined in with a third voice, Clara, if I had to guess.


    With Clint¡¯s words on my mind, I followed the man into the Mayor¡¯s house, wondering once more if letting the two of them accompany me on my trip northward was really all that wise. Then again, with Emma being the only one I knew of that could teach me what I needed to know to refine my core to the next level, I didn¡¯t have a choice.


    I hated not having choices.

 Chapter 6

    Chapter 6


    It was a good thing we weren¡¯t set to leave the town for another day. Emma and the Mayor stayed up long into the night, and that left Clint and I little opportunity to sneak off and get some rest. Luckily, I didn¡¯t have to speak much, as Emma was quick to keep the conversation between her and the Mayor flowing, and any time he began asking questions about Clint, and me, she diverted.


    That didn¡¯t mean the man didn¡¯t get more than a few little tidbits from us, that I¡¯d preferred to have kept hidden. Most annoyingly, was that he learned I had multiple affinities. Not all four, mind you. That was a secret I still hadn¡¯t told Clint or Emma. Only the Marshal knew that secret, far as I knew. But the Mayor did learn about my ability to use fire and wind mana. And at Emma¡¯s behest, I¡¯d shown him and his family, as if I were some circus animal. I didn¡¯t right appreciate being treated like some strange oddity, but between how tired I was, and Emma¡¯s kind way of asking, well, I¡¯d relented.


    All that aside, once we finally did get to rest, my sleep had been, well, less than restful. My mind raced, as I knew the world was moving in ways I couldn¡¯t control or predict. By now, I knew Holiday would have reached St. Louis with Thomas. Were they moving right along to New York from there? Or did the Marshal have a different place to take the scum that was to be his prime source of evidence to use against Bloody Bill?


    And at the same time, I knew Bloody Bill¡¯s men would be arriving at the remains of Emma¡¯s town today, since I was certain it was well past midnight by the time I finally laid my head down. How long would it take them to get word back to Bloody Bill about what had happened? Would they turn right back around, or would they try and seek out information about what had happened from nearby towns? If that were the case, well, they¡¯d have to travel by foot. Putting them at least five days, if not a full week, away from Bison¡¯s Rest. And that was assuming they even knew the town¡¯s location.


    It wasn¡¯t much of a lead, in the grand scheme of things, but it was one we could ideally keep. The more distance we put between ourselves, and what had happened at Pickam¡¯s Fort, the better. It¡¯d be best if we could disappear into obscurity as we traveled north towards the Dakota¡¯s. I didn¡¯t want the Mountain Man catching word that Pickam¡¯s killer was on his trail, nor did I want any unsavory sorts, including Bloody Bill¡¯s men, searching for the mysterious man who could use two types of mana.


    Past all of that, there was the matter of the Order of the Golden Circle still. I had no idea what resources they had, or what they were even like. Who worked with them, who served them, who reported to them? How would I know if I was crossing paths with one of their sorts? And what would happen if I did? Paranoia did a good job of keeping people alive, but it also wore on the mind something fierce. And thanks to the Marshal¡¯s less than forthcoming bit of information regarding the mysterious organization, I had plenty to be paranoid about.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    My hand found the warm ruby at my neck as I lay in bed, trying push all the thoughts away, and finally get some sleep. Judging by my internal clock, I¡¯d only get a few hours before day was here and we needed to be up and about. Tomorrow, the caravan to Lincoln would leave Bison¡¯s Rest. We had a wagon as part of that caravan, with Emma acting as a traveling merchant, and Clint and I her dutiful wagon guards. We still needed to double-check everything that was packed and sorted though and use our single day at Bison¡¯s Rest before then, to stock up on any other supplies we may need for the trip.


    Traveling with a group, in theory, would help us disappear even more. Yet I couldn¡¯t help but feel irritation at the plan. For one, it meant I¡¯d have little to no proper privacy between now and our arrival at Lincoln. That meant I couldn¡¯t practice the Tempest Shot, nor could I experiment with my other mana types, lest I risk drawing unwanted attention to myself, and the spreading of tales that would damn my efforts to stay hidden.


    Past that, it meant well, dealing with people.  Having spent the last four years since Randal¡¯s death almost constantly alone, I didn¡¯t do well around other people. Sure, I¡¯d frequented towns and Saloons, but only for short trips. Meant to either rest, grab supplies, or track down information. Actually¡­ being a part of a group, for any duration of time that extended more than a day, was uncomfortable for me, to say the least.


    And yet, this caravan would take about ten days to travel the over a hundred miles we needed to Lincoln. Had it just been the three of us, and had we each acquired a second horse, we¡¯d be able to cut that time in half, if not more. However, three people arriving in Lincoln, with obvious signs of intent to travel quickly, was a lot more suspicious than a caravan of traders coming up from Kansas to Nebraska. Much as I hated it, there was logic to the plan.


    But that didn¡¯t mean I had to like it.


    My anger flared for just a moment, as I lamented everything that had happened up until this point. I felt my mana answer, my fingers warming as my flames fought to the surface of my skin. As if in response, the ruby round my neck, still clasped in my hand, warmed as well. I calmed my mind, pushed my fire mana back down, and took a long breath, breathing in mana, pushing it into my core, losing myself in the meditative process of Soul Breathing.


    As my heart calmed, my mind settled, and I drifted off to sleep, the warmth of the ruby against my flesh, still clasped gently in my right hand, a strange comfort, as darkness welcomed me.

 Chapter 7

    Chapter 7


    ¡°Hurry along Mr. Smith.¡± Emma said as we headed towards the staging area for the caravan. It consisted of a good fifteen wagons, most of which had been formed up in a wagon circle outside of town when we¡¯d arrived under the cover of night the day prior. ¡°It¡¯s not proper business to keep people waiting.¡±


    ¡°As if I¡¯m the reason we¡¯re late,¡± I said, shooting a knowing look at Emma. She smiled innocently at me, while Clint chuckled beside us.


    ¡°Mr. Smith has a point,¡± Clint said, shooting me a grin, ¡°I believe it was you, Miss Parker, who insisted on breakfast with the Mayor prior to our departure.¡±


    ¡°Are you implying it is my fault we are running late, Mr. Miller?¡± Emma held her hand over her mouth in mock surprise, ¡°such disrespect from my own hired hands. Surely that¡¯s not how you should treat your employer.¡±


    ¡°You hired me to keep you safe,¡± Clint retorted, ¡°and nowhere in that contract does it say I can¡¯t speak the truth, even if it¡¯s a truth you didn¡¯t want to hear.¡±


    Our voices were louder than normal. Not by much, mind you, but enough that onlookers could hear our conversation, and more importantly, our names. In an effort to keep our identities, and thus our travels and intentions secret, we¡¯d taken on aliases. Well, to be fair, I¡¯d already been  using an aliases, so all that had happened there had been I¡¯d taken on a new one. It wasn¡¯t anything new for me.


    ¡°I hired you and your friend there because I had no other choice. It¡¯s hard enough finding hired hands this far away from anywhere proper, and I was eager to get back to my home in Lincoln, meaning I was desperate for any sort of help.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s on you Miss Parker.¡± Clint said with the tip of his hat. ¡°Just be glad Mr. Smith here agreed to our normal rates for this trip.¡± He¡¯d traded out his union army style attire for a more¡­generic, get up. Meaning he looked like just about every other gun-toting hired muscle in the area, though with finer weapons, of course. Anything to distance himself from his reputation as the Grim Reaper, and as a veteran of the Civil War. As for myself, well, I didn¡¯t really have any predetermined defining features or clothing. At least, not as far as I knew. With a rough beard growing in, unkempt shaggy hair, and otherwise unremarkable features, I was pretty good at blending in. Only thing that stood out about me, was my peacekeepers on my hip, and my New Frontiers strapped across my chest. I looked every bit the part of a hired gun.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure the promise of an easy trip had nothing to do with it,¡± Emma said, turning her smile towards me. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Mr. Smith?¡±


    ¡°John¡¯s fine,¡± I said, playing the part perfectly. ¡°You¡¯re paying me, no need to be polite about it. Sooner we get to Lincoln, the sooner I get paid and we part ways. From here till there,¡± I shrugged, ¡°I¡¯m your man through and through.¡±


    ¡°If you insist, John,¡± her smile reached her eyes. She was enjoying this little charade. ¡°Then I insist you call me Mary.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I couldn¡¯t help but crack a smile in response to that. One of Randal¡¯s earliest lessons about blending in, was to pick names that were common, or more importantly, easily forgettable. Anything unique would stand out, and make people more likely to recall it.


    I couldn¡¯t even count high enough how many John¡¯s I¡¯d run into in my lifetime. Same with Mary¡¯s. And Clint¡¯s alias, well, George Miller was about as boring an forgettable a name as the others. Far as anyone on this caravan would know, and far as anyone in the town knew, save for the Mayor¡¯s family, we were just two hired guns, and a merchant. Nothing special, nothing unique, nothing¡­ memorable.


    Our playful banter continued as we drew closer to the caravan that would be our home and mode of transportation for the next ten days. We had a single wagon, and it was much different from the horse drawn carriage Emma had used back in her town.


    Commonly referred to as a Prairie Schooner, our wagon, which I knew was ours on account of Baron, Ghost staked next to it, had the telltale white canvas cover that practically all covered wagons used. The wagon itself was painted a distinct blue, with large wheels painted red. A team of horses was attached to it, courtesy of the Mayor. Once we arrived in Lincoln, we were to drop our wagon, and horse team off, along with a letter, to a friend of the Mayor¡¯s. That friend would see to it the wagon was returned back to Bison¡¯s Rest, filled with goods and supplies that the Mayor needed procured from Lincoln.


    Normally, I knew these prairie schooner¡¯s served as decent transport wagons, as well as common farm wagons. Settlers heading out West on the Oregon trail had used em quite a bit far as I knew, and they were easily some of the most recognizable wagons in existence. Ours, about ten feet long, was filled with some additional goods we were transporting to Lincoln for the Mayor, along with the supplies Emma had procured for this leg of the trip. Mainly, clothes, weapons, food, and of course, money and bank notes and the likes we¡¯d need to use before beginning our journey from Lincoln to the Black Hills.


    More importantly though, was the fact that our wagon had room within for us to sit, away from prying eyes. Part of our plans for these next ten days, after all, involved Emma teaching me how to refine my core. Not wanting to draw attention to us, that meant we¡¯d be doing it outside of eye and earshot of others. While Clint drove the wagon, we¡¯d spend some of our time within.


    My fingers itched as I looked over the wagon, and the hustle and bustle all around us. Soon, I¡¯d get to finally resume my training. Soon, I¡¯d get to take the next step forward, in growing stronger. Once we hit embarked on our journey, once the caravan pulled away from Bison¡¯s Rest, and headed ¡®cross the plains northwards towards Lincoln, I¡¯d learn the secrets of how to refine my core from its base level of iron, to copper. It was a single, small step, but I had no doubt it would be monumental. I licked my lips, imagining just how much stronger I¡¯d be, once I refined my core. And, imagining past that, a future where my core was refined even further. If Emma¡¯s core, compared to the Marshal¡¯s, was any indicator¡­ if I could push my core to Gold, just like Holiday¡¯s, then truly, surely, there wouldn¡¯t be a single man alive who could stand against me.


    The government, society, those who held power and made the laws, kept this knowledge secret. They kept the path towards power hidden, ensured only those beholden to them, or willing to pay exorbitant prices, could climb the steps of power, of privilege, with the knowledge of core refinement.


    I would uncover these secrets. I would grow stronger. And I would master all I could with regards to cultivating my core, to ensure no one, be it man, government, or secret organization, could keep me from my goals.


    The world had taken enough from me. It was my turn to take, and my quest for vengeance had made me greedy for power.

 Chapter 8

    Chapter 8


    It took roughly another hour before the caravan was ready to head out. The lead wagon belonged to a man who dealt in bison. The man, one Walter P. Gray, actually had three wagons in the Caravan. The first was his own personal carriage, an ostentatious Concord Coach. I knew of them by reputation alone, as they were known for their extravagant price. A single Concord Coach, red painted with yellow wheels, sporting the smoothest ride you could expect, came in at over 1,000 dollars. It was something the wealthy used to flaunt their money.


    Behind his Coach came the source of his wealth. Two Conestoga wagons. The massive wagons, with their low canvas covers, each hooked up to six horses, could carry up to six tons a piece. Each of his wagons was loaded to the brim with bison pelts and tongues. Mr. Gray was a hunter of the worst kind, in my opinion. He and his crew of five other hunters, profited off the bison that roamed the plains. The massive beasts were about the simplest thing to kill in the freaking world. You gun one down, and the herd would circle to the fallen bison. You could keep that going for a good bit, if you killed em fast enough, before the herd even thought to stampede. A few men, if they were skilled enough with their mana to create rounds strong enough to pierce the thick bones and hide of a bison, could take down probably close to a hundred without any issue in a single go.


    The pelts, thick, heavy things, sold for a good bit of money, at over 3 dollars per hide. Add on another .25 cents per tongue, and it was no question where Mr. Gray got his money. I wasn¡¯t the quickest when it came to math, but judging by the way the wheels creaked on those wagons, and the horses heaved initially to get them a going, he had a fortune alone on those two wagons.


    Mr. Gray and his crew, being the lead of the caravan, and arguably transporting the largest sum of goods value wise, were the ones in charge with getting everything going. And the man took his sweet time getting everything going. I¡¯d watched him, with more than a little distaste, as he finally joined the caravan. Coming from Bison¡¯s Rest, smelling more than a little of liquor, he swaggered past each and every wagon, eying passengers, pedestrians, and hired guns alike, with an air of arrogance.


    He was in his thirties, best I could tell, with black hair slicked back with pomade, and a clean-shaven face. His clothes were of the finest make, and he wore a heavy coat made of bison fur around his shoulders, even though the temperature was nowhere near cold enough to necessitate such a thing. At his side, for surely no reason other than because he could, he wore a calvary saber. Did he fancy himself a military officer? I had no idea, but the weapon was completely pointless, and I had to wonder if he even knew how to use the weapon.


    Around his waist, across from his pointless saber, was a revolver. A black barrel, and black grip to go with it, while still maintaining a shape I recognized, gave me a hit to what it was. If I had to guess, he wore a Colt, similar to my Peacemakers. However, I was pretty sure his was the double action, a .41 caliber if I had to guess. A Thunderer, with the image of a bucking bronco plastered into the grip.


    Neither sword, nor revolver, were much to take note of though. Sure, the sword was a¡­ statement, and his revolver had a decent amount of intricacies added to it to attest his wealth, but it was his rifle that not only made the loudest claim to his wealth, on his person mind you, and also, his profession.


    A cherry red, with almost all the metal portions, from barrel to trigger guard, to even the hammer and ornate baseplate replaced with soul silver and trimmed in gold, Mr. Gray¡¯s rifle was a piece of art that put even Clint¡¯s rifle to shame. The weapon itself, a Sharps Model 1874 Rifle, known as Old Reliable, was well known as being the preferred weapon of bison hunters. The thicker barrel allowed for larger mana bullets to be formed, roughly sizing in at .50 caliber rounds. The heavy barrels, and the mana rounds formed within, allowed for long range, powerful shots that worked perfectly against bison. A beauty of a weapon, and at the same time, I couldn¡¯t help but shake my head at the pointless display of wealth.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Mr. Gray¡¯s core, an emerald green denoting an earth affinity, far as my eyes could see, was perhaps just a tad larger than Emma¡¯s. So, either he simply had a healthy amount of natural mana affinity, like Clint or me, or he had refined his core to that of copper. Either way, I wasn¡¯t impressed. In a gunfight, he¡¯d be easy to deal with. ¡®Specially since his prey of choice was large, stationary targets that didn¡¯t fight back. He seemed the type, far as I was concerned, to hide and let others do the fighting if any trouble ever came his way. Which was probably what his other hunting buddies were for.


    Mr. Gray was the money, and the lead when it came to bison hunting, that much was clear. And I had no doubt he could easily take down more bison than the rest of his compatriots. But the others of his party, mostly fire and wind mana users, all seemed a bit more practical minded, by the way they caried themselves. None had cores as bright or large as Mr. Gray¡¯s, but they all wore twin pairs of six-shooters, and seemed a little rougher round the edges, meaning they were likely more experienced in the ways of¡­ well¡­ actual gunslinging.


    All of this I thought as Mr. Gray rode past our carriage, and continued on towards his, to finally get the damn caravan moving. All of this I thought, as my displeasure and disgust for the man grew, as he put on his show. And all of this, no doubt, showed on my face, as I leaned against our wagon, casually smoking my pipe, as I stared down Mr. Gray as he passed me. The man made no attempt to hide the way he leered at Emma. And I made no attempt to hide the way my eyes blazed towards him. By the way he looked at me, and the scowl that crossed his face as he took in my appearance, before his eyes lingered on my Peacemakers, I had no doubt, he¡¯d be some sort of special annoyance before this trip was done.


    But, at the same time, I didn¡¯t care. Because right here and now, even if he¡¯d not looked at Emma in such a way, the man was causing me problems. After all, he was keeping me from something I cared greatly about in the world. Mr. Gray was keeping me from getting stronger. And that, by itself, was a punishable offence.


    ¡°If looks could kill,¡± Clint said with a chuckle as he looked down at me, once Mr. Gray had left earshot, ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure that man would have died a couple times over just now.¡±


    ¡°If looks could kill,¡± I said between the pipe in my teeth, ¡°that man¡¯s ugly face would likely have killed every woman he¡¯s ever looked at.¡±


    Clint chuckled, and I let the man act like I¡¯d not noticed his own gaze towards Mr. Gray when the man had eyed Emma. If anyone¡¯s look would have caused death, it was his. The bison hunter may not have known it then and there, but he¡¯d just put himself in the crosshairs of the grim reaper himself. Meaning, for the next ten days, he¡¯d need to be very, very careful, about how he stepped ¡®round Clint, Emma, and I.


    Did I think Clint would kill the man merely for eyeing Emma in a lewd way? Actually¡­ probably. At the same time, did I think a man dressed the way Mr. Gray was, who flaunted his wealth in such a manner, would do something stupid enough to get himself gunned down in the next ten days¡­ well, that was a probably as well.


    Meaning, the real question, with regards to the trip to Lincoln, came down to¡­ just how long before Mr. Gray did something stupid enough to get himself killed. And that question was truly the one I didn¡¯t have an answer to. Nor, as the caravan finally started to leave Bison¡¯s rest, did I care.


    ¡°It¡¯s time, Mr. Smith,¡± Emma said as our wagon lurched forward, the horses expertly driven by Clint. I grabbed the side of the wagon and half leapt- half pulled myself upwards. With my strength, it was an easy task, and I was quickly within the cabin.


    ¡°Say no more, Mary,¡± I said, taking a seat across from her. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±

 Chapter 9

    Chapter 9


    ¡°Before I can instruct you on how to refine your core,¡± Emma began, ¡°I need to know what exactly you know everything you already know with regards to your core and mana.¡±


    I grit my teeth in frustration, wanting to get on with the damn lesson already, but after a moment, decided to oblige. Emma had the upper hand here, and I knew, if she was going to teach me, I should do as she asked. Still, I¡¯d already waited so long for this, that now that it was so close, every little extra delay stung more and more.


    ¡°Every person is born with an affinity for mana,¡± I said slowly, recalling everything Randal had taught me. ¡°By the age of eight, a person¡¯s mana affinity manifests within them, and their core is created. At this point, a person can begin Soul-Breathing, that is, drawing in the mana of the world around them, and storing it within themselves.¡±


    Emma nodded and motioned for me to continue.


    ¡°When a person Soul-Breathes,¡± I said, watching Emma as I spoke, ¡°the mana they draw into their core is at its strongest. However, at the same time, it is also the hardest to use, to impose our wills upon, and to create, well, anything with. The longer mana has been within our bodies, the more pliable it becomes.¡±


    ¡°Elaborate.¡± Emma said simply.


    ¡°Elaborate?¡± I asked, somewhat dumbfounded. That was pretty straight forward. It was one of the first things Randal had taught me.


    ¡°What do you mean when you say it¡¯s the strongest? Elaborate, on the difference in the mana you speak of.¡± Emma had an air to her. In another life, I¡¯m sure she could have been a strict, teacher. Right now, it just irritated me.


    ¡°It¡¯s stronger,¡± I said, raising my hands in frustration. ¡°If I use mana that I¡¯ve freshly taken into my core through Soul-Breathing to craft a fire round, it¡¯s going to burn hotter, than if I use mana that¡¯s been in my core for a couple of days. However, it takes a lot more willpower to craft that brand new mana into a fire bullet, while mana that¡¯s been in my body for a prolonged period of time, answers my call almost instantaneously.¡±


    ¡°Almost like it¡¯s a part of you?¡± Emma asked with a slightly raised eyebrow.


    ¡°Well, yeah,¡± I said. Where was she going with this. ¡°But that¡¯s a no brainer, ain¡¯t it? The mana is a part of us.¡±


    She smiled, and I felt like I¡¯d just walked into her trap. She shook her head slightly, before beginning to speak. ¡°The way I was taught, the way to use mana, to refine it, to grow our grows, and climb past the most basic of cores, that is, an iron core, is called cultivation.¡±


    ¡°Cultivation?¡± I¡¯d never heard the term before. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s partly what you¡¯ve been doing. What you were just describing. It means taking something, and growing it over time.¡±


    ¡°Is that some special government secret word for it?¡±


    ¡°The word itself isn¡¯t special, no. Cultivation is a term often used in farming.¡± She eyed me, ¡°you really didn¡¯t receive much of a proper education, did you?¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I felt tense, suddenly defensive. ¡°It¡¯s hard to get a proper education when you¡¯re constantly on the run for your life.¡± Flames licked my fingers, ¡°sorry I didn¡¯t have the luxury to sit in school and learn.¡±


    She eyed my flames, and made a clicking sound with her tongue. As quickly as my anger flared, it subsided. I felt guilty, as she watched me cooly, giving me time to collect my emotions. I knew my anger was misplaced. I wasn¡¯t mad at her. I was mad at myself. Mad at my life. Mad at the world in general. Besides, I knew of all the people I should get mad at, Emma wasn¡¯t one of them.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I grumbled, ¡°I, I didn¡¯t mean that. I know you¡¯ve had a hard life too.¡± I hadn¡¯t had the pleasure of learning about her life, especially her childhood. However, considering what I knew about her mother, and how she¡¯d died, and then how Emma¡¯s father had been potentially murdered by her uncle¡­ well those facts alone spoke of a life that wasn¡¯t easy. And that was before she¡¯d just had to burn the last thing her father had given her, before heading on the run, with me.


    ¡°Apology accepted,¡± she said curtly, ¡°and I suppose I should apologize for my words. I know you¡¯ve had a rough life Mr. Jones, and I am not trying to be insensitive, nor pry unnecessarily. I was merely making an observation. The more I know about your education, and your life experiences, the better I can try and teach you, after all.¡±


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s just say, my life¡¯s been a rough one.¡± I laughed, but it was a dry, hollow sound. ¡°My parents were murdered when I was eight, and since then I was on the run with my mentor, Randal. He died when I was fourteen, and since then, well, you know the rest.¡±


    ¡°What about before your parents died?¡± She asked, ¡°did you receive any education then? What type of family did you come from?¡±


    My lips pursed, as I eyed Emma. How much should I tell her? How much could I tell her? Had she done enough to earn my full trust? Considering Holiday knew my truth, it was only a matter of time before others learned it as well. And yet, even though my parents murder was a decade ago, the time before then¡­ it felt distant, hazy. More a dream than real life.


    ¡°My family was well enough when I was a kid,¡± I said, deciding to give her a few truths, without overly revealing my hand. ¡°I learned to read and write, learned etiquette and proper customs and courtesies for certain aspects of society.¡±


    ¡°I find the latter hard to believe,¡± she said with a coy smile, ¡°either that, or you were quick to forget those teachings. A refined individual is now how I¡¯d describe you, Mr. Jones.¡±


    It was my turn to grin. I took my hat off my had and held it against my chest, bowing my head slightly towards her. ¡°My apologies lady,¡± I said, trying my best to remember my mother¡¯s lessons from a lifetime ago. ¡°I pray my previous actions will not cause one of such a standing as yours to lower her opinion of me. I am but a humble man, blessed indeed to be in the presence of a woman as elegant and sophisticated as you.¡±


    I looked up as I finished speaking, but my hand froze before it could put my hat back atop my head. Emma¡¯s face was a mix of emotions, and I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if I¡¯d overstepped somehow. My mother had always claimed the appropriate way to interact, in proper society, with a woman of class was with polite words, and sincere compliments. Though, I¡¯d never attempted such things in my life, and I had no idea if I¡¯d done something wrong. Being a gunslinger, hunting down low life¡¯s, and spending most of my time alone meant I¡¯d had little need for such things.


    ¡°Let¡¯s,¡± Emma said after another moment of silence, a slight pink in her cheeks fading as she continued, ¡°let¡¯s continue with the lessons proper, shall we?¡± She fixed her lips into a smile again, as she fixed her gaze on me. ¡°And, how about you stick to acting how you¡¯ve always done around me? I¡¯ve decided hearing you speak and act in such a way as you just did, is, too¡­¡± she paused, as if searching for the right words, ¡°unnecessary, for our relationship.¡±


    ¡°Fine by me,¡± I said, ¡°talking pretty was never something I much fancied. However,¡± it was my turn to grin, ¡°are you sure? After all, you said part of what you were going to teach me, was proper etiquette on how I should act as a bodyguard to one of your station.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ve decided for now, we¡¯ll put those lessons on hold.¡± She fixed her gaze on, her hands folding calmly atop her lap. ¡°Now then, back to cultivation.¡±

 Chapter 10

    Chapter 10


    ¡°When the term cultivation is used to refer to people and their mana, it involves the act of Soul-Breathing, and past that, the addition of mana to our cores, and our very being.¡± Emma clenched her fist, and then unclenched it. ¡°When we Soul-Breathe, we are actively drawing in mana and storing it within ourselves.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I said, ain¡¯t it?¡± I asked, confused by where she was going with this. ¡°When we Soul-Breathe, we take in the mana from the air and make it our own.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and no. It¡¯s not instantaneous. The mana doesn¡¯t instantly become a part of you, even though its within your core.¡± She paused, thinking. ¡°When I was taught, they told us the process was similar to creating bread. Your body is the mixing bowl. Your core contains everything needed to make the bread, save for one very important thing. The water. Each time you Soul-Breathe, you¡¯re drawing in water, adding it to the mix. However, until everything¡¯s been stirred together, and given the proper time to mix, to combine, and then bake, you don¡¯t get bread.¡± She let out a laugh as she looked at me, ¡°don¡¯t give me that look either. They taught us girls separately from the guys. Only analogies they ever gave us were cooking sorts, for proper ladies.¡±


    ¡°Bet your teachers would be surprised to know that Clint¡¯s the one who does all the cooking then.¡± I laughed, ¡°you know, when Clint was teaching me, he used a tobacco pipe, and clay.¡±


    ¡°Whatever helps visualize and better understand the process works for teaching.¡± She shrugged, ¡°everyone learns differently. And I¡¯m sure there are better explanations about cultivation than baking bread. But, I¡¯m sure you get where I was going with it. When its first in your core, its just water. It¡¯s pure mana. It takes time for it to properly mix within your body, and become an actual part of your core.¡±


    ¡°And yet, from the moment it enters my body, I can use it?¡± I thought about that for a second, ¡°so, the mana doesn¡¯t have to be a part of my core, in order to be able to use it.¡±


    ¡°As long as its inside of you, you can use it. Just, as you yourself observed, fresh mana isn¡¯t easy to use until it¡¯s properly mixed. Same as the water in a mixing bowl. It¡¯s there, and it can start to blend with the flour. But until it¡¯s been properly mixed in, getting it to do anything substantial takes a whole lot more work.¡±


    I thought about, my mind working through what she¡¯d just been said, and past it, the implications. Most importantly, my mind was drifting back to the stories Randal told me about his time among the indigenous people. The stories about what they¡¯d been able to do. I looked down at my hand, and willed the fire mana forth once more, watching the flames flicker to life across my fingers. Emma watched me, the light of my flames reflected in her eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re thinking about something,¡± she said after a moment.


    I closed my hand, and the flames dissipated. ¡°Just thinking.¡± I said, ¡°but it¡¯s something that can wait. For now, let¡¯s get back to cultivation. I need to know how to refine my core. The sooner I reach Copper, the better.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll get there, but as I told you, it¡¯s going to take time.¡± She held her hand to her stomach. ¡°Soul-Breathing, taking in mana, adding it to your core, and mixing it together until it¡¯s become a part of you, is the first step in refining your core. You take raw mana, you draw it into yourself, and with the mana mixing within you, you create something more. You grow stronger, faster, more powerful. However,¡± she looked at me, ¡°everyone¡¯s cores have a natural limit. Without the proper refining technique, without proper cultivation, every person has an innate limit to how much mana they can take within themselves, and harness, and effectively use, before they plateau.¡±


    ¡°According to the government,¡± I said, somewhat snidely. Emma wasn¡¯t a see-er. She couldn¡¯t see cores like I could, like Holiday could.¡±


    ¡°I know you distrust the government, and I¡¯ve no reason to fully trust them. But that lesson seemed pretty straight forward. And it makes sense too, when you think about how the government handles schooling individuals. There¡¯s a prime range for when people can learn, and grow, their cores. Those who can make it to Copper, far outweigh those who can make it past that. Do you really think, with your cynical view of the government, that they¡¯d purposefully lie and miss out on a chance to have as many powerful people in their service as possible.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    She had me there. Ninety percent of all Marshal¡¯s were in the Copper range. Gold individuals like Holiday made up the top 3percent of all US Marshal¡¯s. I had no doubt if the government could, they¡¯d spare no expense or effort in maximizing their strength. After all, an army of Holiday¡¯s would surely be able keep everyone in line with no problem. Especially considering they kept the knowledge of how to refine your core and grow into the next levels of power secret. So, in that way at least, Emma had a point. There was no reason to lie. Meaning, either I was special, or I had done something that hadn¡¯t been done before.


    Knowing my curse, it was probably a mixture of both. Still, if I was special, so be it. I was done running from my power. I would take every extra advantage I had, to ensure I had the power to avenge Randal.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I said, feeling Emma¡¯s gaze on me, ¡°let¡¯s move past that. So Soul-Breathing is the first part of this cultivation process. And we both know I¡¯ve got that down. How does this tie into refining my core? What¡¯s the next step, in proper cultivation?¡± I paused, my mind grasping an additional thing she¡¯d said, ¡°and wait. This process makes people stronger and faster? Is that why¡­¡±


    ¡°Why you¡¯re as tough as you are?¡± she asked with a grin. ¡°It is indeed. Even without being able to see your core, it¡¯s no secret, for those in the know, that you¡¯ve a good bit of mana. You and Clint both. Your cores may be Iron but going off just how strong and resilient and stubborn you are, I¡¯ve no doubt you¡¯ve quite a bit of mana at your disposal. Though,¡± she smiled coyly, ¡°considering your dual affinity, I¡¯m not surprised.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± I wondered at that. Would I get even stronger then, when I refined my core? And how strong was Holiday than, with his core at Gold? Perhaps that had been part of why he¡¯d been able to survive essentially unscathed during our assault on the fort. Everything I was learning just filled me with more questions, and anger. Pickam and the others had stolen so much from me. How much would Randal have taught me? How many secrets would he have shown me. How strong could I have been by now; had he not been killed back then?


    ¡°Huh indeed Mr. Jones.¡± Emma laughed. ¡°As for your question, Soul-Breathing involves drawing in raw mana, and mixing it into your core. You then infuse that mana throughout your body, and slowly and surely, push your core to its limit. In order to refine your core though, and grow to copper, you¡¯ve got to do even more. It¡¯s not a manner of simply drawing in as much mana as you can. Nor of focusing on your core, and wishing yourself stronger.¡±


    ¡°So what is it¡± I asked expectantly. ¡°What do I have to do?¡±


    ¡°You have to Soul-Breathe to a degree that your very core is filled with nothing but pure, fresh, raw mana. You have to focus on pushing every ounce of mana you can through your core, through your pores and body, until it¡¯s completely filled with the purest forms of mana.¡±


    I grimaced. That would take a while. I was constantly Soul-Breathing as a habit, working to ensure I had proper ranges of fresh mana for stronger mana bullets, as well as older mana that could be used to craft rounds on the fly, or more intricate bullets. Replacing everything in my body with just pure mana¡­ would severely impact my abilities as a gunslinger. And beyond that¡­ how long would it take, to fill my body like that?


    ¡°So, to go back to your baking example, I¡¯ve got to flood the bowl with water?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes, but that¡¯s just the first step.¡± She said softly. ¡°That¡¯s the easy step.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, that¡¯s just the easy step?¡± I asked, not liking her tone.


    ¡°Once you¡¯ve flooded the bowl, as you put it,¡± she said, her voice going soft, ¡°you have to compress every single bit of the mana within your body, until it forms a new core within you. All while still Soul-Breathing, still drawing in new mana. The process is slow, it is painful, and in some cases, its fatal.¡±


    I let out a heavy sigh. ¡°Of course it is.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Nothing in my life is ever simple or easy.¡± I chuckled dryly. ¡°Is there anything else I need to know, before I start this process?¡±


    Emma looked at me, and I could see fear in her eyes. Uncertainty. Hesitation.


    ¡°Out with it.¡± I said softly, ¡°I can tell there¡¯s more.¡±


    ¡°Once you start the process,¡± she began slowly, ¡°you can¡¯t stop. The moment you begin compressing all of the pure mana within your body¡­ the moment you start forming your new core, your old core will shatter. If you can¡¯t ascend to copper, you¡¯ll be stuck in iron forever, and your ability to use mana will be greatly reduced.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± another heavy sigh, ¡°fuck.¡±

 Chapter 11

    Chapter 11


    As much as I hated my curse, my damned impossibility affinity for all four types, that didn¡¯t mean I hated my mana. In fact, I loved how much mana I had. It was my strength. For all the pain and suffering the curse brought me, the silver lining, if there was to be one, was the impressive amount of mana I had at my disposal. The fact my very core encompassed my entire being, as confirmed by Holiday, had been even more eye opening to just how crazy the amount of mana I had was. Now though, once again, I couldn¡¯t help but curse. What I¡¯d counted as a blessing, the one thing I¡¯d been okay with regarding the mana within me, was now an obstacle to overcome.


    I had no doubt, for most of the normal folk out there, with pitifully dim cores, that pushing out all of their mana, replacing everything with raw, pure mana, would be no problem. Hell, they¡¯d probably be able to accomplish that task in a few hours, even if they were inept when it came to soul breathing.


    It was one thing, to replace a quarters worth of mana. It was one thing, even, to fill yourself with a dinner plate worth of raw, fresh, powerful mana. It was a whole different thing, to try and fill yourself, from head to fucking toe, with fresh mana, while at the same time apparently needing to prevent any of the new mana from becoming absorbed, and fused, within my core.


    In short¡­ as seemed to be the damned nature of my very existence, I was special. And that ¡®special¡¯ bullshit, just meant I had to work that much harder, and struggle that much more, to accomplish what in the grand scheme of things, seemed like such a minor thing now. Ninety-fucking-percent of all Marshal¡¯s had Copper Cores. It wasn¡¯t some impossible task. It was something they had all managed between the ages of 16 to 18. And yet, here I was, product of fate¡¯s cruel, twisted since of humor, putting my life on the line, risking all the power I currently wielded, to simply get to the level of 90 percent of all Marshal¡¯s.


    I shuddered, and cursed, to think about what it would take for my core to reach Gold. What mountain would I have to climb, to get my core to the same level as Holiday? I didn¡¯t have any proof, any evidence, that it would be worth it. And yet, I already knew, deep within myself, that I¡¯d not stop pushing for power. My life had been one stubborn footstep forward after another. And I¡¯d be damned if I¡¯d let anything like despair or a pity party stop me from gaining the power I needed to accomplish my goals. I¡¯d see Randal¡¯s murderers brought to justice at the end of the smoking barrels of my Peacekeepers¡­ his Peacekeepers. And short of death itself, nothing would stand in my way.


    My other point in lamentation as I settled in for what was no doubt going to take me at least a week, if not more, was exactly that fact. If we weren¡¯t traveling with a large group of strangers, then maybe, just maybe, I¡¯d be able to accelerate the process. A single Tempest Shot could completely drain my wind mana from my body after all. Which would then leave me needing to only exhaust the other three types of mana. And with a couple sticks of dynamite, and a whole lot of patience, I¡¯d be able to effectively drain the others.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    However, that plan, I already knew, which also caused my mood to sour, wasn¡¯t really viable. For one, it was reckless. Who knew how much damage a full blast Tempest shot from me would cause. And no matter what direction I fired it in, if I allowed it to pull every last drop of wind mana from my core, I had no doubt it would draw unwanted attention. Not to mention, that much mana, expended that quickly, would frankly leave my body feeling like it¡¯d been dragged through town by the ankles behind a carriage. Just because I was tough, didn¡¯t mean I was keen to put myself through the wringer all willy nilly.


    Along with that, emptying my body completely of mana would leave me extremely weak. I didn¡¯t like that fact. Even with Emma and Clint by my side, I didn¡¯t like the idea of being helpless. Mana made me feel alive. It strengthened me, as Emma said, and in fact, a part of me had known that to a degree all along. It was like eating a hearty meal before heading out for the day. Whenever I brought in new mana to my core, whenever it fused with my core and became a part of me, it energized me. The more mana I expended in any given time, the more I decreased my reserve of mana within my core, the more lethargic I¡¯d become. Its why I always tried to avoid drawn out gunfights or confrontations. The longer they went on, the more rounds I formed and fired out, the more sluggish my limbs would feel, and the slower my mind would work.


    Because of all of these things, after more than a little grumbling, accompanied by some sharp words and chiding from Emma, it was decided there was only one appropriate way to go about the refinement of my core. I would Soul-Breathe every waking hour, and slowly, but surely, push out all of the old mana within my body. While I focused on pushing the old mana out, imagining it seeping from my skin, dissipating back into the air, I¡¯d also have to focus on the new mana coming in. Focus on isolating it, in the very center of my being, and using every ounce of force I could, to keep it from integrating into my core, which would only slow my process anymore.


    That last bit of the process was the part that made the whole thing a waking nightmare. It was like asking my lungs to breath in, but not actually take in any air. How do you add water to a damned mixing bowl, and keep it from mixing with the ingredients? Even if I wasn¡¯t ¡®stirring¡¯ it all together, a bit of the ingredients would mix. Meaning, all the while I added in the water, I¡¯d have to actively keep scooping out the pieces that merged and combined within my core.


    Another heavy sigh, as I visualized my entire core. All four colors ran through my body, swirling and shifting in a mesmerizing way, like oil slicked water. I took a deep breath, and ¡®saw¡¯ the bright, fresh mana filling my lungs, seeping into my very center. I focused on it, pushed all of my will into it, and grunted. I took that first, small kernel of raw, pure mana, and isolated it. No bigger than a grain of sand, it was a start. I breathed out, splitting my focus as I pushed some of the old mana from my body. Thinner than a sheet of paper to my imagination, it flaked off like dead skin.


    The moment that thought ran through my mind, my attention on the kernel of mana broke, and I noticed it flicker. With a curse, and a growl, I redoubled my effort. If there was a god out there¡­ he had a cruel sense of humor. Because this task, I thought as I breathed in once more, was just as, if not even more, impossible than my damned existence.


    If the Marshal¡¯s can do it, I told myself, as I tried to push everything else from my mind, using sheer determination and frustration to fuel my efforts, then so can I.

 Chapter 12

    Chapter 12


    The first day I took a grain of sand and grew it to the size of a quarter. During that time, all of my focus, all my effort, was spent focused solely on the task at hand. By the second day, I¡¯d become more accustomed to the job at hand. My experiences over the past four years, my Soul-Breathing day in and day out, making me especially familiar with the process. It was second nature, like, well, breathing. And because of that, as I worked out the process, as I mentally started the cultivation process, I quickly adapted to it. By the end of the second day, I¡¯d taken that quarter, and grew it to the size of a dinner plate.


    Some progress was lost each night while I slept, but that couldn¡¯t be helped. I had a feeling, for those who had the luxury of doing this process when they were sixteen, with barely any mana in their cores, this was something they could do in a day. Sleeping wasn¡¯t a worry. But for me, it just meant each morning, I had to cover lost ground.


    Even though we were in a wagon train, meaning at night we circled the wagon, Clint and I still traded off watch. I had no qualms with this, as it meant I could spend even longer working on my mana, working to push out the old, and draw in and isolate the raw mana of the world. By the time I did lay down to rest each night, I was so exhausted, mentally and physically, that I didn¡¯t dream. It¡­ was pure bliss.


    Of course, all good things must come to an end. And fate always seemed to have a special place in its bullshit for me. Two days of uninterrupted progress was too much of a blessing for me.


    ¡°The hell we stopping for?¡± I asked from within the wagon. We¡¯d only just begun traveling perhaps an hour ago, meaning it was much too soon to be halting. I opened my eyes and looked out toward the rest of the wagons. Clint held the leads in one hand for the horses, while his other hand held a scope up to his eye. Typically, each wagon group traveled roughly a quarter mile apart from the other. And considering we were near the back; it was hard to see what the lead wagons were up to with the naked eye.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say for certain,¡± Clint said as he lowered the brass tube from his face, ¡°but I¡¯ve a feeling we¡¯ll know soon enough.¡± He motioned in the distance, and I could see dirt kicking up, the telltale sign of horses riding towards us.


    ¡°I hope it¡¯s nothing too dire,¡± Emma said, not even bothering to glance up from the book she was reading. ¡°I¡¯d prefer to get to Lincoln sooner, rather than later, after all.¡± She turned the page, the dark cover of the book embossed with golden lettering. The name, Mark Twain, stood out to me, and I had to wonder just how much she¡¯d spent on such a thing. Books, well, weren¡¯t the most common thing for people to carry round.


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    ¡°There hadn¡¯t been any word of warbands between Bison¡¯s Rest and Lincoln,¡± Clint said, as he watched the approaching dust cloud. ¡°And last I¡¯d heard, there was supposed to be an outpost somewhere along this route with some army soldiers stationed at it, to keep an eye on any potential dangers towards travelers.¡±


    ¡°An outpost of soldiers?¡± I asked. For a second my concentration slipped, and I cursed as a small bit of the mana from my last deep breath seeped out of its confinement. I¡¯d gotten the hang of the process, sure, but I was nowhere near a master at the damned thing. ¡°Why didn¡¯t they come down and help with Pickam?¡±


    Clint offered me a smile that told me all I needed to know. ¡°Wasn¡¯t worth their time, eh?¡± I concluded, and he nodded.


    ¡°They¡¯re stationed to keep trade open from Bison¡¯s Rest to Lincoln. Seems Lincoln has been growing quite a bit over the past few years, and the government¡¯s keen to keep it going that way. Considering its namesake, do you blame em?¡±


    Lincoln was named after the late President Abraham Lincoln. The man who¡¯d stood taller than others, and who¡¯d led the Union Army to victory, freed the slaves, and so on and so forth. I¡¯d heard tales of him, sure, but what really spread about him, was his death. Assassinated by a Confederate Sympathizer according to the press. I¡¯d been young when it happened and remembered my parents talking about it. However, that was all it was, a faint memory.


    ¡°Did you ever meet him?¡± Emma asked, folding over the top corner of the page of her book, before she closed it shut. ¡°During your time in the Army?¡±


    ¡°Never personally,¡± Clint said with a shake of his head. ¡°Only saw him on a few occasions in passing. Man that tall, who made a habit of dressing in a way to seem even taller. He was a giant among most all, and unshakable to boot. Heard whispers he wasn¡¯t the sort you wanted to mess with either. Tough as stone he was, and strong as an ox.¡± Clint rubbed his chin, ¡°I wonder if he was stronger than Holiday.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t matter how strong you are,¡± I said casually, noting the dust cloud was nearly upon us. The riders had been stopping briefly at each wagon, likely to pass on whatever it was that had stopped the wagon train, before riding to the next, ¡°a single bullet and a moment of surprise will kill anyone all the same.¡±


    As I said the words, my memory flashed back to Randal¡¯s death. I felt the heat on the back of my flesh from Pickam¡¯s attack, the shot blocked by a wall of stone Randal had created in order to save me. Had he not done that, had he focused on himself, and not me¡­ would that night have gone differently?


    I cursed again as more of my precious, raw mana seeped into my core. By my estimations, if I continued making progress as I had been, I¡¯d be ready to attempt to refine my core to copper in two or three days. Disasters, or lapses in mental concentration, excluded of course.


    ¡°We¡¯re all human.¡± Clint said in agreement, ¡°and in the end, we¡¯re all bound to die.¡± His voice was solemn, and his eyes distant. I wondered if he was imagining the soldiers he¡¯d fought alongside. The one¡¯s he¡¯d seen die.


    ¡°Which is why we need not dwell on such dark things,¡± Emma said, drawing our attention to her. She smiled and motioned towards the approaching riders. ¡°Now, Mr. Smith, Mr. Miller¡± Emma switched back to our aliases. Whenever we even close to being within earshot of others, we used them. ¡°Let¡¯s see what¡¯s so important Mr. Grey has decided to delay our travels.¡±

 Chapter 13

    Chapter 13


    The riders were, as I¡¯d expected, two of Grayson¡¯s men. A quick glance showed me they were the two weakest members of his little hunting party, and if I had to guess, that was part of the reason why they¡¯d been sent to be the messenger boys. Even still, as they spoke, I couldn¡¯t help but feel my fingers itch. I know you weren¡¯t supposed to shoot the messenger¡­ but stupidity had to be an exception.


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me,¡± Clint said in a slow, steady drawl, his eyes fixed on the two gunslingers. ¡°That he¡¯s expecting everyone to just accept he¡¯s delaying our travels for a little hunting trip?¡± The two messengers shared uneasy glances. They may not know who he was, but they could tell, even without being able to see his core, that he was dangerous.


    ¡°Well,¡± the first said, looking past Clit, towards Emma. He took his hat off his head and held it against his chest, at least appearing apologetic, ¡°the herd was spotted in the way of our path. And Mr. Grayson is offering to split some of the value from the sales to the caravan. Even more so to those who decided to help with the hunt as well.¡±


    I snorted at his use of the word hunt. Shooting  a herd of docile bison in the middle of the road wasn¡¯t what I¡¯d call a hunt. It was as far from a hunt as I would consider it actually. What I was on, my quest to take down those fools who¡¯d killed Randal and crossed me. That¡¯s what a hunt was. A foe that was dangerous, could fight back.


    ¡°Course if you¡¯ve not the strength to take down a bison,¡± the second man said, his eyes looking at me. Guess he didn¡¯t appreciate my snort. ¡°Then you could still help by cutting out the tongues and helping skin the ones we do kill. Plenty of ways someone without power can help, and Mr. Grayson would still cut you some of the profits.¡±


    Emma held up a hand before I could say anything and shot me a look. I took a deep breath and did my best to keep the flames that flickered across my palms in check. Getting angry right now, letting these fools rile me up, was not worth my time. Nor was it worth letting my focus waver from my current task at hand. Ascending to Copper was much more important than teaching the idiot just how wrong he was.


    ¡°While offering to share the spoils is a kind gesture,¡± Emma said in a measured voice, ¡°allow me to voice my displeasure with him deciding to delay the travels of our entire wagon train purely for his own amusement.¡±


    ¡°If you was listening,¡± the second speaker, the one who¡¯d insulted me, began, ¡°you would know it¡¯s not for¡ª¡±


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    ¡°¡ªI¡¯d like to think you¡¯re not implying my employer, Miss Parker, has a listening problem, Mister,¡± Clint trailed off as his eyes bore into the speaker. The man swallowed hard under the gaze.


    ¡°Chuck,¡± he said, swallowing again. ¡°And I meant no offense to Miss Parker. Merely pointing out that Mr. Grayson ain¡¯t just doing this for himself. It¡¯s to benefit everyone here, and surely you can see that¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to speak with Mr. Grayson on this manner myself, if that¡¯s alright?¡± Emma cut the man off, smiling down at him in a way that I knew all too well. She was planning something, and this poor man had just become a pawn in her game. ¡°If everyone must wait regardless, I feel I¡¯m at least allowed the explanation from Mr. Grayson himself, if I am to consent happily to his plans.¡±


    She smiled as the man paled, and I could tell he wasn¡¯t used to being addressed in such a way. Or, probably, not used to being spoken to in such a way by a woman. I¡¯d have bet money that Mr. Grayson merely thought Emma was a pretty face, and so too did likely all the men in his employ. If they knew who she truly was, and even more so, who her uncle was, I was sure they¡¯d be treating her in a much different manner.


    ¡°Er,¡± the second man stammered. Luckily for him, his companion came to his rescue.


    ¡°You¡¯re more than welcome to ride to the front of the train and speak to him yourself,¡± the man said, nodding slightly towards Emma, while avoiding Clint¡¯s gaze. ¡°If¡¯in that¡¯s what you feel you need to do. Though, I cannot say Mr. Grayson will take too kindly to you then being a reason for delay for his hunt, and therefore, the continuation of our travels.¡±


    The man smirked as if he¡¯d said something witty. If he¡¯d known Emma at all, if he¡¯d been able to read the look in her eyes, or seen the way her lips twitched slightly upwards, the man wouldn¡¯t be smiling.


    ¡°It is what I feel is necessary.¡± Emma said sweetly. ¡°And don¡¯t you worry,¡± she looked at me, amusement and unspoken planning evident in her eyes, ¡°I¡¯m sure my actions won¡¯t cause any more delay than Mr. Grayson¡¯s selfish nature has, and if anything, I¡¯m certain it will speed things along.¡±


    Emma paid the two lackeys no further mind and turned her attention towards Clint, even as the two shared confused looks, the one¡¯s face going red at Emma¡¯s comment regarding their employer.


    ¡°Mr. Miller, would you mind fetching mine and Mr. Smith¡¯s horses?¡± At that, my attention jerked fully towards Emma. ¡°And Mr. Smith,¡± she said, her eyes locked on mine, ¡°would you be so kind as to accompany me on this task.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know what she was planning, but I knew better than to question Emma. I reached up and tipped the front of my hat in her direction, while my mind tried to puzzle out what it was she was planning. ¡°It¡¯d be my pleasure, Miss Parker.¡± I took another breath, feeling the raw mana enter my body, my willpower already pushing it into my slowly growing bundle of raw mana. I held off on pushing out my older mana for the moment though. I didn¡¯t know what Emma had planned, but for the moment, I figured it would be better if I had as much easy to use mana at my disposal, as possible, just in case.

 Chapter 14

    Chapter 14


    I¡¯d done my best to avoid, well, anyone during our time as part of the wagon train. Partially because I was so focused on my cultivation effort, and partially because well, I just didn¡¯t want to get to know anyone. The less you interacted with people, the less likely you were to be remembered. And in my line of work, and through my life, it was always best to ensure you were able to disappear as easy as possible.


    Because of this fact, most of the faces I passed while I trotted atop Baron towards the front of the caravan, were strangers to me. Most looked bored as they leaned against their wagons or took the break to feed and water their horses. Being that we were three days into a ten day trip, it had reached the point where everyone seemed to be out of the excitement portion of the trip, and moving steadily into the monotony that was travelling via means other than rail.


    Even still, a few looked our way, and if their gaze didn¡¯t linger on me, my four pistols, and my rifle that sat patiently in its scabbard on Baron¡¯s side, their gazes lingered on Emma. Not that she had any weapons of note on her. They stared at her¡­ her face, her hair¡­ they stared more than I found I cared to notice. If she did though, she didn¡¯t seem to let it bother her. Instead, she kept a smile on her face, her eyes looking forward, expectantly. If I had to guess, her mind was working a mile a minute on how she planned to deal with Mr. Grayson.


    Not needing to stop at every wagon and group, we made good time heading to the lead carriages. Before we even reached them, the smell told us we were drawing near. Transporting three wagon¡¯s worth of bison hides and tongues, well, you could only hide the smell so much. My nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell, and I noticed the hunters raising their bandannas up round their noses and mouths. If I had to guess, they didn¡¯t often drop them down, if they didn¡¯t need to.


    As we drew even closer, the gathering ahead of the lead wagons told us more than a few of the other members of the wagon train intended to take Mr. Grayson up on his offer. Though my eyes quickly told me the gunman who¡¯d joined the party of hunters had less chance of taking down the massive beasts than they likely knew. Hell, only half of them actually even had rifles. After all, most folk guarding wagons usually used shotguns or pistols. Neither of which was all that ideal when trying to take down something as large and sturdy as a bison.


    ¡°Ah,¡± our approach was noticed by the one and only, Mr. Grayson. ¡°To what do I owe this pleasure.¡± He was all smiles as he rode his own horse towards us. The man couldn¡¯t look more pompous, as he practically swaggered on the back of his horse towards us. He flashed a smile at Emma, his teeth tobacco stained, the only one of his hunting party not wearing a bandanna. He didn¡¯t even look my way.


    ¡°Mr. Grayson,¡± Emma said, pulling her horse up short. I followed her lead, stopping easily beside her before Mr. Grayson got too close to us. Doing so forced him to come to us the rest of the way. ¡°I was told it was your decision to waste away some of our valuable travel time to go hunting.¡± She glanced past the approaching man, and eyed the gathering behind him. ¡°And it seems you¡¯ve roped in quite a few of the others.¡±


    ¡°Well, I won¡¯t argue with you on the first part.¡± Mr. Grayson finished nearing us, pulling his own horse up roughly a few feet from Emma¡¯s. He nodded towards his two hunters, the messengers, and they wordlessly moved past him and joined the others. ¡°Time is money,¡± Mr. Grayson was all smiles, ¡°and I can assure you, the time we¡¯re spending on this hunt will be worth far more than the extra say, day at most, that it will add to our travel time.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Emma smiled at him. ¡°And did you simply decide to make the decision first, and ask for forgiveness later? Or are you simply used to doing whatever you feel like, and not stopping to consider the lives and schedules of others?¡±


    Mr. Grayson opened his mouth to speak, but Emma held up a hand, cutting him off.


    ¡°What would happen if we had perishable goods? Or perhaps, important meetings we couldn¡¯t risk missing? Not to mention, stopping any wagon train of our size, without circling up, is simply asking for trouble, don¡¯t you think? You would put everyone at risk, and disregard everyone else¡¯s goods and planning, for a hunt that,¡± she looked at his three, full, wagons, ¡°you don¡¯t even have the space to properly prosper from?¡±


    Mr. Grayson¡¯s smile flinched for a moment, before it returned to his face. What he couldn¡¯t hide though, was the fire that blazed in his eyes. I could tell he did not appreciate how Emma was talking to him.


    ¡°Luckily for me,¡± Mr. Grayson said slowly, ¡°some of the other members of this here wagon train, of which I am the leader of, if I may be so bold as to remind you, have offered up space on their wagons for the extra hides and tongues we harvest from this hunt.¡±


    ¡°And what of the rest of the bison?¡± Emma asked. ¡°The meat, the bones. Are you simply intending to kill off an entire herd, and leave most their carcasses behind to rot?¡±


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    ¡°Government don¡¯t care about the meat.¡± Mr. Grayson said with a shrug. ¡°Tongues sell for the bounties, and hides sell quickly and easily. Not that I¡¯d stop anyone from harvesting whatever meat they wanted to, while we work away at our kills. Good eating, after all. Easy enough to dry out too, to keep for the rest of the trip.¡±


    ¡°Hell,¡± continued, looking Emma up and down, ¡°if you¡¯d like, I could even have my men prepare the meat specially for you, in consideration of your missing time. They¡¯re no strangers to making jerky on the road, and we¡¯ve plenty of spices with us to make sure it¡¯s a good flavor too.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s too kind of you,¡± Emma said, feigning a sweetness I knew she wasn¡¯t actually feeling. I could tell she wasn¡¯t fond of the man, but also had a feeling she was weighing him out. ¡°Though,¡± she looked at me, ¡°I wondered instead if, as I¡¯m sure you will not change your mind about the hunt, you¡¯d be willing to listen to a proposal of mine.¡±


    ¡°A proposal?¡± Mr. Grayson laughed, ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand then¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªOut of respect, as you just said, of my missing time. It sure would make me happy if you¡¯d at least hear me out, Mr. Grayson.¡±


    I knew that tone. Knew the way she¡¯d said his name. She was cornering her prey.


    ¡°Well,¡± he looked back at the gathering behind him, and then back at her. ¡°If you make it quick, I figure for a fine woman such as yourself, sure. What type of proposal do you have, Miss¡­¡±


    ¡°Parker,¡± she finished for him.


    ¡°Right, Miss Parker, what is it you wished to propose to me? I¡¯m sure, you can understand, it must be quick. After all, as you¡¯ve pointed out yourself, wasting time benefits no one. And I¡¯ve a hunt to lead.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s quite simple, really,¡± Emma said with a smile. ¡°I will not cause any more trouble with regards to your hunting plan, and in fact, will even offer up one of my personal hired guns, Mr. Smith here.¡± She nodded at me, before she looked back to Mr. Grayson. ¡°And in return, on top of the fine meat preparation you¡¯ve already generously offered to undertake for me,¡± she smiled, and it was filled with self-satisfaction, ¡°you¡¯ll promise that following this hunt, we¡¯ll not have any more¡­ unplanned stops, till we reach Lincoln.¡±


    ¡°And why,¡± Mr. Grayson drawled out, ¡°would I agree to such a proposal?¡± He looked at me, and I could tell in his eyes, I wasn¡¯t important. ¡°It sounds like a rather poor deal on my part.¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± Emma¡¯s eyes twinkled, and I could hear the confidence in her voice, ¡°Mr. Smith here will ensure not a single bison from that herd escapes you, and,¡± she added, never once looking away from Mr. Grayson. ¡°I can promise you he¡¯ll kill more of the bison than the entirety of that sorry lot you¡¯ve got gathered behind you.¡±


    I glanced at Emma, and then at the dozen or so additional gunman, on top of Mr. Grayson¡¯s five, that made up the hunting party. None of them had impressive amounts of mana. And only the hunters were actually equipped properly to hunt the large bison. Even still, while Emma¡¯s faith in me wasn¡¯t unwelcome, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if this time, she was biting off more than she could chew.


    ¡°Him?¡± Mr. Grayson looked at me, and then spat on the ground. My hands clinched on Baron¡¯s reigns, and I took a deep breath, trying my hardest to keep my flames from escaping. ¡°You think this whelp is a more capable than my hunters, and all the others?¡± He laughed, and the sound grated on me like nails across a chalkboard.


    ¡°Tell you what, Miss Parker.¡± There was foul intent in the way he spoke. ¡°I¡¯ll take up your proposal, on the condition that when,¡± he looked at me, and spat again, ¡°Mr. Smith here lets you down, you¡¯ll personally apologize to me, tonight, for wasting the time of everyone here.¡± He smirked, and it was a disgusting thing. I wanted to knock his teeth out right then and there.


    ¡°With that added condition then,¡± Emma didn¡¯t even flinch, didn¡¯t shy away, from the way the man leered at her, ¡°when Mr. Smith outguns your entire party of glorified butchers, you will pay us, in full, for each bison he personally kills.¡±


    Mr. Grayson held out a gloved hand, his eyes smoldering. ¡°It¡¯s a deal, Miss Parker.¡± As Emma held out her hand to return his shake, he grabbed her hand and pulled, attempting to draw her closer to him. I nearly laughed, as she didn¡¯t budge. Mr. Grayson had a copper core, sure, which I knew now meant he was stronger than the average person. But so too, did Emma. She clenched his hand tight in hers, holding his gaze, unflinching.


    ¡°I thank you, in advance, for the good fortune.¡± She laughed as she let go of his hand. ¡°After all, as you said. Time, is money.¡±


    Mr. Grayson spun his horse angrily, and kicked his heels, speeding back towards the group. As he left, Emma smiled at me, not a single ounce of doubt in her gaze.


    ¡°I know you needed a chance to expend some mana,¡± she said softly, ¡°so, here¡¯s your chance.¡±


    ¡°A bit over the top, don¡¯t you think?¡± I said with a slight chuckle. I appreciated she had so much faith in me, but to be completely honest, it seemed a tall task. Even for me. Granted¡­ the moment she¡¯d mentioned I¡¯d be potentially joining the hunt, I¡¯d begun crafting rounds. Air rounds, just as Clint had taught me. Bullets formed of air mana that could pierce stone. Already, my mental bandolier had half a dozen of the rounds formed for my rifle. While it still wasn¡¯t my preferred method of firing, I was still a good shot with the gun. And with the things I¡¯d learned over the past month, I was growing more and more confident that I, just might, be able to outgun that entire party of hunters. Especially since I knew a few things I was pretty sure they didn¡¯t.


    ¡°What can I say,¡± Emma said with a shrug. ¡°I figured the extra funds would be welcome in gathering supplies for our trip north of Lincoln. And,¡± she shot a look at Mr. Grayson¡¯s back. ¡°A man who flaunts his wealth such as Mr. Grayson does, is rather easily parted from it, if you know the right words to say.¡±


    ¡°Well then,¡± I said, nudging Baron forward. ¡°I suppose I can¡¯t let you down then.¡±


    As I trotted away from her, my focus on crafting my rounds, I just barely heard Emma¡¯s whispered words, as they followed me towards Mr. Grayson.


    ¡°I doubt you could ever let me down, Mr. Jones.¡±

 Chapter 15

    Chapter 15


    I¡¯d never seen a living bison up close before. East of the Mississippi, they weren¡¯t all that common, save for traveling shows. As such, even with the weight of Emma¡¯s proposal with Mr. Grayson on my shoulders, I couldn¡¯t help but pause and simply stare as we neared the herd. We¡¯d stopped probably a hundred yards away from the herd, which had to contain nearly forty of the massive creatures.


    It was easy to tell the creatures were taller than a man, their muscled backs and shoulders protruding higher than their heads. The massive heads, of which I knew from tales, and complaints, of those who often went after the creatures, were extremely thick, were further covered in thick fur with two upwards turned horns. The length of the creatures, from snout to tail, looked to damn near equal that of the wagon¡¯s Mr. Grayson was using to carry the hides and tongues of his previous prey. A single one of the massive creatures, I had no doubt, could no doubt feed a family of four for probably at least a month, if not longer.


    I shook my head as the thought crossed my mind. All that meat would be wasted. Left to rot in the prairie, as Mr. Grayson and his ilk sought the quick wealth the hides and tongues provided. It was wasteful, and honestly distasteful in my opinion. Randal had always told me to only take what I needed from the land around me. We never over indulged. We never hunted more than we needed for our immediate needs, and maybe to ensure we had rations for a week ahead of us. Something he¡¯d mentioned he¡¯d learned from his time with the Sioux. And now, sadly, I¡¯d have disregard that lesson.


    I glared at Mr. Grayson, who was speaking with a group of gunslingers about twenty feet away from me. This man was worse than a plague on the land. And because of him, I was going to have to dirty my own hands. I¡¯d noticed the way he looked at Emma and noticed the hunger and longing in his eyes when he¡¯d countered her proposal. I¡¯d be dead and buried before I let this man put himself in a position where Miss Emma owed him anything.


    As if he could feel my gaze, the pompous man in question smiled his sickly smile my way, and rode towards me. The others rode off in various directions, joining the preplanned groups he¡¯d already created. While the man was scum in my eyes, there was no doubt he¡¯d created a rather efficient way to hunt his quarry. Those who couldn¡¯t kill the beasts, were set to use their various skills to keep the creatures corralled, making it easier for those who could, to do so.


    ¡°Sorry to say Mr. Smith,¡± he said as he rode up, ¡°but I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll be able to keep your end of the bargain. Hot headed gunslingers with a fire affinity just aren¡¯t good at killing bison. Even if you had the mana to penetrate their thick hide and bones, well, the flames just ruin the hides and meat. I hope you understand.¡± He rode closer to me, placing a gloved hand on my shoulder. ¡°Apologies in advance, but your employer set you up for an impossible task, and quite frankly, bit off more than she could chew.¡±


    ¡°And what makes you think I¡¯ve an affinity for fire?¡± I asked through gritted teeth. It was all I could do to keep my temper cooled enough to ensure I didn¡¯t let any of my flames out. Much as I hated to admit it, Clint was right. My temper and tendency to just let my flames dance across my fingers when I was angry was a bad habit.


    ¡°Are you implying that you do not have an affinity for fire mana?¡± He released his grip and pulled back on his reins, making his horse take a few steps back until Baron and his horse were roughly nose to nose. ¡°Judging by your temperament, and the soot stains ¡®round the cuffs of your sleeves, it seemed clear as day that you did.¡±


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    ¡°I can assure you; you were mistaken.¡± I said through clenched teeth, fighting to keep those very same damning flames at bay. The last thing I needed was stories of me and my multiple affinities from spreading. For now, I am supposed to be purely a wind affinity user. After all, Bloody Bill knew I could use fire and wind, Thomas had told him that much. And that was something that stood out and made me easy to track. And I didn¡¯t like that.


    Mr. Grayson¡¯s surprise showed clearly on his face for a moment, before he shook his head, and his smile returned.


    ¡°Well, be that as it may. I still don¡¯t think you¡¯ll be able to join us in this here hunt to the degree Miss Parker requires. Pelts sell for a premium if they¡¯re in pristine condition. That is, a condition only obtainable by those strong enough to take a bison done with a single shot. And not just any shot,¡± he smiled and patted his rifle, which was in its own scabbard. ¡°A headshot capable of piercing the skull and killing the beast in a single, swift go.¡± His smile widened even more. ¡°It¡¯s common knowledge that those best suited for the task are those blessed with an earth affinity. And even then, it requires a large amount of mana, and a weapon capable of firing rounds of the requisite size, to take down a bison in such a manner.¡±


    The man nodded down at my Winchester Model 1873. The lever-action rifle was effective, offered rapid firing, and good distance. But he did have a single point in his favor. The barrel had a smaller diameter than his own Sharps, meaning he could, indeed, fire a larger round from it. In fact, the preloads for my own rifle were often classified as a .44 caliber round, while the preloads for his, were .50 caliber rounds.


    Still, size wasn¡¯t everything. That was a lesson I¡¯d been taught quite a bit over the past month. The size of a person¡¯s core wasn¡¯t everything. The size of bullets wasn¡¯t everything. The size of your weapon wasn¡¯t everything. I couldn¡¯t help but feel a small, sad smile play across my face. While I doubted I was ever as asinine as Mr. Grayson, his arrogance, I could sadly relate with.


    ¡°I can assure you, Mr. Grayson,¡± I said as I pulled my rifle free, the smooth feel of the wood and metal of the weapon a comfort to my hands. I¡¯d not gotten the opportunity to use it often, but it had served me well. And the craftsmanship, was top notch. ¡°I can say with confidence that I¡¯ll have no trouble killing a bison in a single shot.¡±


    Mr. Grayson laughed and shook his head side to side. It was a condescending sound, and my hands instinctively squeezed my weapon tighter. Someone needed to knock this man off his high horse.


    ¡°Ah, the arrogance of youth,¡± he said with a continued chuckle. ¡°Have you ever killed a bison before, boy?¡± He made it clear he was done acting. He was looking down on me. In his eyes, he was superior to everyone here. Oh I was looking forward to this.


    ¡°I can¡¯t say that I have.¡± I said, with a shrug. ¡°Spent most of my time hunting men, after all.¡± I let some venom into my voice, as I held his gaze. His arrogance remained, but I thought I saw a flicker of uncertainty cross his eyes.


    ¡°Well, unlike men,¡± he said, nodding towards a bison that had wandered off from the main herd. ¡°Bison are tough to kill.¡± He pointed at it, his smug smile returning. ¡°Tell you what. I¡¯ll let you learn the lesson yourself. You get the first shot. Bring that bison down in a single shot, and you¡¯ll be allowed to take part in the hunt. But if you don¡¯t,¡± he licked his lips, ¡°well, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll still get paid, even if you fail to uphold your employer¡¯s proposal properly.¡±


    My weapon was already in my shoulder as the man finished speaking. My breathing slowed; my focus intensified. I mentally loaded one of my air bullets into my rifle. The type that Clint had taught me. I focused on the round as I took aim. And then, with deadly intention, I pulled the trigger.

 Chapter 16

    I was with my round as it flew through the air. The mana that had formed the round, the mana that had come from my core, connected me to it. Following Emma¡¯s explanation of mana, of the difference between the pure mana we all took while soul breathing, and the mana becoming a part of us, I better understood what it was that was happening. This bullet, the mana that formed it, was a part of me. It was created to do my will, and my will guided it forward even now. As the bison turned its head, chewing lazily on the prairie grass, my round shifted its flight path ever so slightly in response. A split second later, the round pierced cleanly through flesh, bone, and brain, exiting the other side cleanly. With the job done, my focus returned immediately back to my surroundings.


    ¡°Shame,¡± Mr. Grayson was saying cockily as he watched the bison. ¡°Guess your round wasn¡¯t strong enough to¡­¡± he trailed off as the bison fell to the ground, its body realizing what had happened to it. So cleanly had my round passed through it, I figured, it had taken the poor creature an extra second or two to process it was no longer living.


    I smirked, my weapon raised once more, another target in mind. I¡¯d already proven to Mr. Grayson that I could down one of the massive creatures. But now, I was going to show him the folly of his ways. Pride, especially pride like his, came with consequences. Hell, that was a lesson I¡¯d just recently learned myself. And I was more than happy to pass that particular lesson on to any needing it.


    I pulled the trigger before he knew what I was doing, mentally loading a third round into my rifle as I worked the lever on the weapon, expelling from the chamber the excess air mana that lingered following each shot. My rifle was back in my shoulder, another target in my sights. This time though, I spoke before I shot.


    ¡°I¡¯d advise,¡± I said, not trying to hide the smugness that had filled my voice, ¡°you get your boys to work, else you¡¯ll have no chance of winning Miss Parker¡¯s wager.¡± I pulled the trigger, and the round tugged at me, my mind¡¯s eye following it until it impacted with the target. Another jerk of the lever, another bit of purplish mana escaping my rifle, and another round loaded into it all in the span of a second. ¡°Three down,¡± I said, a fourth target in my sights, ¡°and plenty more to go.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re bluffing,¡± Mr. Grayson said, a slight quiver in his voice. I pulled the trigger, and a fourth bison dropped. With each one killed, I felt another pang of guilt. I took no pleasure in killing these beasts. And the slaughter honestly was starting to dull my amusement at Mr. Grayson¡¯s paling face. Unfortunately, I knew full well I couldn¡¯t let him win the wager. Miss Watts had put me in a fine predicament, and I was going to have words with her later.


    ¡°Am I?¡± another round loaded. In the time it¡¯d taken for us to reach the herd, and for Mr. Grayson to send everyone to their assigned positions, I¡¯d mentally prepared close to two dozen rounds, enough to ensure I had plenty, long as I didn¡¯t miss, to meet the required quota to outshine the others. Even still, once everyone else started shooting, the chaos no doubt would begin to hamper my ability to swiftly and easily take down my prey. Meaning, I needed every second I could buy from the pompous man, before he came to his senses. ¡°Or is it that you underestimated me? Perhaps,¡± another shot, another bison down. That was five. I needed at least fifteen more, to keep Emma out of this man¡¯s clutches. ¡°You made the mistake of judging a book by its cover, eh?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    His face reddened at that, but he bit off any retort. Instead, he lifted gloved fingers to his lips, and let out a shrill whistle. Of all the things about the man, that act was probably the most impressive I¡¯d seen of him so far. With that sound, he signaled the hunting party to begin their tasks. At the same time, he hefted his larger hunting rifle up to his own shoulder.


    ¡°Bold talk,¡± he said, his voice muffled slightly as his cheek pressed against the side of his gun, ¡°for someone who¡¯s obviously out of his league, and just doesn¡¯t know it yet.¡± He pulled the trigger, and I watched, curious, to see just what type of rounds he¡¯d use. A massive stone spike, the size of a rail spike far as I could tell as it flew, well, more like punched, through the air. An unsuspecting bison¡¯s neck practically snapped as the round punched into its skull, jerking head and body violently from the force. I couldn¡¯t help but let out a low whistle. The man was an ass, no doubt about it, but that was, if I was being honest, impressive. It was also a type of round I¡¯d not seen before. Meaning, much as I hated to admit it, he had something I wanted to learn.


    I put that thought aside as I searched for my sixth target, feeling the pressure build as more and more bison fell, and gunshots and explosions rang out around the herd. It was a race against time, and I was sorely outnumbered. I brought down another bison, loading a seventh round into my rifle just as Mr. Grayson fired a second shot as well. I felt a bit of sweat drip down my neck, as my eyes scanned the area. The bison were starting to run, starting to circle, starting to stampede. Chaos was controlled, of course, by the other hunters and the helpers from the caravan, but it made the targets much more difficult to hit. Especially given the need to precisely puncture their skulls. I brought down a seventh, as I saw two more fall from others. At this rate, I¡¯d downed seven, and Mr. Grayson¡¯s gang had downed four. They were catching up, and quick. I didn¡¯t like the odds. Not one bit.


    ¡°No hard feelings, boy,¡± Mr. Grayson said as he brought down his third, while I took down my eighth. ¡°But your employer gave you an impossible task. I¡¯ll make sure, while she¡¯s apologizing for her arrogance tonight though, to let her know you more than earned your wages.¡± He paused to look at me, a disgusting sneer on his face. ¡°You¡¯re skilled, no doubt, but one man, can¡¯t outgun an entire hunting party. ¡®specially not with a single rifle.¡±


    My anger flared, and I felt heat dance across my knuckles. Luckily, Mr. Grayson¡¯s focus was back on the herd, searching for another target. I found another one, and fired, claiming my ninth, as my mind raced. Something he¡¯d said brought an idea to my mind.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I loaded a tenth round, while mentally I got to work on the other rounds I¡¯d formed. Since I¡¯d already worked the mana, already formed it, my task was easier. I could do it much faster than starting from scratch. ¡°Luckily for me,¡± I fired, kicking my heels into Baron even as the round cleared the barrel. I knew it would hit its mark. ¡°I¡¯ve more at my disposal than a single rifle.¡±

 Chapter 17

    Shooting from horseback wasn¡¯t a particular specialty of mine. Sure, I¡¯d managed to down ten bison from atop Baron just fine, but that was when he¡¯d been stationary. Even still, with every shot, it took concentration to clench my legs just right, to harden my stomach muscles in the proper manner, to maintain my balance to keep the keep the sights steady as I prepared to fire.


    Shooting from atop a horse that was galloping, while attempting to circle around a hectic herd of bison, all as various rounds erupted in differing elemental effects, well, that was practically suicidal.


    Had I been using my rifle, there was no way I¡¯d be able to accurately kill each bison with a single shot. Not when I¡¯d been instructed to aim only for their heads. I wasn¡¯t fool enough to claim that level of marksmanship skills. Well, at least, not with a rifle.


    My Peacekeepers flashed silver in the air as I drew them from their holsters, the pearl handles instantly filling me with calm as I guided Baron through the chaos with just my legs. He and I hadn¡¯t been together long, but there was no doubt in my mind, Baron was meant for me. We had a bond, and to his credit, he didn¡¯t let me down. Sure, when I first kicked my legs into his side, urging him forward as I stored my rifle in its scabbard, he¡¯d side eyed me. A look that questioned my sensibilities, and probably sanity far as I could tell. But then, something unspoken passed through us, and he instantly changed his demeanor. Baron wasn¡¯t a mere beast of burden. He was my companion, my partner, and he trusted me.


    Mentally I loaded each of my pistols with six air bullets, filling the cylinders of the six shooters, preparing the coup de grace that would end any chance Mr. Grayson had of winning the wager against Emma. I¡¯d not lied when I told him that I couldn¡¯t outgun him and the others in a killing contest with just my rifle. Clint might have been able to, but I wasn¡¯t a legendary sharpshooter. The rifle wasn¡¯t my weapon of choice. I was a gunslinger through and through, and when it came to strengths, I knew where mine truly lay.


    Like they were extensions of myself, I held my weapons outwards, my eyes scanning immediately the bison. Up close they were even more intimidating, even more fearsome to behold. Their size was terrifying, and I knew getting too close would result in my death, either through getting trampled by their thunderous hooves, or gored by their wicked horns. I didn¡¯t need to get that close though, as their size also meant their target was more than large enough for me. Considering I could shoot a quarter at 20 feet 10 out of 10 times with my pistols standing, I was confident even atop Baron, I¡¯d be able to hit a target that was easily the size of, and larger than, a milk saucer.


    ¡°Here we go,¡± I steered Baron as one of the bison near us fell, and an eruption of flames caused another to panic and shift its trajectory. I slowed my breathing and took solace as my blood flowed. The world seemed to slow around me as I tuned out all that was unnecessary. I had a task at hand, and while previously I¡¯d been fueled by protecting Emma¡¯s honor, now, as close as I was, my life was on the line. There was no finer way to motivate oneself, to truly draw out any latent skills and abilities, than when a single mistake, could lead to your own demise.


    My field of vision seemed to increase, my eyes quickly taking in all of my targets, all of my options. My mind raced as I processed the options before me, and I worked out the best way to bring down more of these beasts. I had twelve shots, and I wanted, no I needed, to make every single one of them count. I breathed in, preparing myself for what I needed to do. For what I was going to do. Before I¡¯d met Clint, this would have been impossible. My air rounds, especially from my pistols, wouldn¡¯t have been strong enough to bring down a bison in a single shot. But now, I had nothing but confidence, certainty that they would.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    As I let out my breath, I took action. Closest targets first, as I directed Baron around the heard, moving me ever closer to each bison I needed to take down. My plan was simple, my path easily clear. By flanking the herd as it began its circling for safety, I could turn to face the beasts head on. And as they circled counter to the way Baron ran; I could dispatch the beasts in rapid succession.


    My fingers acted on instinct, almost taking me by surprise as I shot the first two bison. My will drove the rounds forward as they fled the barrels of my pistols, seeking out the skulls of the creatures, piercing clean through and impacting in the dirt behind them. My thumbs, calloused from hundreds, thousands of hammer pulls, worked the hammer on my pistols. The cylinder spun and clicked as the next of my air mana rounds for each pistol was put in position. My hands shifted, taking aim at their next targets, and fired again. In rapid succession I went to work. The soul-silver on Randal¡¯s old Peacekeepers flashed as the mana passed through the barrel each time, the highly condensed rounds testing the stability of the weapons. With each shot, the glow remained a little more, but I wasn¡¯t worried. They wouldn¡¯t overheat from this. They could handle this.


    I finished my bloody work faster than I even I had expected. Before I knew I pulled the hammer back on my pistols, but when I pulled the trigger, all I heard was a click. The hammer drove home, but there were no rounds in the chamber to fire. Before me, the last of the bison lay dying. The herd had been massacred, and while I¡¯d felled twenty-two of the beasts in an efficient manner, ensuring they didn¡¯t suffer, the same couldn¡¯t be said for the other hunters. Not all of their shots were clean, and more than a few of the bison had injuries from errant shots. One beast near me kicked at the ground, struggling weakly on the prairie grass that was scorched by fire and soaked in blood.


    ¡°There there,¡± I said softly as I hopped of Baron, mentally preparing another round as I did. I could kill humans without a single thought. But watching the bison struggle, watching it thrash, it wasn¡¯t right. This wasn¡¯t hunting for food. This wasn¡¯t even sport, as some would call it. This was plain old killing for killing¡¯s sake, and the fact the assholes were making the beast suffer because of their own inadequacies, made my blood boil.


    So focused was I on putting the beast out of its misery, that I didn¡¯t hear the cry from the distance. A shout and a curse, somewhere behind me, and then the sound of a rifle firing. It was all I could do to turn and watch as a stone flew towards me. My eyes widened as I saw the scene, Mr. Grayson¡¯s eyes on me, his rifle smoking. One of the others who¡¯d joined this hunt from the caravan was on the ground, and I figured what he¡¯d done as the stone projectile flew past me. It impacted with a shudder in the ground, missing me by only a few inches. Mr. Grayson¡¯s mouth twisted in a snarl, and I could hear him cuss, but he¡¯d missed his chance. He¡¯d intended to kill me, and paint it as an accident. I had no doubt he would have spun the story that I¡¯d gotten caught in the crossfire. The man didn¡¯t strike me as a murderer, but he was proud, and proud men did evil things when confronted with their own weakness.


    I pointed one pistol towards the wounded bison, and put it out of its misery. The whole time though, I stared up at Mr. Grayson, my anger barely contained. Flames licked my palms, but I pushed them down with a thought, as my eyes narrowed at the man. I had no doubt he¡¯d not forget this moment, just like I had no doubt this wouldn¡¯t be the last I had to deal with him.


    My anger flared even more, as I watched him kick the man who¡¯d likely saved my life, before he turned his horse and rode off back towards the caravan. He wasn¡¯t even going to stick around while everyone skinned the beasts and collected the tongues. Go figure.


    I sighed as I controlled my breathing, the last of my anger fleeing. I holstered my pistols, my hands suddenly shaky. I let out another breath as tension left my body, and the world seemed to return to normal. Smells filled my nostrils, noise filled my ears, and I felt a slight breeze against my skin. Another breath, as I fought to control the shaking of my hands. I¡¯d been foolish just now. I knew that much. And I¡¯d nearly paid the price. And for what?


    I spit on the ground and walked back towards Baron. I needed to have a drink. More than that, I needed to tell Emma and Clint what had transpired. Even more than that, I thought as I leapt atop Baron¡¯s back, easily turning him back towards the caravan, I needed to be done with this caravan, and these people. It was clear to me, from the way Mr. Grayson acted, that until we were done with him, it¡¯d be a risky business for me to attempt to take my core to the next tier.


    Another breath, as I focused on my core, taking note of the mana as it circulated through my body. Even if I couldn¡¯t undergo the final process that was the path towards cultivating and ascending my core, it didn¡¯t mean I couldn¡¯t continue preparing for the process. I would purge as much mana from my core as I felt comfortable doing, while leaving enough within my body that I could bend towards my will with relative ease, in the event of, well, anything going amiss. And then, once we reached Lincoln. Once we were done with Mr. Grayson, I¡¯d finally take my core from Iron to Copper. Failure wasn¡¯t an option.

 Chapter 18

    ¡°It¡¯s probably for the best if you lay low till we get to Lincoln.¡± Clint¡¯s eyes watched me intently as he spoke. ¡°No telling what that man may do in retribution.¡±


    I snorted at the statement and glanced towards Emma. She¡¯d been rather quiet since I¡¯d relayed what all had happened to her and Clint. Interestingly, I¡¯d not seen Mr. Grayson as I¡¯d passed the other wagons of the caravan, so currently I had no idea where that man had run off to.


    ¡°I was intending to lay low this whole trip,¡± I said, my tone more tinged more than a hint with sarcasm, ¡°but someone had to go and volunteer my services to that man.¡± My tone sharpened, ¡°and not only did it leave a bad taste in my mouth, it almost got me killed.¡±


    Emma held my gaze, not backing down, even against my accusatory look. ¡°I knew you were more than capable of handling yourself,¡± she said her tone stone, before it softened, ¡°though I do regret putting you in needless danger. People like Grayson get under my skin. He reminds me too much of the men that my uncle kept under his employ.¡±


    Her words caused my smoldering anger to simmer, if only by a small bit. I could only imagine the sort of folk she had to grow up around, all things considered. And I was the last person to be able to judge someone for allowing their personal feelings to cloud their judgement. Even still¡­


    ¡°I know you¡¯d not purposefully put me in danger,¡± I replied, watching Emma. ¡°But you can¡¯t go around volunteering my services or using me for pointless tasks or wagers, especially without asking my consent.¡± I glanced from her, to Clint, and then continued. ¡°I¡¯m not in your servitude. Our relationship is one of convenience, the story we tell others be damned. If you can¡¯t respect that,¡± my anger flared, but I fought it down, biting back my next words. Instead of saying anything potentially damning, I shook my head, growled, and spit off to the side. Baron glanced at me from his bag of oats, and I could feel the horse¡¯s judgement.


    ¡°I,¡± Emma started, and the pained, frustrated look on her face caused me to regret my outburst. Even if I¡¯d stopped, the implications of what I¡¯d been about to say were clear as day. ¡°I understand, and I¡¯m sorry.¡± She said stoically, though the sun¡¯s bright rays reflected off the tears forming in her eyes, making it impossible for her to hide them.


    Clint placed a calming hand on her shoulder, in an almost fatherly way, as he looked at me.


    ¡°I¡¯ll accompany Miss Watts when we go to collect our dues from Mr. Grayson.¡± He said calmly. ¡°I can ensure no harm comes to Miss Watts, and I¡¯ve more than enough experience dealing with self-absorbed pups like him to know what to look for. If it¡¯s trouble he¡¯s seeking, I¡¯ll sort it quick enough, hopefully without any further escalation.¡±


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    ¡°He¡¯s strong,¡± my words were bitter, jealous. ¡°He¡¯s a copper core, no doubt about it. And his arrogance, is probably not entirely misplaced.¡± The words tasted foul as I them, but I continued. Personally, a part of me wanted to wipe the man¡¯s arrogance, clean off his face and teach him every lesson I possibly could. But it¡¯d be the word of his hunters and friends, versus my own, if I tried to seek justice regarding his attempt on my life. Meaning, for now, there was little I could do.


    ¡°Someone arrogant in their own power is something I¡¯m even more familiar with,¡± Clint¡¯s smile caused the greying mustache on his face to dance upwards, ¡°feels like just a month or so ago when I met another young pup drunk on his own power.¡±


    He winked at me. ¡°I¡¯ll be cautious. I didn¡¯t survive the hells of war to let someone like Mr. Grayson be my downfall. Men have tells, and if you¡¯ve watched as many as I have meet their ends, well, you learn pretty much all you could ever want, in those moments. I may not have a fancy copper core, but you an I both know, I¡¯m more than capable of taking care of myself, and Miss Watts here.¡±


    ¡°Not to mention,¡± Emma piped up. ¡°I¡¯ve a copper core just the same.¡±


    I opened my mouth, prepared to retort, but the way she looked at me told me it was best not to challenge that. She was right, at least, in the statement regarding her core. Out of the three of us, she was the only one who¡¯d refined their core from iron to copper. And I¡¯d seen the power difference between her mana, and my own, when I¡¯d watched the dynamite go off when we¡¯d fled her town. Even still, was Emma strong? Could she handle herself in a fight? Or did she just have the advantage of mana on her side? All the power in the world was pointless, if you didn¡¯t know how to use it.


    That was another bitter lesson I¡¯d learned all too recently. In fact, I was getting really annoyed at just how many lessons I seemed to be receiving lately. It¡¯d sure be nice to actually teach someone else a lesson for once.


    Instead of saying anything to Emma, or Clint, I just let out a chuckle and shook my head. ¡°You¡¯ve got me there,¡± I said, tipping my hat towards Emma. ¡°I¡¯ll leave Mr. Grayson to ya¡¯ll. Just make sure you get the money he owes us, as well as the meat and jerky.¡± I stretched my arms high and back, causing my shoulder blades to ache pleasantly and my spine to crack. ¡°I worked up quite the hunger showing off on your behalf. So, at the very least, I expect my just rewards.¡±


    Emma smiled at me, as did Clint.


    ¡°I¡¯ll personally cook the meal tonight,¡± Clint said with a smile, and the words made my mouth water. ¡°I figure we can have quite the feast tonight, and likely all the others till we get to town, off the amount of meat we¡¯ll reap from today¡¯s escapades.¡±


    ¡°And,¡± Emma added, ¡°you should be set to make a decent earning off your efforts today. After,¡± her eyes shifted mischievously, ¡°I deduct the cost of your clothes, guns, and so forth, that you¡¯ve incurred at my expense. Since, after all,¡± her smile turned wolfish, ¡°we¡¯re equals, and you¡¯re not under my employ.¡±


    Before I protest, she turned away, Clint following suit, as she began walking towards the front of the caravan.


    I watched the two of them leave, my thoughts racing, though all I could do was laugh at my odd predicament and shake my head.


    ¡°I swear,¡± I said to Baron, once Emma and Clint had gone far enough I couldn¡¯t clearly see them, ¡°she¡¯s going to be the death of me one day.¡±


    Baron paused his eating long enough to snort and stomp the ground with one of his hooves. What that meant, I had no idea, and honestly, it didn¡¯t really matter. After all, what sane man spoke to his horse and expected a proper response?

 Chapter 19

    Chapter 19


    ???


    His gaze swept lazily across the room, his eyes taking note of the finery that surrounded him. Lazily, he drew one of the knives from his belt and began cleaning his fingernails. Flicking dried dirt, no¡­ dried blood, definitely blood, from them. The man sitting behind the mahogany desk narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He knew better.


    He paused the cleaning of his nails long enough to hold the gaze of the richly dressed man. He smiled at him, sweetly, and cocked his head to the side. It was just him and the man in the room. It¡¯d be so easy to kill him. So simple. Life was so, so, so fragile, after all.


    The man behind the desk cleared his throat, his fingers interlaced atop his desk and straightened his back. It was clear he was trying not to let his nerves show. They were all like that, when it came to dealing with him. But it was only fair. After all, fear was the appropriate response when dealing with a demon.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve an idea of why you¡¯ve been summoned here, Mr. Thompson.¡±


    The man cocked his head at the name. Oh, right, that was his name. James Thompson. His parents had given him the name. No, perhaps not parents? Because what type of parents would throw an eight-year-old out on the streets? What parents would abandon their child the moment something was strange? He growled and shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. His mind was too clear. He¡¯d fix that the moment this was done.


    ¡°You¡¯ve someone you need killed,¡± Mr. Thompson said, his tone bored. ¡°And it¡¯s a big enough threat to you that you need my services.¡±


    He only got called in when they were truly in trouble. He didn¡¯t care though. They paid extremely well. And money was all he cared about. After all, he needed money to buy the knives he loved. He needed money to buy the clothes he loved. And he needed money, to buy the only thing that could give him solace in this world. Opium, after all, was not cheap. Speaking of¡­ he pulled his flask from his coat pocket and took a quick swig. The laudanum, a mixture of alcohol and opium rushed down his throat, not even pausing to leave a taste on his tongue. He preferred the sweet smoke, which was much more effective, but the man before him had a tendency to ramble, and he figured he might as well prepare himself. The quick fix also helped his bloodlust subside. He was, as always, so very hungry¡­


    ¡°Indeed. It has come to my attention that a bit of trouble out West threatens my plans. And as you know, my plans, are important to the plans of¡­ others.¡± The man was of course alluding to the Golden Circle. But they never felt like actually saying that fact out loud. Their secrecy didn¡¯t bother him though. After all, he knew full well who they were. The Golden Circle was his family. His true family. They¡¯d taken him in, given him a purpose, and gave him the means to be useful. All while ensuring he had plenty of jobs and money to enjoy life as best someone like him could.


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    ¡°And who, exactly, is it I need to kill?¡± Mr. Thomspon asked lazily. He was back to cleaning out his nails. His last target had been some rich politician. Before that, what was it, an innkeeper? A lawman? They all blurred together. All he ever remembered was the final look on their faces, as he drove his knife into their heart, and the taste of their mana, as it fled their bodies into his. A sweeter intoxication than even opium, the final dredges of mana fleeing a dying body were true euphoria.


    ¡°A former,¡± the man stressed the words, and Mr. Thompson laughed, ¡°employee of mine. One who¡¯s usefulness has dried up, and who¡¯s tongue I can only imagine will wag the wrong way when under pressure.¡±


    ¡°And where, pray tell, is he currently?¡± Mr. Thompson¡¯s tone was bored now. That wasn¡¯t exciting. But, a job was a job.


    ¡°He¡¯s being taken to a Marshall safehouse,¡± the man before him said, and the words caused his attention to flicker back to the present. A Marshall safehouse? Those always proved¡­ delicious.


    ¡°Tell me more,¡± Mr. Thompson said, his knife quickly back in its sheath, his full focus turned now towards the speaker. ¡°Tell me exactly what you know, Mr. Watts, and I¡¯ll see to it your former employee is dead before the end of the week.¡±


    The man behind the desk relaxed at the statement and smiled. He unlaced his fingers, and grabbed the crystalline decanter atop his desk, and poured himself a drink.


    ¡°As always,¡± Mr. Watts said as he put the stopper back on his decanter, and he held his drink up towards his lips, ¡°your professionalism, skills, and services, are greatly appreciated.¡± He took a long sip, his eyes closing as he let out a content sigh. Once he placed it back down, his face reflected the bloodlust that Mr. Thompson felt growing within. ¡°I figured, once you¡¯d heard that particular detail, that you¡¯d be more than happy to take this job. After all,¡± he chuckled, ¡°I know about your¡­ love of the Marshall¡¯s.¡±


    Mr. Thompson returned the smile. He loved Marshall¡¯s all right. When it came down to it, US Marshalls were, without a doubt, his favorite prey to hunt. But killing them was often seen as too much of a risk, and he was often forbidden from doing so. Whatever it was this man had on Mr. Watts, it was damning enough that that particular restriction was being lifted. Meaning, Mr. Thompson thought, he¡¯d have to personally thank the target, for drawing the wrath of the Golden Circle, before he killed him. It was, after all, the least he could do.


    He licked his lips, and took an involuntary step forward, his excitement getting the best of him. Almost immediately, Mr. Watt¡¯s flinched, and Mr. Thompson tasted a whiff of the man¡¯s mana. It was rich and dense, befitting a man of Mr. Watt¡¯s station. He stepped back, before he could consume too much, putting himself just far enough away from the man so as to not make him uncomfortable. After all, the sooner he heard the details of this job, the sooner, he could hunt.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± Mr. Thompson said, his apology more to himself, for delaying the process, than to Mr. Watts, who was working hard to regain his nerve. For someone with as bloody a reputation as him, being so close to someone such as Mr. Thompson, who could kill him without a single thought, put him on edge. The powerful, after all, didn¡¯t like being reminded of their mortality, or of being made to feel weak.


    ¡°No no,¡± Mr. Watts shook his head, and cleared his throat, as color returned to his face. ¡°It¡¯s quite all right. Now then,¡± he cleared his throat once more, his voice deepening as he tried to regain an aura of power, ¡°here¡¯s everything I know.¡±

 Chapter 20

    Chapter 20


    Mr. Jones


    There was something about this whole cultivation process that Emma had failed to mention. Sure, she¡¯d warned me that once I started the final act to push from iron to copper, that I couldn¡¯t stop. That it was an all or nothing type of effort. What she hadn¡¯t mentioned, which, granted, could have been because she didn¡¯t know, was the pain I would experience by putting off that final step.


    It started as a throb, a dull ache, the sort that was more uncomfortable and inconvenient than anything else. But by the time we were ¡®bout two days out from Lincoln, it was all I could do to not wince in pain with every damned movement. I¡¯d filled my core with as much pure, raw mana from the world as I could safely. Looking internally, most my body swirled in a chaotic manner of pure, bright mana, which crashed against the walls I¡¯d built around it. Only a thin layer, visually say the thickness of a finger round my whole body, showed the mixed mana that was a part of me. I¡¯d drained everything else. Emptied everything else. In preparation of the next step. And honestly, it was all I could do to not try and rush it. Because the pain made me want to die.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± Emma said softly as I sat in the wagon, groaning with every damned bump and rattle. Usually I didn¡¯t care about the comfort of a ride. After all, being in a wagon beat walking in the heat almost always. Now though, it was like the road saved all the greatest bumps and damned wheel ruts for the final leg of the journey. Though, logically I knew that wasn¡¯t the case. This close to a big ¡®ol town like Lincoln, the path was actually smoother than the roads had been when we¡¯d set off. I was just that much more sensitive to everything right now.


    ¡°Sayin¡¯ it ain¡¯t gonna make us get there any faster.¡± I half groaned; half growled. I pulled my hat lower over my eyes, the increased pain I was dealing with having manifested with it a mighty painful headache.


    ¡°You could always let it all go.¡± Emma offered up, as she nudged a cool cup into my hands. I took the offered water and drank deeply. The liquid, infused with her mana, offered a small bit of comfort. But it was like pissing on a damned bonfire to try and put it out. The relief was imagined, more than anything.


    ¡°I can deal with the pain.¡± I said as I held the cup back out towards her. She took it, and I wiped my lips and chin, clearing up the few droplets that had missed my mouth when I drank. ¡°If I started over, it¡¯d be a waste of time. And¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ª and you don¡¯t want to waste any more time.¡± She cut me off. We¡¯d had the is conversation more than once. The closer we¡¯d gotten to Lincoln, the more impatient I¡¯d grown. I wanted to reach our destination. Wanted to be free from the crowded confines of the caravan. I felt trapped and impatient. The sooner we put this all behind us, the better. We¡¯d reach Lincoln, we¡¯d resupply, and I¡¯d push my core to Copper. The moment that was done, we¡¯d head North, just the three of us. Pickam¡¯s words were all I had to go off of, after all. And the sooner we reached the Black Hills, the better. I could suffer this pain, if it meant ensuring the trail didn¡¯t go cold.


    ¡°If you already know what I¡¯m gonna say,¡± I said, my voice gruffer than intended. ¡°Why make me say it.¡±


    ¡°Because I keep hoping you¡¯d stop your stubborn ways.¡± She replied curtly. ¡°You¡¯re pale, you¡¯re drenched in sweat, and you¡¯re touchier than a dog that¡¯d gone and got a face full of porcupine quills. Yet even worse, because you could relieve your pain in an instant. You could help yourself, if you¡¯d just stop being so damned stubborn.¡±


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    ¡°It ain¡¯t stubbornness,¡± I countered. ¡°It¡¯s about efficiency. I can suffer a few more days, if it means we reach the Black Hills sooner. I cannot afford to start the whole process over once we¡¯re in Lincoln. Let¡¯s say I did,¡± I lifted my hat slightly to look at her, squinting against the sunlight that caused my head to pound. ¡°What then? We hold up in some inn? I sit around, cultivating away, over multiple damned days, while you and Clint do what? Twiddle your thumbs? Every second we¡¯re in Lincoln, is another second people can find out who we are. Another second your Uncle has of potentially tracking you down.¡±


    She flinched at that, and I knew I¡¯d hit a nerve. Normally, I¡¯d pull back. But right now, raw as I was, with the feeling of surely the equivalent of being flayed alive over a fire rushing through my body, I kept pushing. ¡°You¡¯re on the run now, Miss Watts. We can¡¯t just waste time on things that are more ¡®comfortable¡¯ or convenient. I make the choices I do, I suffer as I do, because I have to. Because I can. I¡¯ll gladly pay in pain across a few days, if it means I¡¯m one step closer to my vengeance. And if you¡¯re insisting on coming along for the ride, you¡¯ll have to learn quite quickly that life on the run, ain¡¯t for the weak of heart.¡±


    Her eyes hardened, and she clenched her jaw. The way she lifted her head slightly and pushed her shoulders back, as she prepared to speak, sent a chill down my spine. I¡¯d poke at her, thinking I could hurt her. Thinking I¡¯d keep her from pestering me, get her to quit talking down at me, quit trying to tell me to give up on my cultivation efforts and plans. Apparently though, I¡¯d pushed hard enough to bring something else out.


    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know pain?¡± she asked. Her voice was ice. ¡°You think I don¡¯t know suffering?¡± Somehow, the way she was looking at me, made me feel small. Before we¡¯d played what felt like a game of cat and mouse. Now though, she seemed fiercer. She was no mere predator. She was something more.


    ¡°You¡¯re in pain, and you¡¯re suffering.¡± She continued. ¡°Which is why I know you¡¯re not quite yourself. And I¡¯ll forgive you, for your foolish words and accusations. But,¡± she reached out and grabbed my hand. It wasn¡¯t a comforting touch though. She gripped my hand tight, with strength to match my own. Pain flared through my arm. ¡°Don¡¯t think you¡¯ve suffered more than me, don¡¯t think you¡¯re some great man capable of enduring the weight of the world, and I¡¯m just a soft little princess. You¡¯ve your demons, your tragedies and traumas of your past that haunt you. You¡¯ve your revenge, that you¡¯re hunting. I know those feelings, I know that life, and its why I¡¯m choosing to accompany you. If anything, Mr. Jones,¡± she leaned forward, drawing so close the brim of my hat actually pressed against the skin of her forehead, ¡°you¡¯re the weakest one here, in body and mind, far as I can tell. And if you can¡¯t even keep your emotions in check while your healthy and fit, and you sure as hell can¡¯t keep them in line when you¡¯re inconvenienced, then you¡¯re going to be the biggest threat to your own goals.¡±


    She let go of my hand and stood without another word. I watched her go as she hefted her dress and climbed out the wagon. Clint looked back at me, a smile on his face. The old soldier let out a whistle and shook his head.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done a lot of stupid things so far,¡± he said with a chuckle as he met my gaze, ¡°but that right there, was probably the dumbest to date.¡± He laughed again as he turned his back once more to me, leaving me to myself, and my thoughts. I sat there, feeling every jolt and jerk of the wagon as it rattled along, the sound of horses and wood and the occasional voice all nought but white noise, as my mind replayed everything. I knew Miss Watts had some sort of past. Considering her blood relatives, considering her father¡¯s not so natural, sudden death, it made sense she had a past. But the way she spoke, the way she¡¯d changed just there, told me there was more to her. So much more. And I¡¯d be lying if I didn¡¯t admit that that thought didn¡¯t intrigue me.

 Chapter 21

    Chapter 21


    The next time anyone told me there was a god in the world, I¡¯d tell ¡®em he¡¯s an asshole. There¡¯s no other reason I could think of, if there truly were an almighty, for the amount of bad luck in my life. Especially considering no matter what I did, it seemed to chase after me. Even if I wasn¡¯t doing anything.


    And this time, I swear, I¡¯d done absolutely nothing fucking wrong. Yet, here it was, swaggering towards us with all the confidence of a child holding onto a shiny quarter. Bad luck¡¯s physical form this otherwise uneventful night. Mr. Grayson and his goonies. Because of course, it was the final night before we reached Lincoln, and the asshole had nothing better to do.


    ¡°Probably best if you just say nothing.¡± Clint said to me as he spooned some soup into my bowl. He¡¯d made us some sort of bison stew for the night, the warm meal easier on me to consume, what with the amount of pain I was in, as well as our unnecessarily large stock of the meat. The stew allowed him to soften up the meat, which had gotten hard and touch from our efforts to preserve it. Sure, it was nothing compared to what rich folk ate, but considering what I¡¯d been used to from my time living on the run, it was amazing.


    Following Clint¡¯s advice, I gave him the smallest nod possible and promptly spooned a portion of the stew into my mouth. The warm broth, a bone broth he¡¯d created by soaking some bison bones for a long while in boiling water to extract the flavor and richness from the marrow, was the first thing my tongue tasted. It was followed with a peppery flavor courtesy of the spice¡¯s he¡¯d added in, as well as a slight sweetness. The latter he¡¯d explained during the preparation was courtesy of the onions he¡¯d cooked before adding to the stew. He¡¯d heated them in a pan over the open fire, working them till they were caramelized, and then Clint had tossed those into the stew.  The old war vet had actually explained quite a bit regarding his cooking of meals every night, but my pain addled mind had only clung to the basics. Sweet, thanks to onions, salty, thanks to meat and salt, gamey, because well, bison.


    ¡°Please excuse my interruption on this fine night,¡± Mr. Grayson said, his smile revealing he wasn¡¯t apologetic at all. I took another sip of my soup, before the man soured my food. ¡°But I just couldn¡¯t help but come investigate the wonderous scents of your meal.¡±


    His gaze swept past Clint, as if he wasn¡¯t even there, and lingered on Emma. ¡°If you wouldn¡¯t mind, Miss Parker, I¡¯d surely be the luckiest man near Lincoln if you¡¯d allow me to partake in your fine cooking.¡±


    Emma, who was also enjoying her own bowl of stew, didn¡¯t even look up as she responded. ¡°That¡¯ll have to be up Mr. Miller there,¡± she pointed with her spoon, ¡°he¡¯s the skilled cook here, not I.¡± Another spoonful, as she chewed on a chunk of meat, slow and deliberate. The whole time, she looked at Mr. Grayson, whom she¡¯d caught in her gaze. ¡°Not sure if I should be offended, that you¡¯d imply I¡¯m the one doing the cooking?¡¯


    His smile faltered, but he recovered in what had to be record time.


    ¡°My apologies, Miss Parker. I meant no offense, merely,¡± he glanced to Clint, who gave him his best friendly grin, before turning back to Emma, ¡°someone as clearly beautiful and sharp minded as yourself, must be an exemplary cook too. Why, I bet any man would throw themselves to the ground to try a bit of your cooking, much less call you their own.¡±


    I practically choked on my food as Mr. Grayson spoke. I¡¯d been watching Emma the whole time, and the look that crossed her face, twisted in such a way due to the campfire, was enough to tell me Mr. Grayson was barking up the wrong tree.


    My attempt to hold back my laughter resulted in a sudden inhale, which not only got a bit of stew broth sucked down my throat but also sent a massive wave of pain through me, which was further amplified by the coughing fit that racked my body as a result. The display, unfortunately, drew the attention of both Emma and Mr. Grayson.


    ¡°Are you alright Mr. Smith?¡± Emma asked, her demeanor completely changed from the venom she¡¯d loaded her tongue with in preparation of whatever retort she was going to have regarding Mr. Grayson¡¯s comment.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I coughed, the word making me wince. ¡°Just fine.¡±


    ¡°You should remember to take breaths between bites,¡± Clint said with a grin at me. ¡°Unless you took the concept of inhaling your food literally.¡±


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    All I could do was narrow my eyes slightly at him, even as my lips curled upwards, trying to smile. Then another wave of pain, another cough, and I turned my focus back towards myself. It was all I could do to slow my breathing, and work to fight the pain that was in a constant state of revolt within my body. One more day, that¡¯s all I needed to endure. I could do it.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t your mamma ever teach you manners?¡± Mr. Grayson said snidely in my direction. ¡°Such an uncouth display, in front of a woman such as your employer as well.¡± He shook his head, tone scathing. ¡°Surely Miss Parker, you deserve finer company than that man. He may be good with a gun, but far as I can tell, he¡¯s simply a handy tool, that should be kept away and out of site till it¡¯s needed.¡±


    He stepped closer to Emma, completely disregarding her obvious disdain. The man didn¡¯t seem to understand what the word no meant. Clint stiffened slightly, and I knew the old man was prepared to intervene if needed. I was technically ready as well. Mentally I¡¯d ensured I kept a few air bullets ready to go, chest thumpers, that is, the fist sized shots of air used to incapacitate folk, as well as air shields. Still, with the amount of pain I was in, I had little faith in my ability to be all that useful in a fight any time soon.


    ¡°If anyone has poor manners,¡± Emma said in her icy, I¡¯m in control here way, ¡°it¡¯s you Mr. Grayson. Not only have you consistently belittled everyone in this caravan, and put yourself and your interests above all others, but I can count multiple occasions where you¡¯ve been disrespectful to others. Your mannerisms, your actions, quite frankly, I find embarrassing.¡± She set her bowl on the ground, careful not to spill it, and stood. As she did, she patted the front of her dress down, smoothing the wrinkles, and stood up tall. Even though she was a few inches shorter than Mr. Grayson, her posture made her seem the larger of the two. Her shadow, cast by the flames of our fire, stretched larger still.


    Mr. Grayson¡¯s smile faltered, then completely faded. He looked at his men, and they said nothing, choosing to instead stand just on the outskirts of the area lit by our fire. The wagon train, circled up as it was, was lit by the cook fires of each individual group, with a massive bonfire in the middle. The area between both, was dark, and that was where the men stayed.


    ¡°If,¡± Emma took Mr. Grayson¡¯s silence as an opening, and continued, ¡°you must insist on insulting my men, then I can only assume you¡¯re insulting me as well.¡± She looked at Clint, and something crossed between the two. Without a single word uttered, Clint set his own bowl down, let out a heavy sigh, and stood. He walked over to Emma, his movement causing Mr. Grayson to take a single step backwards, his hand flinching down towards his holstered pistol.


    ¡°Must you?¡± Clint said, his voice barely a whisper. Emma simply smiled at him, and held her hand out. Clint pulled one of his leather gloves from its resting place between his waist and his belt, and handed it to her. Emma then proceeded to step forward and slap Mr. Grayson across the face with the leather glove.


    ¡°You¡¯ve insulted my honor,¡± Emma said, her voice raised, tone clear, loud enough for everyone in the camp to hear, ¡°and as such, I find you must .¡± Between the sound of the smack of leather against flesh, and Emma¡¯s words, the world seemed to go completely silence. As if the very universe was shocked at what had just occurred. For a brief moment, I forgot my own pain, as I simply stared dumbfounded, at Emma.


    ¡°You¡¯ve no idea what trouble you¡¯ve just put yourself in,¡± Mr. Grayson whispered, his tone filled with hate. ¡°I¡¯ll make you regret your words.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s so,¡± Emma pressed, her own tone silent, ¡°then accept my challenge, and set the terms.¡±


    Mr. Grayson growled, ¡°you claim I¡¯ve insulted your honor,¡± he said, still hushed, ¡°but if I gun you down here, a woman, then there¡¯s nothing in it for me. Killing a woman in a gunfight ain¡¯t honorable.¡±


    ¡°Who said anything about a gunfight?¡± Emma nodded down at his weapon. ¡°Unless that sword of yours is just for show? I said a duel, not a fight to the death. A proper duel, to first blood, like civilized academics. Which, I understand, may be a stretch for you.¡±


    Mr. Grayson¡¯s smile grew as he looked at Emma. ¡°Very well,¡± he licked his lips, his own voice raising. ¡°I accept your challenge to a duel,¡± he declared loudly, ¡°for no true gentleman would deny a woman a right to defend her own honor,¡± he then looked at Clint, and then me, ¡°though, I find it sad you must defend your own honor, and no one else has offered to defend it for you.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t my place to stop her from doing as she pleases,¡± Clint said with a shrug, ¡°I¡¯m only here to keep her safe, and far as I can tell, she isn¡¯t in danger.¡± Clint laughed as he took his glove back from Emma. He turned away from Mr. Grayson and made his way back towards his bowl of food, even as he added, ¡°you are.¡±


    I took another bite, not tasting my food, as I watched the two figures standing before me. Since day 1, there had been tension between Emma and Mr. Grayson. It had grown over the course of the trip, including on account of my involvement in the bison slaughter. I¡¯d been hopefully it would blow over, and we could simply disappear into Lincoln, and be done with the man. But, it seemed Emma wasn¡¯t the type to let grudges go. And, if I had to guess, her patience and self-control were at their limit by now, no doubt in part due to my harsh words and constant griping as I suffered the trip. Either way, the duel had been declared, meaning one way or another, the situation between Mr. Grayson, and us, was about to end.


    And for some reason, I had a feeling Mr. Grayson was in for one hell of a surprise.

 Chapter 22

    Chapter 22


    ¡°Here you are,¡± Clint said to Emma as he handed her a wrapped cloth. He¡¯d just returned from within our wagon, after having rummaged about through the chests Emma had brought along. Her belongings, I knew. All she had left, now that the town she¡¯d lived in, run, and called her own, was no more.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she smiled as she unwrapped it. Mr. Grayson had moved towards the center of the wagon train, to prepare the stage for the duel. That is, he and his men were busy drawing a circle in the ground, within which the two would duel. I¡¯d only ever heard of duels to first blood, but never seen one. Hell, any ¡®duel¡¯ I¡¯d ever seen was usually one person gunning another down before the count to ten even happened. Honor was, well, it wasn¡¯t that common a commodity. After all, honor was worthless if you were dead.


    ¡°Not to poke at a potential rattler¡¯s nest,¡± I said, still seated, still sipping on my stew. The warmth of our cook fire was calming to my aching body, as was the warm, rich meal. Save for the pounding headache, intensified by Emma and whatever it was she was up to, I was about as comfortable as I could be, given it felt like my body was tearing itself apart from the inside. ¡°But are you absolutely sure this is a good idea?¡±


    In response, Emma simply smiled at me, as she revealed what had been wrapped within the cloth. A gleaming, silver weapon with a long, thin blade, the length of a man¡¯s arm or perhaps a tad more. It was an elegant weapon, a stark contrast to the calvary saber that Mr. Grayson wore at his side. While the saber had a thick, slightly curved blade, with a single sharp edge, the blade Emma had was double edged, slender, and straight as an arrow.


    ¡°When it comes to people like Mr. Grayson,¡± she said matter of factly, as she took hold of the weapon. In her hand, I saw that the pommel of the weapon was adorned with a small, blue gem, ¡°you eventually have to show them the stick, if you want them to respect you.¡± She flicked her wrist this way and that, making the weapon dance in the air. Elegant, and deadly. Just like Emma.


    ¡°What happened to keeping a low profile?¡± I asked. Honestly, what Emma did was up to her. I wasn¡¯t her keeper. But these past ten days had been filled with more excitement than I¡¯d planned. On top of that, and the pain I was dealing with, my frustration had been growing. If not for all of the unexpected¡­ activities, I would already have a copper core by now and wouldn¡¯t have been suffering like I currently was. Mr. Grayson was to blame for some of that, sure, but Emma¡¯s constant poking of the man, hadn¡¯t helped. In contrast, it had exasperated things to the point we had currently reached.


    For a moment, a look of guilt crossed Emma¡¯s face. She looked at me, somewhat sheepish, as if to apologize. ¡°It wasn¡¯t my intention for things to get this far.¡± She said after a moment, genuine sincerity in her voice, ¡°but people like Mr. Grayson, remind me too much of my uncle. And I cannot sit idly by while such filth walks all over everyone else, acting like the ground they¡¯re on needs to be worshipped.¡± A fire had filled her eyes that was uncommon for the woman with the water affinity. She was normally so cool and collected, still like the waters of a damned lake. However, it appeared Mr. Grayson had broken that dam, and now, he was set to face the water¡¯s wrath.


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    ¡°What would you have done, had he not agreed to a duel on your terms?¡± I pressed. I had yet to see her actually fire a pistol. Sure, she had a shotgun, and apparently a rapier, which I assumed was what that blade was, but I wasn¡¯t sure she had the skills to be a proper gunslinger. ¡°What if he¡¯d wanted the more common sort of duel?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not the type to do such a thing.¡± Emma said calmly. ¡°He¡¯s too proud. Too¡­vile. This situation is one he thinks he is orchestrating. He¡¯s been working hard to attempt to rile us up. Mark my words, he¡¯s taken note of your increasingly debilitated state, and he views Clint as an old man. He wanted to rile me up, to see if he could force a duel. I¡¯m certain he figured Clint would be forced to step in, and that he could beat Clint therefore, and leave me defenseless, and at his whims. By initiating it myself, and declaring it publicly, his options became even more¡­enticing. Now he gets to attempt to put an uppity woman like myself in her place, in front of the whole caravan.¡± She spit, extremely unladylike, into the fire. The blaze in her eyes intensified. Her past, anything that reminded her of her uncle, unleashed a completely different side of Emma.


    ¡°And you think you can take him in a duel with swords?¡± I pressed. Sure, the weapon she had was beautiful and finely made. But the make of a weapon didn¡¯t make the person using it any better. And far as I knew, sword fighting was pretty much a lost art. Even the military hardly ever used them. Officers were the ones who often carried them, from what I understood, or some of the enlisted marines, who¡¯s officers had handed off their calvary sabers to their men in favor of a lighter blade. Regardless, the sabers weren¡¯t really sword fighting weapons. My understanding of them was they were mostly used from horseback, to slice and chop at people around them.


    ¡°I appreciate your concern,¡± Emma said to me, her lips pursed in a thin line, ¡°but I can assure you, in this manner, your concern is extremely misplaced. A family such as mine,¡± her tone was bitter, ¡°ensured that every member of the family, no matter their strength, size, or mana type, was able to defend themselves in a variety of ways.¡± Another few flicks of her wrist, and she seemed satisfied. Behind her, I noticed a crowd was gathering near the bonfire in the middle of the caravan. Standing between the fire, and us, was Mr. Grayson, the man¡¯s face unreadable, covered in shadows as it was. Yet in his hand, drawn from its sheath, gleaming in the light, was his soul-silver saber. As fine a weapon, if not more, than the blade Emma held.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that I doubt you,¡± I lied, ¡°it¡¯s that I don¡¯t trust Mr. Grayson to fight fair.¡± That, at least, was true. While I was having a hard time believing any of this was a good idea, or that Emma could handle this duel, even with Clint assuring me she could, I was less trusting of Mr. Grayson. The man was a snake. He was vile. He was nasty. Just like Emma said, he was exactly the kind of man that I imagined her uncle, Bloody Bill, was like. And as such, even with everyone around witnessing their duel, I didn¡¯t believe for a second he would fight fair.


    Emma laughed, and it was laughter devoid of amusement. It was a cold, cruel sound. She nodded to Clint, who stood and began walking with her towards the bonfire, before she spoke. ¡°That man doesn¡¯t view me as a big enough threat, to fight dirty.¡± She said, ¡°and by the time he realizes his mistake,¡± the fire light danced across her face, stretching the shadows around her skin, into an almost demonic visage, ¡°it¡¯ll be too late for him to do anything.¡±


    Even with the fire, the stew, and the warm air of the night, I couldn¡¯t help but shiver.

 Chapter 23

    Chapter 23


    From where I sat, the contest seemed like it should be over before it began. Grayson had removed his jacket, revealing a cotton shirt underneath that confirmed the obvious. The man was fit and strong, no stranger to a life of physical activity. I could see his biceps clearly as he held his sword out before him, the blade slanting across his body, the slight curve making it clear the weapon was meant for slashing attacks.


    On the contrary, Emma was slender, lithe. She was still in her dress, and even while it was the traveling sort, I had to wonder what she was playing at. Surely, such a thing would make it more difficult to move. Additionally, she was slender of frame, hell, her wrists were so small I could easily clasp my hand all the way around them. Such gentle things, that didn¡¯t seem meant for any type of physical confrontation. She was shorter than Grayson, slimmer in build, lesser in weight, and physically the contest wasn¡¯t fair. Her smaller size also meant she had much less reach than Grayson.


    I didn¡¯t know much about sword fighting, but I knew a thing or two about fighting hand to hand. The reach granted to someone by longer limbs could be a deadly advantage if they knew what they were doing. And sure, physical size wasn¡¯t everything in a fight, but it sure as hell helped. The only thing in equality for the two that I knew for sure, was their cores. Both of them had copper cores, Emma with her water affinity, and Grayson, his earth affinity. And I knew having a copper core meant, compared to normal folk, the both of them were stronger and faster than was natural. My own strength, speed, stamina, and overall enhanced physical nature was apparently due to my massive amounts of mana after all. And I only had an Iron core.


    Emma took up her stance about five paces away from Grayson. She held her slender blade outwards, in a somewhat lose manner, and waited. In the center, one of Grayson¡¯s men stepped forward. He flipped something into the air and stepped backwards. Everyone grew silent as the shimmering coin flew upwards, waiting. Once the coin hit the ground, the duel would begin. A duel to first blood.


    I felt the world slow as I focused intently on what was before me. Worry filled me over Emma¡¯s fate. Disbelief and confusion raced through my mind over how Clint, who was standing with a group of people watching the duel, seemed so calm over the whole thing. Frustration and anger filled me, over the whole damned situation. This was not how you kept a low profile. And finally, pain. My constant companion, the cruel throbbing pain that felt as if my insides were burning away.


    The coin dropped, and I couldn¡¯t see from where I was when it hit the ground. But I assumed it must have, as Grayson stepped forward, slashing his blade in a diagonal manner, cutting at Emma. The soul-silver blade seemed to flash as the flames from the bonfire illuminated the weapon. It was a deadly looking attack, and if it struck anyone cleanly, it would likely inflict a deep wound. However, as I watched, I could tell it wouldn¡¯t hit her chest. Hells, it wasn¡¯t even aiming for her body proper. He¡¯d not closed the distance enough, and the smirk on his face showed he knew it. The blade whistled through the air, inches away from Emma.


    ¡°You¡¯ve overstepped Miss Parker.¡± He said cockily as he stepped backwards, bringing his sword back up, the grin clear on his face. ¡°Your inability to react just now shows as much. I¡¯ll give you one chance to surrender. You¡¯ve stood up for your honor. The fact you even stepped into this duel against me, is more than enough to prove your conviction, misplaced as it should be. Surrender, for it would surely be a crime to scar such beautiful skin as you¡¯ve¡ª¡±


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    He didn¡¯t get to finish his statement. Emma half dashed, half shuffled forward, her right arm striking forward like a viper striking from the bushes. As she extended her arm outwards it twisted slightly, her wrist seeming to dip forward, making the thin blade drop slightly as it darted towards Grayson. This time, it was he who didn¡¯t move, as the blade froze under his chin. From where I was, I couldn¡¯t tell if she¡¯d pierced his flesh or stopped just before. Either way, the simple, sudden act, was telling.


    Grayson took an unvoluntary step backwards as he looked down at the blade, Emma already retracting her strike and putting distance between the two of them once more. She took up her stance once more, the slender blade held loosely, the tip slanted forward at an angle. She smiled at him, her eyes somehow looking down at him, even though he towered over her.


    ¡°You¡¯ve overstepped, Mr. Grayson,¡± she said, tauntingly. She was enjoying herself. ¡°Your inability to react just now shows as much.¡± There was laughter from some of the people watching the duel. Her opponent, on the other hand, scowled, his sword shaking in his hand from anger. Emma continued toying with him. ¡°I¡¯ll let you surrender now, if you wish to save some of your pride. Can¡¯t imagine your men will respect you all that much, if you lose in a duel to a frail woman such as I.¡± More laughter, while Grayson¡¯s men glanced from Emma to their employer.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to wish you¡¯d drawn blood there.¡± Grayson spat on the ground and took up his own stance. ¡°I was going to be kind; I was trying to be respectful.¡± His tone deepened, ¡°but it seems you need to be reminded of the law of the land.¡±


    ¡°Oh, and what law is that?¡± Emma asked, taunting him even more as they circled each other, neither stepping forward.


    ¡°The most important law. The one truth in nature that all understand, and respect.¡± He said, ¡°might,¡± as he spoke, I couldn¡¯t help but feel his blade seemed to glow brighter for a moment. On instinct, I pushed a small amount of mana to my eyes, though the action caused my headache to flare even more. Squinting through the pain, as the world burst into an array of reds and blues and greens and silvery purples, I focused. Grayson¡¯s emerald core glowed, but more than that, so did his weapon. He was pushing mana into his soul-silver blade.


    I felt a pit open in my stomach, as I thought back to the one other time I¡¯d seen such a thing. The visage of Holiday, the US Marshall, running someone through with the base of his walking stick, form which a blade of ice protruded, filled my mind. My confidence in Emma¡¯s skill fled as fear for her safety filled me. She wasn¡¯t a see-er. She couldn¡¯t see what he was doing. Did anyone know?


    In times of great crisis, sometimes, the mind seems to go into overdrive. So too, did my mind accelerate as I watched the moment. He stepped forward once more, this time closing the distance to ensure he would be able to cut Miss Emma down. His blade slashed diagonally, in an arc that would run from shoulder to waist. And as he did so, all along the blade, I saw green mana crawl. It was barely decipherable, but I watched as the blade¡¯s edge, and overall length, grew.


    The attack moved towards Emma in slow motion. She stood there, watching him, unmoving, as the attack slashed towards her. He¡¯d waited till her back was towards the bonfire, eliminating how far she could step backwards comfortably. With the extended length on the blade, even if she did take a step black, the weapon would cut her. Far as I could tell, there was no escape from this strike. Her slender blade had no chance of stopping the thicker, heavier weapon.


    Miss Emma was doomed to lose this duel, and what¡¯s more, she was not going to leave it with a minor scratch or cut. I had no doubt in my mind, the attack would leave her with a serious injury. One that would no doubt leave her incapable of traveling past Lincoln for a long while. In this singular moment of time, as the world felt frozen around me, save for the impending end of my travels with Emma, all I could do was watch.


    Once again, I was useless, helpless. The pain in my body, was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. If there was one thing I could never stand, never allow myself to bare again, it was the impossible grief and weight of being unable to help someone you cared about.


    And in that moment, as that pain pushed away all the other pain within me, I realized something else. I cared about Emma. I cared about Clint. Somehow, I¡¯d once again, began to let people in. I¡¯d once again begun to form bonds. And now, all too soon, they¡¯d once again be severed.


    I felt a tear fall down my face, whether from pain, anger, frustration, or grief, I didn¡¯t know. I refused to blink as I watched the scene unfold. I refused to look away as the moment that had pushed such a revelation on me played out.


    It was the only thing I could do. Because, once again, fate was showing me, I wasn¡¯t the one in control. I was still powerless, still helpless, still incapable of protecting the things I cared about. I¡­was weak.

 Chapter 24

    Chapter 24


    Oblivious to my self-loathing, Emma was still in the middle of her duel. As the deadly slash made its way towards her, she waited, till what felt like the impossible last second, to finally move. Her slender blade moved outwards, the flat of her blade meeting the flat of the saber. With a fluid motion and twist of her wrist, she guided the slash, altering its course, dropping the strike lower than intended, and pushing it out wide. She¡¯d not met it head on. She hadn¡¯t tried to stop it with brute force. Instead, she¡¯d used the speed, the momentum, and the effected weight of the sword, likely due to the stone growing from it, to throw the swing off. And with the momentum of the slash carrying to forward, there was now an opening for her to strike.


    Emma didn¡¯t hesitate.


    She stepped forward, twirling like a dancer back to their partners embrace. Her blade followed with her, having completed its task of diverting what would have been a grave strike. With all the grace and elegance of a ballet dancer, Emma was suddenly chest to chest with Grayson. And her blade, rested once more underneath his chin, so close it could practically give him a shave. If she¡¯d wanted to, she could have killed the man, then and there. And it was clear from the look on the man¡¯s face that he knew it.


    This time, Emma didn¡¯t pull back. This time, she didn¡¯t give him a chance, didn¡¯t give him an out. There was no doubt she¡¯d seen his attempt to use the soul-silver weapon to his advantage. Had attempted to strike her down with what was no doubt an underhanded tactic. And Emma wasn¡¯t one to forgive such a slight.


    Before Grayson could move. Before he could step back, before he could attempt to strike her, before the man could do anything, she twisted her sword, so one of the edges was now perpendicular with his body and pulled the weapon downwards. The thin blade cut through his shirt, drawing a line down his chest that turned crimson a moment later. Only then did she step away, to the cheers of many of the members of the caravan. Grayson had been¡­ less than appropriate with many of the members for the duration of the journey, and it was clear everyone was quite thrilled to see him put in his place.


    Unfortunately, Grayson himself didn¡¯t seem willing to admit defeat. Even though the duel was finished, by all means, the affront to his pride, the fact he¡¯d lost to Emma, seemed too much for him. His left hand touched his chest, fingers coming away red, as his shirt hung open, revealing the damaged flesh. Without warning, save for a guttural growl, he swung his sword once more Emma¡¯s way.


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    Poor man never saw the shot coming. In what I could only imagine had been another calculated plan by Emma, Grayson¡¯s body rocketed backwards the moment his sword had begun to descend towards her back. The reason being, was obvious to me. Clint, casually smoking his pipe, held one of his Peacekeepers against his hip, the barrel pointed in Grayson¡¯s direction. He¡¯d fired off a chest thumper, and a rather mighty one at that, at Grayson. The condensed air bullet had hit the man, directly in his newly opened wound, with enough force to lift him off the ground.


    Sword clattering to the ground, the cheering caravan now stunned into silence, Emma continued casually walking away from the sputtering, cursing, raging man.


    ¡°You¡¯ll pay for this,¡± Grayson growled as he stood back up, wincing as he did. I highly doubted anything was broken, but Clint¡¯s shot had probably packed enough of a punch to bruise the man. If not physically, at least in his ego. Condensed air mana pounding into a thin cut likely stung something fierce as well, on top of his sudden appointment with the ground, and of course, the sting of the humiliation that had just befell him. Grayson was a proud man. He was a cocky man. He was, honestly¡­ not too far off of the type of man I¡¯d been becoming, before my betrayal at the hands of Thomas Cane. I¡¯d been overly proud of my strength, overly confident of my skills. I looked down on others, and who knew what would have happened, had I continued that path.


    In another lifetime, I could have become just like the man. Which, perhaps, was another reason I despised him so. He was a stark reminder of the flaws that existed within me. Flaws that even now, I was actively working to dispel.


    A chuckle escaped my throat, as Grayson continued his tirade. No one listened to him anymore. Whatever respect he¡¯d garnered, was gone. He¡¯d tried to strike down a person, in the back, after losing a duel to them. He¡¯d tried to strike down a woman, in the back. All pretenses of being a gentleman were gone. He¡¯d shown his true colors, and there was nothing else he could do about it. All that remained was for him to take whatever dignity he had left, of which there wasn¡¯t any in my eyes at least, and get the caravan safely to Lincoln tomorrow. From there, well, I had no doubt the moment stories of his actions spread, that Grayson might find himself in much less favorable standings with all those he clearly wished to interact with.


    A single action, a single misstep, the result of misplaced pride, had brought him low. I guessed that I needed to add a lesson to the lessons I¡¯d learned that night. And, perhaps, once I ascended to copper, and my body no longer hurt in such a way that death seemed a welcome solution, I¡¯d seek out another potential lesson.


    After all, while I was a gunslinger through and through, I had no doubt learning how to use other weapons wouldn¡¯t be a bad life choice. Especially if I could learn to channel mana into them. If Grayson could do as much, well, I had no doubt I could.

 Chapter 25

    Chapter 25


    Try as I might, sleep wouldn¡¯t come. The one, blissful escape from the pain searing my body, was just out of reach, kept at bay by the very thing I was seeking to escape. After more than a few hours of fighting to drift off, and more than a little frustrated with the whole of the situation, I gave up trying, and decided the least I could do, was relieve Emma from watch. She had insisted on taking my watch, given my¡­situation, but as it stood, that seemed pointless.


    ¡°You may as well go to bed,¡± I grumbled as I sat up, moving closer towards the fire where she sat. She was starring lazily into the dancing flames, poking at them occasionally with a stick by her side. For a moment, she looked like an innocent child. No care in the world, lost in dreams shown to her by the flames. When she looked at me, even with the pain going through me, I couldn¡¯t help but smile.


    ¡°And why¡¯s that Mr. Jones?¡± She asked, poking again at the fire. A piece of wood crackled, sending sparks into the air to dance along with the smoke that lazily rose into the sky. We had a pile of dried wood near enough to keep the fire going but had gathered some fresher sticks during our travels. She¡¯d thrown a few of those on the fire, and the moisture inside was fighting back against the consuming flames.


    ¡°I can¡¯t sleep. So figure there¡¯s no need for the both of us to stay awake. I¡¯ll cover the rest of your watch, and I¡¯ll wake Clint when it¡¯s time for his, and maybe I¡¯ll try sleepin¡¯ again then.¡±


    ¡°Is the pain truly that bad?¡± she asked. I nodded in confirmation. ¡°I could try to help ease the pain some.¡± She offered softly. She looked past me, towards the wagon. She had her special water pitcher packed away there. The one with the soul-silver base, that let her infuse water with her mana. It helped with healing, and she¡¯d been using it the past few days to help ease my pain. But, sadly, my pain exceeded what comfort even that could provide.


    ¡°Appreciate it,¡± I said curtly, wrapping my blanket around my shoulders as I fought a shiver. It wasn¡¯t cold by any means, but my body struggled. ¡°But ain¡¯t nothing you can do to help now. All we can do is hurry to Lincoln, so I can ascend in peace, and be freed of this pain.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a stubborn fool,¡± she said with a shake of her head, ¡°no sane man would suffer as you have, for so long.¡±


    ¡°To be fair,¡± I offered, trying my best to force some sort of positive emotion past my pain and sorrow and anger. Humor and sarcasm were my go-to options in such times. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me the process would feel like I was bein¡¯ flayed alive. If you had, I may have second-guessed starting the whole process till we reached Lincoln.¡±


    Emma laughed at that, a musical blessing to my ears. ¡°I highly doubt that Mr. Jones,¡± she said, poking the fire once more. She left her stick in the coals of the fire, and continued, ¡°you and I both know you¡¯re not the waiting type. Especially when it comes to getting what you want. And what you want, is pretty obvious.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± I asked, raising an eyebrow. ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°To be stronger,¡± she said simply. ¡°At your very core, the things you want are crystal clear. It¡¯s what makes you, honestly, trustworthy. You¡¯re simple.¡±


    I felt my anger rise, but Emma cut me off before I could protest.


    ¡°Simple isn¡¯t bad.¡± She said, ¡°it¡¯s actually refreshing. You want to be stronger, and past that, you want to avenge Randal. It¡¯s not the most ambitious goal, but it¡¯s one I can respect. One I can understand. And you¡¯ve been true enough with me an Clint about that. At the same time,¡± she rolled the stick in the fire, this way and that, ¡°being simple also makes you predictable.¡±


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    ¡°Being predictable ain¡¯t a good thing,¡± I grumbled. ¡°Makes it easier for people to get the drop on you.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t no one trying to get the drop on you right now,¡± Emma countered, ¡°and this ain¡¯t in a way like that anyways. It just means the moment you learned of a way to get stronger; you were going to put all your energy into making it happen, as soon as possible. You¡¯re impatient with your time, which also makes you efficient with it. You couldn¡¯t sit and twiddle your thumbs on the trip. You tried to use the time in the best way possible, to reach your goals. And,¡± her voice dropped, ¡°if not for my meddling and confrontation with Mr. Grayson, you may have accomplished them already.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well¡± I shifted, trying, and failing, to get somewhat comfortable. All my body knew right now was pain, ¡°we¡¯ve already had this spat about that. Ain¡¯t no good beatin¡¯ a dead horse.¡± My voice was sour, but it wasn¡¯t bitter towards her. I¡¯d resigned myself to the pain, and I¡¯d made peace, of sorts, with the situation. There wasn¡¯t anything else I could, and I was powerless to change anything about my current situation. I hated that fact, but I knew it was the truth. Instead, I decided to change the topic.


    ¡°If you ain¡¯t going to get some sleep,¡± I said, noting she¡¯d not moved from her spot. ¡°Least you could do is keep me company then. It¡¯s no secret I¡¯m in pain. I¡¯d welcome an escape, if even temporary, from thinking about how much it hurts to live right now.¡± I motioned towards her, ¡°so, would you mind telling me a little more about yourself? If I¡¯m being honest, I really don¡¯t know all that much about you.¡±


    She smiled coyly at me, as she drew the stick from the fire. A good two inches of the wood glowed brightly now, shining with crimson light in the darkness of the night. It reminded me of my own fire mana. Emma flicked her wrist this way and that, lazily tracing shapes in the air, the glowing tip moving so quickly that for the briefest of moments, it seemed the shapes were solidified in the air, and not the product of a single, burning stick.


    ¡°That¡¯s rich coming from a man I know almost nothing about myself.¡± Emma said, pointing the stick towards me. ¡°You, at the very least, know who I am. But you and I both know, you¡¯ve not even graced me with your actual name.¡± She pursed her lips together, thoughtfully. ¡°If you¡¯d be so kind as to tell me a little more about yourself, then, well,¡± she placed the stick back in the fire, and stood, moving closer towards me. ¡°I¡¯d be willing to tell you a little more about myself.¡±


    I watched her as she moved within an arms length of me, before she sat back down, her legs crossed, her hands moving behind her as she looked up at the stars in the sky. My eyes looked at her, catching on her pale skin, noting her neckline lit by the flames, pale flesh descending down into darkness. A slight floral scent played across my nose, flitting too and fro amongst the smells of the burning fire.


    ¡°I¡¯m interested in knowing you better,¡± she said, not looking my way, ¡°and that means, knowing the real you, and not just your mysterious alias.¡±


    Her words hung in the air, as she continued gazing upwards. I pulled my eyes away from her, and starred for a long moment into the fire, silence between us save for the crackling flames. When I felt my eyes getting pulled into the flames, felt my memories moving back towards my past, towards my parents, and the flames that had consumed them, I pulled away. I followed the smoke upwards, the sky above, and looked for a long, silent moment, at the stars and moon. So bright and large and unfathomable above us, making me, and this moment, feel so small, so insignificant, indeed.


    ¡°Very well,¡± I said, after who knew how long. ¡°I¡¯ll play your game.¡±


    She laughed, the sound making me turn to look at her. She was no longer leaning back, and instead had turned her body to face me, her eyes watching me with interest. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡± She said, her smirk betraying her words.


    I shook my head and looked back at the sky. ¡°Lying isn¡¯t very proper for a lady of your standing,¡± I said, feeling my lips twitch in a smile, even with the pain running through my veins. ¡°But I suppose I¡¯m not one to talk in that regard.¡± I took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. ¡°If, you must know¡­ my real name, is Alexander.¡±


    ¡°Alexander.¡± She said the name softly, no more than a whisper. ¡°Alexander what?¡± She pressed.


    I took another deep breath. ¡°Alexander Davenport.¡±

 Chapter 26

    Chapter 26


    The following silence was one of the longest ones of my life. This was the first time I¡¯d willingly told someone who I was, not counting my moment with John Holiday. The Marshal had already known who I was, somehow, and had simply made me confirm the fact. But here, and now, telling Emma, it was something I¡¯d never done before. Ever since that day, more than ten years ago, when my parents had burned, and Randal and I had fled, I¡¯d been someone else. Anyone else.


    ¡°Davenport,¡± Emma said my last name softly, the hint of a question in the tone that she said it. ¡°I remember my father mentioning a rail baron by the name once. Said they¡¯d perished in a terrible accident.¡± She paused, and I couldn¡¯t help but look at her. She locked eyes with me, and I could see she was putting it together. ¡°He said they¡¯d had a son just a bit younger than me. Said he died as well. But¡± another pause, and I couldn¡¯t look away. ¡°That was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡± I shivered once more, and this time it wasn¡¯t from cold, nor the pain of my body.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I croaked. It was equally terrifying, and yet somehow freeing to tell her the truth. To have it be known who I was. It had always been something I¡¯d considered. That Emma, given her father had been a rail baron before his death, and the fact her uncle was one of the most notorious rail barons, that she may know of the other such families. The families that vied for wealth and power, that scrambled and competed for the vast riches that the burgeoning rail industry offered. My father had been on the up and up, far as I could remember. If he¡¯d not died that day, there was a good chance he, we, could have been one of the wealthiest families in all of America by now.


    ¡°And you kept your name hidden because it wasn¡¯t an accident?¡± Emma surmised. She knew how the world worked, especially when it came to the rail barons. It wasn¡¯t unheard of for the families to go after competitors. And it wasn¡¯t that uncommon for potential upstarts to, well, find themselves the holders of a one-way ticket to an early grave. ¡°Your family was murdered.¡±


    The statement was grim, and it wasn¡¯t completely off the mark. ¡°Yes, and no.¡± I answered, watching her face register my words. For all her intelligence, all her insight, this time, I knew, she wouldn¡¯t be able to figure out the truth without a little help from me. I took one more breath, feeling what I was about to do was probably the dumbest thing I¡¯d done to date. However, with pain addling my mind, and more than that, with the somewhat euphoric moment of lightness that had overcome me by telling her the truth of my name, I decided Emma, at the very least, could know the truth. The whole truth.


    ¡°What I¡¯m about to tell you,¡± I began, tone serious, ¡°I¡¯ve never told another soul. And I need you to promise me, Emma, that you¡¯ll take my secrets to the grave. I¡¯m going to trust you, in a way I¡¯ve never trusted anyone else before. And, if you betray that trust¡­¡± my voice was grim as I let the threat hang. It was Emma¡¯s turn to shiver.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± she said after a moment. ¡°I¡¯ll keep your secrets and ask then that you do the same for me, in turn. Figure, people like us, well,¡± she chuckled darkly, ¡°figure people like us only get the chance to trust, truly trust, a few people in life after all. You helped me out, and saved my life, clear as I see it, with regards to the Pickam situation. And, like I said, you¡¯re predictable. Which,¡± she smiled at me, and it was a pure, genuine smile, ¡°that nature of yours makes me feel you, just might be, the only other person I can trust in this world right now, aside from Clint.¡±


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    I glanced towards the wagon, where that particular individual snored away. Maybe I would tell Clint the truth too. Though, not just yet. I trusted him, sure, but spilling secrets wasn¡¯t something you did on a regular basis. I''d tell Emma, because I¡¯d already begun, and because, well, I had a feeling there was more to her, more she could teach me and show me, if we understood each other better. Now seemed the right time, to tell her who I was. Clint could wait till later.


    ¡°My family was murdered; in that they died prematurely. I can¡¯t say with full conviction though, that they were meant to die. Had they not fought back, had they not tried to protect me,¡± anger filled me as I spoke the next words, ¡°I think they may have been spared.¡±


    ¡°Protect you? Was someone attempting to kidnap you? To use you to hold as ransom?¡± It wasn¡¯t unheard of. Children were easy targets. And rich families would pay to see their heirs returned safely. It was also why families would resort to hiring bodyguards for their children once they reached an age that saw them leaving the protections of their home.


    ¡°Kidnap feels a bit tame for the situation,¡± I said bitterly, ¡°and it wasn¡¯t for a ransom.¡± I spit into the flames, ¡°and it wasn¡¯t a rival rail baron, nor some criminals looking for easy money.¡±


    ¡°Then who?¡± Emma pressed. ¡°And why?¡±


    ¡°The government, that¡¯s who.¡± I answered, letting my full distaste for the government fill my voice. ¡°Bastards learned about my affinities and sent members of the military to take me away. They wanted to use me as a weapon, and my fool of a father tried to stop ¡®em by force.¡± I shook my head, ¡°if not for Randal, I¡¯d likely have died that day along with my parents, and the bastards who¡¯d tried to steal me away. Lot of good that would have done the government then. Though,¡± I chuckled, and it was a dark sound, ¡°far as they needed to know, I did die that day.¡±


    ¡°They tried to steal you, because of your dual affinity?¡± Emma asked softly, a hint of disbelief in her voice. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t they have been better off protecting you, and helping you ascend? With dual affinities, you could have easily become something great. And it¡¯s rare, sure, but¡­ to kill your family to try and get you? That sounds too¡­drastic.¡±


    I let out another dark laugh. ¡°Dual affinities, sure. Maybe someone blessed with dual affinities would get to live the life of privilege at the government¡¯s hand. After all, as you said, dual affinities are rare, but they¡¯re still not unheard of. Such a drastic handling of the situation doesn¡¯t make sense, does it.¡± My mood was bitter. ¡°If only I¡¯d been born with just dual affinities, maybe my family would have been fine. Maybe my parents would still be alive. Hell, maybe you and I would have met under better circumstances, one without the need for lies and aliases.¡± I spat into the flames, ¡°maybe if I¡¯d not been cursed, I would have gotten to live a fucking blessed life.¡±


    ¡°You make it sound like you don¡¯t have dual affinities,¡± Emma began slowly, ¡°but I¡¯ve seen firsthand that you can use fire, and wind mana.¡± She paused, her eyes going wide as saucers as she looked at me. Her voice went from a whisper, to barely a breath. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me, you can use three affinities?¡±


    I sucked on my tongue, ¡°wrong again Emma.¡±


    She stared at me, and I saw the disbelief in her eyes. Then, this time, she didn¡¯t even speak, she merely mouthed the word and held up four fingers. I nodded, and you would have thought I¡¯d just told her ghosts were real.


    I spit once more into the flames and looked back up into the sky. ¡°So, there you have,¡± I said, ¡°my biggest secrets. Now that I¡¯ve told you a little more about myself, and while I figure you take the time to process the truth, how about you tell me a little more about yourself?¡±


    ¡°Ask whatever you¡¯d like,¡± Emma said, her voice holding a distant tone. It was clear she was still trying to wrap her head around what I¡¯d just told her. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she thought I was lying. Though, considering the situation, and everything she¡¯d seen of me so far, I had a feeling she believed me. It was just the sensible side of her, the logical side, that was likely struggling with my existence. After all, someone with dual affinities was damn near the thing of folk tales. Someone with all four, well that right there was pure fiction.


    ¡°Alright then,¡± I said, thinking for just a moment, before I came up with a good one. ¡°How¡¯d you get so good with that sword of yours?¡±

 Chapter 27

    Chapter 27


    Lincoln reminded me a lot more of the towns out East than I¡¯d expected. The building were large, and the massive dirt street was filled with the hustle and bustle of life. Carriages and wagons and lone riders moved too and fro, while people walked closer to the buildings and storefronts. The buildings themselves were established, built of brick and lumber, showing a city that intended to keep growing, and flourishing. Some of the buildings were at least three stories high, and I was pretty sure I spotted a few even taller and grandeur. In short, the town felt alive.


    That being said, I had little interest in it. The only perk of busy towns was that such crowds made it easy to disappear. And that was exactly what I had on my agenda. Lincoln was only a brief stop for us, before we disappeared, leaving no trace of our presence, or destination behind, as we headed north. At most, we¡¯d be gone from Lincoln in a week, ideally, sooner. First though, there was a much more pressing manner to deal with.


    My ascension to Copper.


    Immediately upon arrival at Lincoln, we sought out a hotel. Then, with the money my bloody work had earned us along the way, we purchased two hotel rooms side by side. One, for Clint and myself, with Emma getting one all to herself. From there, Clint and Emma had left, heading back to where the caravan had staged itself. They needed to drop the wagon off with the ol Mayor of Bisons¡¯ Rest¡¯s friend, and of course, transport the rest of our goods to our hotel. Additionally, Emma and Clint planned on gathering what they needed for our trip north. That meant supplies, spare horses, and most importantly, information.


    With the two gone, I was left alone, for the first time in what felt like forever. I had no idea when they¡¯d return, nor did I really care. I had my priority, and as Emma had pointed out just last night, I was predictable. Now that we were in Lincoln, now that I was safe, and away from any sort of distraction, I could focus on my task at hand. I could resume chasing my goal. And, most important of all, at least, to me for the moment, I could be freed of the pain that had tormented me for the better part of a week.


    Being alone also meant I could complete the necessary tasks to prepare to ascend, in a much more efficient manner than before. I¡¯d already purged most of my mana from my body and had an impossibly large amount of raw mana within. The pure, untamed mana thrashed against my mental walls, fighting to be freed of its confines. I could feel it, with every beat of my heart, as pain throbbed through my body. The mana was wild, and demanded I either free it to become one with my body, or I let it back into the world.


    ¡°Soon,¡± I croaked as I set myself gently into the water. I¡¯d drawn up a bath, the hotel we were in being advanced enough to actually have running water in the rooms. It was, unfortunately, not heated, though that was of little concern to me. The tub had been installed with a soul-silver heater, and the hotel staff had actually offered us pre-charged soul-silver batteries for the tub. Much like dynamite, or pre-loads, the soul silver batteries could be filled with mana, and then inserted into various contraptions to utilize the mana in unique ways.  It was technology that had begun taking off over the past few years, and I couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the ingenuity of it all.


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    Still, such things were nothing more than gross expenses and luxuries when it came down to it. If you didn¡¯t have the right type of mana to fill such things, you inevitably would need to purchase more. And while you could trade in the empty batteries for a discount on the next batch, it was still a waste of money in my opinion. Not to mention, much like dynamite, the amount of mana it took to fill the batteries, versus how long they lasted, was completely inefficient.


    In short, technology has a long way to go and was nothing more than a waste of money for now. Which¡­didn¡¯t stop us from buying a couple. Being suddenly flush with cash as we were and considering the travelling conditions we¡¯d just been exposed to, and the trip we had ahead of us, a nice bath wasn¡¯t the end of the world. More so, I hadn¡¯t been in the mood to tell Emma not to waste money.


    I turned a nob on the tub as I sank into the water, the cool liquid coming all the way up to my chest, my frayed nerves uncertain of if the water felt good or not. A strange buzzing sound filled the air as the battery opened up, releasing the fire mana into the tub itself. Slowly but surely, I felt the water begin to warm. I didn¡¯t feel bad about using it right now, considering I would simply refill it once my task was complete.


    With the water reaching a soothing temperature around my body, encompassing me in a warm embrace, I closed my eyes. My mind quickly focused on the task at hand, and I visualized immediately my core. The raw mana raged within, filling me from my very center, all the way to the very edges of my skin. Only a single layer of mana that had become a part of me, was visible.


    I took a deep breath, and filled my lungs with another dose of pure mana. Internally, I squeezed as much of it within as I could, and pushed, ever so slowly, my boundaries outwards. The walls I¡¯d built up over the past week shook, as the unmerged mana swelled with the new addition. With an exhale, I pushed my will into the mana that would obey me, the thin, small amount of mana that could still be called my own.


    In my mind¡¯s eye, wisps of greens and reds and blues and purples floated away from my body. Exhaustion immediately came to meet me, as the weariness from my travels, and enduring the pain, fought to overcome me. Another breath, and I repeated the process. A few more, and I knew my body would be completely devoid of mana bound to me. A few more breaths, and my core would be ready.


    I took each breath slowly, carefully, and watched my core internally with a focus that shouldn¡¯t have been possible. Even with my eyes closed, my eyes watered, and the vision of my inner self waivered. It were as if I was holding my hand in a fire, and watching as the flames ate at my flesh, while actively adding more fuel to that very same fire.


    The pain intensified with each breath, as did the exhaustion. And then, finally, after what felt like hours, but logically could only have been minutes, there was no more mana within my body that belonged to me. My core was filled to the brim, from the very center of my very being, out to the hairs all over my body, with raw mana. This, I knew, was the final tipping point. Emma¡¯s warning filled my mind, causing my next breath to pause, as I considered what I was doing. Once this process started, there was no stopping it. And assuming I didn¡¯t die, the only outcomes were either success, or, if I failed, a permanent crippling of my ability to use mana.


    I steeled my resolve and forced myself to breathe deep. Failure wasn¡¯t an option. My focus intensified, as I clung to a singular thought and purpose. I needed to get stronger. There was no other option for me. And I''d be damned, if I failed at this. If Emma could do it, if the Marshall could do, and hells, if fucking Grayson could do it, then so could I.


    With the last bit of determination, my lungs expanded to their maximum capacity, and the world seemed to freeze. A pain shot through my body like nothing I¡¯d ever felt before. My heart missed a beat as even it clenched tightly, refusing to relax, as the pain rocked me. I barely managed to keep my eyes shut, and my mind focused on my inner self.


    I saw the very moment when my core, my mental vision of myself, shattered.

 Chapter 28

    Chapter 28


    I¡¯d known my core was going to break. Emma had told me that much. But apparently she¡¯d forgotten to mention what exactly that would entail. She¡¯d laid out the process as simple for the cultivation and ascension. Your core would break, and then you¡¯d have to forcefully condense all of the raw mana into a brand-new core, while continually soul breathing as it got tighter and tighter within you until that new core formed.


    Maybe, for someone with a normal core, that process was rather self-explanatory. When your core was only the size of a quarter, shattering it, and then condensing that raw mana and forcing it to take shape until a new core formed, was probably a pretty damn easy process.


    When your core was your entire body, and it shattered¡­ well¡­ that was a whole different rodeo. And I was not prepared.


    I felt about as in control as a leaf atop a raging river. My focus was pulled a thousand different ways, as the pure mana within me rapidly fought to escape its confines. Without the boundaries of my core to hold it together, the mana quickly tried to tear itself free. I could feel the water of the bath actually bubbling from the sheer amount of mana that was seeping from my skin, and I had to wonder what I must look like. Was the mana visible? Did it have an affinity?


    Those thoughts were fleeting. Pain threatened to overwhelm me, and panic clawed at my throat, making my soul-breathing shudder. It took all my mental fortitude not to pass out. How the hell was I supposed to wrangle the mana at the same time?


    I didn¡¯t have time to contemplate though. Didn¡¯t have time to second guess myself, or time to let doubt fill myself. Failure wasn¡¯t an option. The mana within me may be untamed for now, but that was only temporary. The fleeting moment of freedom it had gained when my core had shattered was over. The mana within me, the mana I¡¯d spent days drawing in, holding confined, belonged to me. I just needed to make it aware of that fact.


    Gritting my teeth I fought through the pain. I focused again on my visual image of myself. I could see my body, floating in nothingness. Normally alit with all the colors of the various elements, it shone a bright white. The edges that made up the outline of my body where frayed, and it looked to my inner eye that I were like a shimmering star. The light pulsed everywhere from my body, shining in the darkness around it, seeping into the unknown. Already, the center of my body was growing dark, a small black pinhole of emptiness, as more mana fled my body than was put in through my soul-breathing.


    ¡°Gotta plug the holes first.¡± I said aloud, coaching myself through the process. I pressed my will down upon myself, imagining what I wanted. All of the shimmering mana pulsed, fighting against my will. For a long moment, my mind and the will of the energy within me clashed. I could feel it pushing against me, wishing for freedom. No¡­ that wasn¡¯t right.


    As the mana and my mind struggled back and forth, I realized the mana didn¡¯t want freedom. It wanted purpose. To belong to something. The raw mana was just that. It was raw, and formless. It existed, waiting, for someone to use it. To give it shape, and function. I could do that.


    With monumental force I slammed my will into the mana. First and foremost, I created a mental wall around myself, doing all I could to rebuild the walls of my core. I focused my attention my body, shoring up the outlines of my form, giving myself a solid shape and boundary. After who knew how long, as my shuttering breaths stabilized, the river of mana fleeing my body slowed. As I put mental damns around my entire body, the mana steadied, crashing into the walls, before pooling within.


    Another breath, and then another, as the stalemate between myself and the mana drew out. I could keep it at bay, but couldn¡¯t yet give it a purpose. More breaths, and I saw the dark whole within my center begin to fill. Even more breaths, and finally, the raw mana glowed throughout my entire form, without a single empty space.


    ¡°Good,¡± I muttered, as I felt a bead of sweat drop down my skin. Whether from exertion, or the bath, I didn¡¯t know. I couldn¡¯t care either, because I had to finish this task. With a better understanding of the mana, I felt I could do just that. Though hells, was I tired. Pain continued to throb, and the mana wasn¡¯t making this easy. It crashed against the barriers I¡¯d erected, and as I pulled in more mana with each breath, I could feel the pressure building once more. I couldn¡¯t spare more than another single breath for reprieve, before I¡¯d need to take the next step.


    ¡°Slowly,¡± I whispered as I took in a large breath, steadying it just as Randal had taught me. I filled my mind with my instructor, remembering all the lessons he¡¯d taught me. There was no doubt in my mind that he¡¯d intended to teach me this process. That he¡¯d planned to share with me all the secrets of mana and cultivation that he knew as a former US Marshal. And I knew, he believed in me. The earth mana user had always been firm and reliable, not one to mince words, and yet, a supportive force that was both rough, and nurturing. He¡¯d been a solid, reliable rock I could trust, and in the end, I¡¯d let him down. Because I¡¯d been weak.


    Fire stirred within at the thought, as I used my anger, my frustration, to bear down on the walls I¡¯d built within. The raw mana wanted a purpose, I could give it that. A tinge of red sparked in my mental image, as I pushed the walls inwards, inch by inch, working to condense the raw mana, just as Emma had instructed.


    This was my power. With that thought, more red shimmered, reinforcing the walls I¡¯d built. The power to kill, the power to avenge. More red, like kindling finally catching. My anger was the spark, my past, the fuel.


    I redoubled my efforts as I took in another breath. I couldn¡¯t fuel the process with just anger though. Randal had taught me as much. Anger was a powerful emotion, but also, a dangerous one. Losing oneself in a fit of rage could lead to foolish, and often deadly, accidents. I held the raw mana within my lungs as I thought about Randal, as I pictured his face. Calm, steady, reliable. Like a weathered mountain. Life had thrown a lot at him, but he¡¯d withstood the storm. I, too, needed that power.


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    Like roots sprouting following the first rain of spring, tendrils of green intertwined within my mind, as the raw mana sensed my intention. It laced throughout my burning passion, finding purchase in gaps within my mental walls, before reinforcing them. What started as tendrils like the roots of a budding tree, turned solid, creating a rocky wall of force and intention, which drove the rest of the raw mana within my body inwards even more.


    Each breath came easier now, as I felt the will of the raw mana clashing against my newly enforced boundaries. Brighter and brighter the pure mana within glowed, as it continued to condense and intensify. The reds and greens of the mana that had joined with my will, also grew brighter and brighter, as more of the raw mana took on the aspects of my will that had called it.


    Even still, I wasn¡¯t done. My mental core had drawn back in past the confines of my skin, at the very least, but still sat dangerously near my flesh. I could condense it more. I could drive it further within. According to Emma, I¡¯d need to condense the mana until a new core formed itself. Right now, I knew one hadn¡¯t. I was building the walls, but it was just an outline of intent. The mana hadn¡¯t stabilized, and my new core, wasn¡¯t yet formed. It needed more.


    With fire and earth mana intermingling within my mind¡¯s eye, I focused on the other two types of mana at my disposal, which hadn¡¯t yet bonded themselves to my will. Or, at least, I figured that was what was happening. I was in uncharted territory, and even with my new understanding of the raw mana itself, wasn¡¯t entirely sure what was happening with this process.


    The thought made a small smile spread on my face, as I realized that was all a part of it. I could be steel with my will, using anger and stubbornness to control some of the mana of the world. But for others, I needed to be flexible. Agile. I needed to be able to adapt on the fly. Versatility, was key, and in that, was my wind mana.


    Clint came to mind, unbidden, as I tried to single out the silvery-purple mana. The man was calm and collected, and yet, I knew, he was always ready to act. Always prepared for any and all situations. He could gun a man down from five hundred yards if need be, or in the same breath, blast someone off their feet with a harmless air round. He embodied, at least to me, the mana that he had an affinity for. There was no force that could stand against him, and at the same time, there was no obstacle he could go around, if he needed. His survival of the Civil War, while the others he¡¯d trained with had perished, was testament to that.


    Clint was a tornado, ready to destroy all that stood against the raw fury of nature, but also, the kind, caring, warm breeze of a summer day, that gently guided you off to sleep for a leisurely nap.


    On cue, the silvery-purple mana invaded my mind, swirling like the wind it was, around the red and green walls that were forming. It spiraled around the walls, creating a cocoon-like web all across from my image of my body. With each breath in, the web helped condense the walls, pushing the raw mana within even closer towards the center of my body. And when I exhaled, the strings of mana stretched, yet held firm.


    Confidence and elation filled me, as I turned my attention to the final mana type. Water.  Calm, collected, compassionate, like a gentle stream. I remembered the cooling, comforting nature of Emma¡¯s mana infused water. It had the ability to wash away weariness and increase the speed with which my body healed, like a refreshing mountain spring.


    Likewise though, water was powerful. It was dangerous and deadly. The calm surface of a lake could betray what lay within. And even more than that, nature knew no destructive force like those of coastal storms. Hurricanes that could level entire cities and drown populations in an instant.


    The water mana was more than just that too though. It was ice. It was cold, in a deadly way. Holiday came to mind, his mana freezing into a solid spike with which he impaled a man. Or the massive chunk of solid ice that Emma¡¯s dynamite had called forth, that leveled the railroad and left a crater filled with water behind.


    Water mana was both natural disaster, and life bringer. And both Emma and Holiday, with their tendencies to seem kind and good natured, while hiding beneath those fronts cold and calculating mannerisms, embodied the element perfectly.


    It was also, I realized, the element that embodied me the least. Even as it felt my intention, even as some of the raw mana within took on the cool blue light of water mana and flowed to join the wall I¡¯d been building, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder at how different I was, from the water users.


    Emma was right. I was simple. Predictable. Quicker to anger than I liked to admit as well. Fire fit me best, hands down. My steadfast nature, my unwavering conviction, coupled perfectly with earth. And my adaptability, my planning, my mental preparations that I took with me to every fight, made wind fit me as well.


    But water? I wasn¡¯t a good person. I wasn¡¯t a healer, or helper, nor did I have a kindhearted nature about me. Which, I suppose, meant the other aspect of water mana called most to me. I was cold blooded killer, through and through, when I needed to be. Sure, I¡¯d fought Pickam with a burning rage, but others, the pointless outlaws I¡¯d gunned down on my path to where I was now. Those had been cold, calculated killings. I¡¯d felt nothing for those people. They were simply steppingstones, on my path towards vengeance. I wasn¡¯t a life-giving spring, but a dark, icy abyss. And I¡¯d make sure any who stood in my way, drowned in the depths of my power.


    That final thought, that final conviction, resounded with the mana within my body. I felt the raw mana pulse as I drew in another breath. The walls pushed forward once more, the fire and stone forged barriers condensing the mana tightly, holding it back as it fought to be freed. The web of air mana closed inwards, wrapping it tightly, sealing the raw mana within. And then, the blue glow of mana pulsed against the silvery-purple, glowing brighter and brighter, as it froze everything in place.


    When I exhaled, I knew it was done. I¡¯d done it. The raw mana no longer pushed against my will. My newly formed core swirled within my body, a sphere of red, green, blue, and silvery-purple that pulsed with an inner light. I tried to delve within, and sensed a great empty depth. My core had formed, yet all of the raw mana that I¡¯d drawn during the trip to Lincoln, was nowhere to be seen. It had all gone to forming the boundaries of my new core, and I could already tell, it would take much longer to refill it.


    Elation filled my body, as I took a new breath. I felt the raw mana flow within, before it disappeared inside my new core. It looked like an egg of light to me, or perhaps, a strangely colored cocoon. Whatever it was, my elation could only keep my exhaustion at bay for a moment longer. As I exhaled my next breath, my mind and body gave in, and I felt myself slump forward.


    The final thought I had, before I lost consciousness, was how strange it was that I no longer felt the water of the tub, only cool air against my naked flesh.

 Chapter 29

    Chapter 29


    Mr. James Thompson


    He leaned lazily against a wall, his hat pulled low over his eyes, hiding not only where his gaze drifted, but also the red, glassy look of his eyes. Today was the day for his hunt, after all, and he¡¯d done everything he could to prepare. That meant he¡¯d sharpened all of his knives. That meant he¡¯d donned his heavier clothes, the insides of which were stitched with cotton and an extra layer of leather, to blunt any blows he may receive. And, finally, that meant he¡¯d spent as much time as he could spare in the sweet, intoxicating embrace of his opium. If he were going to work, he needed to be in the right mindset, after all.


    With his entire body tingling, a sense of floating making him feel as if he was more than weightless, he watched the building across from him. It was nondescript. But then again, all such things were. Safe houses, were supposed to be safe. They weren¡¯t supposed to stand out. They weren¡¯t supposed to be easy to find.


    One thing he¡¯d learned from an early age though was nothing was truly safe. If you had enough money and power, nothing was secret, nothing was sacred, and nothing couldn¡¯t be purchased for the right price. In a similar manner, the location of the safehouse holding Mr. Watt¡¯s former employee, a man by the name of Thomas Cane, had been easy for the Golden Circle to acquire. As had the list of Marshal¡¯s set to guard the man, their mana types, the level of their core, and their schedule.


    All of the information one could ever need, to try and make an attempt on Mr. Cane¡¯s life, had been purchased and provided to him, to ensure he could do his job, and end the man¡¯s life. With that level of information, a smart person could easily pick the right time to slip in, while the guards were changing shifts, or perhaps the less experienced guards were on shift, and handle the job.


    That wasn¡¯t his way of doing things though. He didn¡¯t want to sneak in and avoid conflict. He didn¡¯t want to take advantage of their weaker shift. A devil such as he, didn¡¯t take pleasure in killing weaklings. He¡¯d waited, and prepared, until their strongest members were guarding their precious informant. That was today. The day when the safehouse was guarded not by their run of the mill copper core members, but instead, three silver core members, and even more exciting, a gold. It had been a while, since he¡¯d been given the chance to kill one of those.


    He licked his lips as he pushed causally away from the wall, his hands slipping in the deep pockets of his heavy coat, as rain poured down from the skies above. The heavens were already weeping for the soon to be dead. Fitting.


    Not bothering to look as he crossed the street, he kept his eyes fixed on his target. The house had a side entrance, down an alleyway, that had probably once been used for shipments and deliveries. Currently, the alleyway was empty, and the door itself, he figured, was locked. Not that it would do them much good. Not against him. Not when there was so much sweet, sweet mana in the air.


    A smile played across his face as he reached the door. He took a deep breath and mentally released his iron grip on his hunger. Immediately he felt the pit within his stomach open, followed a split second later by the rush of power as he syphoned the mana of the world around him. He didn¡¯t need to be subtle. Didn¡¯t need to hide he was coming. There was no fun in that, after all. Terror made mana taste so much sweeter.


    With the rush of mana flowing into his body, he felt strength well up within his muscles. His body, honed to perfection through an intense regime of physical training and practice, drank deeply of the stolen power. His sense of the world grew sharper, as he felt his skin stretch as he grew stronger, tougher. Those who lived with the power daily, truly had no idea how blessed they were. And he took perverse joy in showing them their wasted potential, whenever he had the chance.


    Muffled calls could be heard from within the safehouse. Concern over what he knew would be a sudden feeling of fatigue and sickness. Others told him it was an extremely unpleasant experience, though he paid them little mind. Those blessed with mana, those who lived with it as their constant companion since the age of eight, didn¡¯t know what unpleasant was. They didn¡¯t know what life was like, to live as he did. To not have a drop of mana to call his own. To not know the constant joy of being filled with mana. To be full. All he felt, day in and day out, was hunger. And even this moment of power and euphoria, he knew, was fleeting. Which was why, he could appreciate it so much more than those blessed with it. The gifted didn¡¯t know true suffering.


    A flash of light signaled what he was waiting for. When the thunderclap followed, his boot kicked into the door. Sure, the door had been reinforced with steel and locked multiple ways, but it didn¡¯t matter. His boots were lined with steel as well, and with his currently enhanced state, his strength and ferocity were enough to break the door off its hinges. The door may have been reinforced, but the stone walls the door was built into hadn''t been.


    Two sets of eyes turned to look at him, and he sighed in dismay as they drew their guns. Both held silver capped canes. Neither were his true prize. Ah well, appetizers then.


    ¡°My apologies,¡± he said with a sickly grin as he watched the two. To their credit, they both fired their guns even as he spoke. Shoot first, ask questions never. He could appreciate that level of professionalism and caution.


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    A blast of fire and a stone flew towards him. He yawned as he stood there. His stomach growled with hunger as the two bullets of mana approached. As they neared him, they slowed, shrank, and finally, disappeared. Neither reaching him, as the pit that existed within him where a core should have absorbed all of the mana around him. His muscles swelled with fresh power, as his tongue salivated. Everyone¡¯s mana had a different flavor to him. The fire users had a mild spice to it and reminded him of freshly cracked pepper. The earth users tasted more akin to the starchiness of a potato. When combined, well, a baked potato was a nice meal on a stormy day.


    More shots fired in his direction, doing little to pull him from his hunger and opium induced daydreaming. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled two knives from his belt and flung them both, with inhuman speed, at the two. The blades moved faster than the two Silver-tiered Marshals, who¡¯s cores had been getting drained by him this whole time, were able to track. Their surprised gurgles accompanied the sounds of their peacekeepers and silver-capped canes hitting the ground. Blood drenched their clothes and the floor, freed from their bodies by the knives that had lodged themselves, past their guards, in the men¡¯s throats.


    ¡°Whoops,¡± Mr. Thompson said, with childish humor, as he walked towards them. His eyes were already scanning the room, looking for the entrance to the basement. It was standard for the safe houses to keep two guards at the entrance, and the other two in a secured room, with their protected charge. ¡°Don¡¯t know my own strength,¡± he continued, to no one, as he walked past the bodies. He paused for a moment above the two, and took another deep breath. Just as he¡¯d imagined, he could taste the steamy, baked potato flavors across his tongue. Tinged with the buttery goodness that came as the final dredges left the dead men¡¯s cores.


    A sense of euphoria ran through him, and he nearly stumbled from the sudden joy and power that filled him. However, it was fleeting. It always was. The pit within required more. Demanded more. And already, he could feel the massive rush of power he¡¯d just gained, beginning to wane. It was always so¡­ fleeting.


    He picked out the entrance to the basement and quickly continued on his way. He¡¯d just remembered there was a gold ranked Marshal down there. Already, he could feel hints of the man¡¯s power. Cool and refreshing, like water from a fresh spring. Intermingled with another fire core, and an earth core. Shame there wasn¡¯t a wind user in the building. He¡¯d have loved to have a buffet of all four mana types. Oh well.


    Unlike before, he didn¡¯t kick the door in. Instead, he simply ripped the door open, letting it clatter to the floor in a not so subtle way. A rapid round of shots accompanied the sound, as the last of the silver ranked Marshal¡¯s fired rapidly at him. The man, obviously using the shots from earlier to prepare, fired not only twelve rounds from his peacekeepers, but then proceeded to fire a duo of larger, molten slags towards him from a shotgun he¡¯d had waiting.


    ¡°Not a bad plan,¡± Mr. Thompson said as his void consumed the attacks. ¡°Overwhelm a target with aggression.¡± It was part of the standard playbook they taught when facing down against stronger individuals. A silver cored gunman was multiple times stronger than a copper cored gunman, but that didn¡¯t mean a gang of copper¡¯s couldn¡¯t bring down the silver cored individual. Quantity, could, and often would, win against quality every time it came to gunfights. After all, people were still only human, no matter how strong their cores.


    Unluckily for the poor man, Mr. Thompson didn¡¯t fit himself in the human range. Another blur, another knife, and the man was slammed into the wall, his dying corpse leaving a trail of blood as it slumped to the ground. Three down, one Marshal to go. And, he guessed, his target too. He¡¯d have to thank the man, for giving him the chance to have such a feast.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming down,¡± he called as he walked lazily down the stairs. ¡°I know you¡¯re down here, Marshal,¡± his tone was cocky, if somewhat crazed. ¡°And I promise you, I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯ve plenty of time to think of your last words, before I kill you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are,¡± the Marshal called back, his voice filled with the confidence that Mr. Thompson had come to associate with Gold-tiered individuals. When you had such power, it was impossible not to come across as overly confident. ¡°But I can assure you, you¡¯ll not walk away this day.¡±


    Mr. Thompson cackled at the man¡¯s statement. They were always so sure of themselves. It was part of what made their deaths so satisfying. For one who¡¯d been kicked out on the street, and treated as filth, from a young age, there was a special kind of enjoyment in watching those who were privileged and blessed, learn they were nothing to him.


    ¡°Allow me to formally introduce myself, then,¡± Mr. Thompson said, his tongue licking his lips as he consumed more of the man¡¯s mana. It was so delicious. So sweet. And for that moment in time, it was quenching his never ending thirst.


    ¡°The name is Mr. James Thompson,¡± he stepped into the room then, noting how dimly lit it was. A man huddled in the back, clutching a shotgun in his hands, but by the way he shook and coward, it was clear he wasn¡¯t the Marshal. ¡°But to you,¡± he felt a heavy thud as the base of a cane smashed into his side from his left. The man had positioned himself and waited, for that strike. His cane, which Mr. Thompson knew had soulsilver running through the entire weapon, had struck just under his armpit. The force alone, was enough to kill a normal man. And he knew, from the sudden influx of mana into the pit within him, that it wasn¡¯t meant to kill from just the force. The man had surely intended to sprout an ice blade from the weapon, which normally, would have pierced a man clear through the heart and lungs and, well, quite frankly, kill them on the spot.


    ¡°You may have heard tales of by another name.¡± He grabbed the cane, with a speed that matched, perhaps exceeded, the Marshal¡¯s. There was a tug, a battle of strength, but he knew it wouldn¡¯t last long. This close, to such as delectable meal, he couldn¡¯t control himself. The man¡¯s power flowed rapidly from him, into Mr. Thompson. And every second, the Marshal grew a tad bit weaker, while Mr. Thomspon, grew stronger.


    The man looked at him, and he saw in his eyes the terror, as realization filled him. The Marshal¡¯s eyes were fixed on his face, fixed on his eyes. A lifetime of Opium use, combined with the hunger he could never sate had given him distinct features. A gaunt face pronounced cheek bones, and sunken, dark rimmed eyes. Mr. Thompson¡¯s grin grew even wider, feeling as if his lips would reach all the way up to his eyes.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he said, knowing the man knew just how fucked he truly was. ¡°The Hollow Man.¡±