In an instant, the Man Without a Name looked toward the train a few meters away. Blackie straightened up and began running at full speed toward it.
He held on with one hand while the ring automatically slid onto his finger.
—Blackie, get me closer to the wagon—
he said calmly as he prepared to jump.
The horse neighed and, running at great speed, drew close to the last car of the train .
The Man Without a Name leaped and grabbed the steel bar on the left side with one hand.
With his feet already inside the wagon, he pulled out his mythical revolver and looked inside calmly.
Inside there was nothing but empty, already-looted luggage.
He entered carefully, scanning the surroundings.
His eyes swept the empty wagon in less than a second. Dust floated in the light coming through the broken windows, fresh footprints marked the floor, and the smell of burned gunpowder and cheap sweat still hung in the air. The raiders had passed through here just minutes ago.
He advanced without making a sound. At the end of the wagon, the door to the next one was half open, swaying with the shaking of the train. Through the gap came muffled voices and a suppressed sob.
—Hurry up with the safes! We only have a few minutes!— a rough voice with the authority of a thug.
—And the passengers?— another voice, younger, uncertain.
—We keep them alive until we get the loot. After that… we'll see. Now move your ass.
The Man Without a Name did not change his expression. He approached the door, pressed himself against the frame, and with the barrel of his revolver gently pushed the metal sheet to widen his view.
—So there really is a silver nugget in this wagon— one of the men said as he finally opened the safe and carefully took out the nugget, no bigger than a fingernail.
—Then Charles didn't lie this time— the other spat. —The Masoner Company will hunt us if anyone talks.
He cocked his revolver.
—I'm going to kill the engineer. Then we blow up the locomotive.
There was a second of silence.
—And the hostages?
—No witnesses.
The man ran toward the cab.
The Man Without a Name tightened his fingers around the weapon.
He reloaded the pistol. With the revolver in one hand and the machete in the other, he burst in.
In less than an instant, half of one bandit's skull was split clean in two by the machete.
The other fired his revolver, but the shot was swallowed by the air, and in the same instant a bullet traveled up through his chin into his skull.
In the distance, a crank was spinning rapidly.
In that moment, the sound of thousands of bullets flooded his perception.
—How the hell did they bring a machine gun in here?!—
Taking cover behind the metal wall of the wagon, he felt the bullets ricocheting off the steel as close as his own breath.
—Damn it—
He pulled out a small hand mirror that looked coated in silver and smashed it against the floor.
A burst of dark, platinum-colored dust rose into his eyes, turning them gray and black.
Immediately, a trail of gray smoke drew itself in the air, pointing toward the machine-gun operator's head and revealing another man beside him.
—Two. I only have one sure shot. System, the tungsten ring—you said it can store machinery, right?—
he said calmly as he watched the man's arm turning the crank.
"It works, but if the machinery is in use, it cannot be stored until it stops operating."
—Damn it. I'll have to take more damage—
He aimed his revolver at the machine-gun operator, following the smoke line.
He pulled the trigger.
The shot was not clean. The bullet struck a steel plate, deflected, pierced a rotating axle, and after one last impossible rebound, buried itself in the operator's skull.
The machine gun went silent.
The price came at the same time.
White pain tore through his chest. It felt as if the flesh from his shoulder to his ribs had been burned from the inside. He spat blood before he could even breathe.
He did not stop.
He ran through the wagon.
The second bandit reacted late, but not badly. Two shots struck his arm. The impact tore away its strength, and it hung useless, soaked in red.
In an instant, the machine gun vanished from the air, and a fast, precise revolver shot blew the bandit's head into a thousand pieces.
Without stopping, he pulled the knife from his boot, tore the bullets out of his arm, and drank one of his tonics from his inventory down to the last drop.
His arm sealed,and a warm sensation go through his body repairing the internal damage.
His eyes turned toward the next wagon.
Inside, the people were crouched on the floor, while one of the bandits was approaching them.
Covering his face with the bandanna pulled from beneath his shirt, he shattered the glass from outside and blew the bandit's head apart with the Winchester rifle in his hands.
After stepping inside, he looked around at the people calmly, not stopping for a moment.
He noticed several with light injuries and let out a quiet breath.
Then his gaze stopped on a red-haired woman.
—Mrs. Judy?—
He asked in a low voice.
The woman stared at the Man Without a Name with confusion, still trembling from seeing him kill the bandit in front of her.
—Excuse me… do I know you?—
She asked carefully.
—You make very good pies—
He replied.
Judy looked at him, trying to find one of her customers somewhere in the depths of her memory.
—Alright. I'm going to detach this wagon from the train. There are still some safes that haven't been taken in the rear—you'll be able to recover your belongings—
But while looking at the passengers, he noticed someone else.
A man in an exquisitely tailored suit, taller than the magnates beside him, was calmly drinking, completely unconcerned.
His eyes were empty, as if his life had already ended.
The Man Without a Name noticed the ring on his hand.
—A Gun Ring… one squeeze to fire a bullet. Too expensive for a mid-grade train—
His gaze sharpened as he watched the man.
—There was silver on this train. Masoner Company would have used armored trains… unless they found a small deposit—
His eyes widened.
He leaned close to the ear of the man who was still drinking from his nearly empty bottle, his gaze fixed on the ring.
—Silver, Charles—
Then he turned away and headed for the door of the next wagon.
—We're close to Burn Wood, just a few kilometers ahead. If I come back, I might have some horses with me—
He tipped his hat toward Mrs. Judy before moving on.
The drinker's eyes widened as if life returned to them—
but in that moment, the Man Without a Name had already crossed into the next wagon and disconnected this one from the train.
The Man Without a Name burst forward, crossing wagon after wagon.
Bandits fell before him with flawless aim.
Some were cut apart by his machete.
Others had their skulls pierced by his bullets.
Thanks to his speed, the damage to his body was minimal, but even so, he didn't stop to heal.
He ran straight into the locomotive.
There, he saw the bandit who had just blown the engineer's head apart.
That man, in his reckless shot, had ruptured one of the steam pipes of the locomotive's boiler.
Superheated vapor surged out, melting his face as it touched him.
He died instantly, collapsing forward.
As he fell, his body smashed into a small control valve connected to the boiler.
The system destabilized.
At that moment, the silver nugget was launched through the air by the violent pressure inside the furnace, embedding itself into the outer casing of the boiler.
The Man Without a Name glanced at the boiler's gauge—and immediately turned and ran, storing his weapons back into his inventory.
—Save the train? What kind of stupid mission is that, System?! If I survive this, I swear I'll kill you—
He climbed onto the roof of the wagons, sweat pouring down his face.
Even without much scientific knowledge from his world, he knew one thing:
a reading of seven thousand degrees Celsius was never a good sign in a steam system.
He called for his horse with all his strength while running across the wagons, jumping and rolling.
—Wait… this is bad. When silver melts—
Before he could finish that thought, dark green fire erupted from the front of the locomotive.
"Two-headed Wendigo will appear in Burn Wood. Curse target cannot be determined. Within three days, the changes will become noticeable."
The Man Without a Name was too focused on running to pay attention to the system's words.
Blackie appeared at the edge of a wagon.
He leapt onto the saddle with all his strength and turned as fast as he could.
Behind him, the green fire reached the wagon he had just left.
The metal of the train began to melt, its twisted surfaces resembling the faces of the bandits inside.
The train derailed.
In a single instant, an explosion of green flames rose into the sky.
Within the smoke, the faces of all the bandits and the engineer solidified into two fused shapes.
—At least it's only two heads… I'll have to slaughter everything in Burn Wood. Seminole territory… damn it, those idiots sold their relics before the alliance was even signed—
—Blackie, let's find their horses. At least we'll get some information for Masoner Company's spy—
Blackie galloped several kilometers until they reached a small hill.
Man and beast moved as one, and with just a glance they knew: there were more than just horses there.
The Man Without a Name circled the hill with calm and stealth.
A man in a finely tailored suit with a plump face was staring at the distant explosion while taking a drink of water.
—I knew the Broken Heights gang was efficient, but I didn't think they'd blow the whole train to pieces—
He looked at the horses beside him and sighed.
—I just have to follow the smoke of the second fire they'll make, and soon Charles Pilgram will be recognized as Masoner Company's executor—
His head exploded in a spray of blood.
The Man Without a Name glanced once to confirm the man was dead, then sent Blackie to deal with the horses.
—Every time I see this, it fills me with doubts—
He lit a homemade cigarette, watching the green smoke rise in the distance.
Far away, in Black Burn, people walked calmly, staring at the smoke rising on the horizon—
all except one.
A florist was arranging a bouquet outside, the radio playing loudly beside him.
He failed to notice the tiny black speck that fell into his palm.
In an instant, the flower he was holding rotted and withered.