Dual wielding volcanoes, killing through the west

"What do you mean, bro?" Laro asked with a smile.

“You clearly know everything.” Igor lowered his voice and threw his cigarette butt away as well. Despite being shorter, he was just as imposing in the confrontation and readily admitted, “I did it. If you want to investigate, you can definitely find out.”

This time, the smile vanished from Laro's face in an instant. This unpredictable change of expression is one of the reasons why many people fear him.

He stopped speaking and just stared at Igor for a long time. The hustle and bustle of the street seemed to be blocked by an invisible wall around them.

"No." After a long silence, Laro finally spoke, saying in an irrefutable tone, "That's not how it is."

"The 'truth' is: the guy inside orchestrated everything; he's a hook thrown in by the Red Center Gang. Maybe he lied to Tuku about other things too, who knows? Anyway, Tuku can't get up from the ground and refute me." Laro pointed his thumb in the direction of the bar, his words already quite blunt. "And you...brother, you took over the baton when the family was in its most perilous time. You helped us take White Torch Town and steadily expand the market; you're a hero of the family."

"...Why?" Igor asked, puzzled.

“I’ve never liked Tuku. I mean, who would like a guy like that? All he does all day is kill, kill, like there’s nothing else in life to enjoy… But he’s still part of the family,” Laro said earnestly. “So are you.”

……

The silence was like a thunderclap, deafening.

"Alright, buddy, it's getting late. Let's talk more on the way." Laro stopped leaning against the wall, sat up, and clapped his hands.

With two snaps, all the customers in the store stood up instantly, neatly folded up their tables and chairs, and came out.

The scene was so bizarre that it nearly scared the tavern owner to death—he was still wondering why business was so good in broad daylight. These unfamiliar faces, whom he had never seen before, seemed to have suddenly appeared out of nowhere, walking into the tavern, drinking, chatting, and playing cards, laughing and joking, showing no signs of anything unusual.

Jimmy was also dragged out—they had put a sedative or something similar in his drink, making him fall asleep quickly. Two burly men each grabbed one of his arms and dragged him in front of Laro to await his fate.

"On the way?" Igor looked wary. "Where are we going?"

"Rongma Town." Laro's smile remained as profound as ever. "Go home."

He waved his hand, and without needing to say a word, his two men, as if already understanding his intentions, hoisted Jimmy onto their shoulders like a sack and tossed him into a carriage that was already parked next to the tavern.

Laro leaped onto his horse, which was the exact opposite of his name—a pure black thoroughbred with a striking white vertical stripe on its head, resembling the steed of Death.

"Oh, right, I forgot to tell you..."

Laro deliberately put this last sentence in a calm tone, as if he were talking about something trivial: "Forget your old friends, they won't live much longer. Pinkerton has already found their camp."

Igor was startled at first, then instinctively turned around and looked in the direction of the camp.

“You can only be Zolael, Mule,” Laro said calmly, but this time, it was no longer like an elder brother to a younger brother, but like a patriarch to a subject. “Don’t forget that.”

----

"Gentlemen, would you mind if I joined you in your leisurely afternoon?"

Although they were called guests, you could tell from their appearance that they were up to no good.

A black suit, a bowler hat, a red vest, a white shirt, and a black tie—the overall impression is that of a crow.

“Pinkton detectives?” Mike recognized the uniform at a glance. Without flinching, he calmly put away his fishing rod and asked, “Looking for us?”

“Agent Micah.” Micah, who was in the lead, raised his hand and introduced, “This is Agent Ross.”

Ross carried a Winchester rifle, his eyes brimming with undisguised arrogance, as if he looked down on the two men before him. But clearly, he wasn't the one in charge of the conversation; rather, he was more like a double agent, responsible for presenting Micah's attitude more directly.

“Let’s get straight to the point, gentlemen,” Micah said, getting straight to the point. “I know who you are.”

Chapter 318: The War Begins Here!

“I know who you are,” Calaway said with a grin. “You’re rich people’s dogs. Give you a bone and you’ll bite whoever you’re told to bite, that’s all.”

"Stop with the excuses, Lucifer," Micah said coldly. "Or perhaps I should call you..."

"Remnants of Jack's gang?"

……

Calaway's expression changed, his smile instantly vanished under the shadows, and he slammed the fishing rod down!

Ross immediately raised his Winchester rifle, aimed it at the two men, and taunted, "Watch your back, Calaway, you're an old man now."

"Is that so? Why don't you give it a try?" Calaway's left hand rested on the gun handle, a cold smile spreading across his face that seemed completely out of character for his age. "Go ahead and shoot. You shoot first, and I'll kill you anyway."

“Calm down, Agent Ross.” Seeing the atmosphere getting increasingly heated, Micah began to try to smooth things over. He had been staring intently at Mike the whole time, and said, “Today’s conversation is not about settling accounts with the Jack gang. After all, you know better than I do.”

"Twenty years ago, the once-famous Jack Gang was completely wiped out. Perhaps there were other members of the Jack Gang who survived that raid, but most of them chose to retire and find a remote town to live the life of an ordinary person. It is very rare for someone like you to risk your life to come back and join another gang."

“Lucifer Izkanen, Il Ilan, both of you have records of being in the town’s police force… Forgive my bluntness, but you should cherish this hard-won opportunity for a new life.”

"Stop talking nonsense," Mike said in a deep voice. "Get to the point, what do you want?"

"It's very simple. Twenty years have passed, and the warrant for the arrest of Jack's gang is practically dead. Nobody is offering a reward, and we have no interest in chasing after two old men who are practically on their deathbeds."

“But Hong Zhong is different; he is a complete destroyer. We cannot allow such a person to exist in the civilized world.”

"A sabotager?" Calaway sneered. "What did he sabotage? The perverted mayor who enjoys eating people, the bloated nobleman, or the Italian who preys on the common people? Where were you Pinkertons when these people were running rampant?"

“I’m not here to argue,” Micah said.

In fact, he couldn't answer Carlowey's question at all, because the Pinkerton Detective Agency was essentially a large-scale mercenary organization. They cooperated with the government to some extent, but only with local police departments when apprehending criminals. Their backers were mostly wealthy local tyrants like Lane Childel.

They don't care about the rights and wrongs behind these things, and fairness and justice are utter nonsense.

Once you've received the money, you're obligated to do the job.

“We only want Hongzhong, Fengchuisha, and Baijuzhen. All the murders will be his responsibility,” Mika said in a deep voice. “As for the rest of the Hongzhong gang, I can give you time to escape, leave this hellish place, and become upright people.”

“We’re perfectly upright,” Calaway sneered. “It’s you who like to be toys for the rich, like two dogs with broken spines.”

"Shut your mouth, you fucking bastard!" Ross was enraged by the insults. He took a small step forward and aimed his gun at the man's head. "Letting you live is already showing you mercy! Otherwise, just the fact that you're members of the Red Center Gang would be enough to send you to the gallows!"

“…” Micah raised his hand, signaling him to remain calm. “I could have easily taken you down first and then negotiated with you. What I’m doing now is an act of goodwill.”

“You shouldn’t be showing kindness,” Mike sneered. “Only the dead don’t argue with you.”

“Very impressive, Mr. Il, very impressive… but I wonder if your family can accept this outcome? Can your granddaughter Holly accept that her beloved grandfather is actually a murderer with blood on his hands?”

Mike's pupils dilated slightly, but his composure was extraordinary, and he remained expressionless. "I'm not sure if you're threatening my family?"

“Not yet,” Micah laughed. “But if you continue to be stubborn, I can’t guarantee what will happen. After all, we are reasonable people. Besides us, I think Mr. Ryan knows quite a few people who are willing to do anything for money.”

"..."

Both of them fell silent.

"That's enough for today, gentlemen. Please consider my suggestion carefully."

“You’re all getting on in years. Galloping on horseback and shooting people are things for young people. Just retire peacefully.”

Micah took their silence as a sign of his victory and smiled with satisfaction. After leaving behind a warning-like "advice," he turned and walked towards the horses parked to the side.

"Enjoy your fishing time while you still have these worthless lives," Ross chuckled coldly, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and added, "While you still have these worthless lives."

----

“Guess what? I was going to spare your lives.” Calaway drew his revolver with lightning speed, a smug smile spreading across his face. “But I’ve changed my mind.”

"boom--!!"

No one expected that the protracted war between the Red Center Gang and the Pinkerton Detective Agency would be started by Calaway.

"Ah—damn it! What the hell! Are you crazy?!" Ross clutched his bleeding neck, feeling dizzy and lightheaded.

The shot wasn't aimed at the head, but at the junction of the shoulder and neck, a region rich in blood vessels. This was part of Calaway's calculations; killing him with a single shot would have been too lenient.

"boom!"

The second shot grazed past the horse's ear.

The sharp sonic boom of the bullet exploded in the horse's keen senses, startling it so much that it reared up and galloped wildly, unable to stop.

Ross's leg was caught in the stirrup, making it impossible for him to control the galloping horse. Not to mention he'd also been shot. With a scream, his body performed a spectacular Thomas Flair on the horse's back. He was tossed into the air in a comical fashion, spinning once, blood gushing from his wound like a sprinkler. Finally, with a "thud," he crashed heavily to the ground.

In contrast, Micah was much more experienced. He immediately dismounted and used the horse's body as cover, rolling several times to hide in the bushes.

"Ah...ah..."

Ross lay abandoned on the ground, having just fallen from his horse, landing chest-first with his sternum caved in. Without help, the wound would continue to bleed. His eyes were wide open, as if he couldn't believe what had just happened.

If you ask him if he regrets it, he definitely does, but he's mostly confused.

The Pinkerton detective's uniform commands respect wherever he goes. Bounty hunters, local police departments, and even small gangs all tacitly agree that no one wants to offend a nationwide armed organization.

This sense of awe gradually made him feel out of place, but in reality, people respected not him, but what was behind the clothes.

The myth shattered the moment the bullet pierced the body.

He was just a mortal human being, nothing more.

Chapter 319: We've met, in that thick fog

"boom!"

The bullet whistled past, piercing the iron barrel, splashing water out, and a few small fish struggled in the puddle.

"Ah! My fish!" Calaway exclaimed in shock, a mixture of heartache and anger. His face turned red, which was unusual for him. He cursed, "Damn it, these scoundrels... They brought so many people. I bet they're going to attack us right now since the negotiations failed."

"To deal with two old men who have one foot in the grave, they actually mobilized so many people... Ha... They think highly of us."

Mike crouched behind a tree trunk, silently noting the enemy's ammunition count. During the reload, he peeked out and fired a single shot, taking down the enemy hiding in the bushes. But eliminating this one didn't seem to affect the overall situation. Pinkerton detectives were everywhere, all dressed similarly, as if they had sprung from the ground, copy-pasted, charging forward in swarms. Mike and Calaway's bursts of fire halted their advance. The scattered corpses on the ground brought them to their senses, and they began to use the bushes and jungle as cover, engaging the two in a firefight.

The two sharpshooters used a rock on the riverbank, which could barely conceal their figures, as cover to engage in a direct firefight.

The Jack Gang is known for producing sharpshooters; this was a common knowledge in the West twenty years ago.

Mike and Calaway were both sharpshooters, one accurate and the other fast. They could usually kill an enemy with a maximum of two bullets. On the riverbank, nearly twenty corpses lay sprawled on the jagged pebbles, blood pooling in the air.

But both of them knew perfectly well that they were about to be overwhelmed.

There were no bullets; the satchel containing the bullets was left at the camp and hadn't been brought along.

This is only natural. They came downstream to fish, which is a relaxing activity. Who would come fishing with a head full of bullets?

Of course, both of them were experienced gang members and knew a great deal: those who came seeking revenge could jump out from any bush at any time.

Therefore, each of them carried at least two revolvers and enough bullets to instantly kill six or seven people, but that was the limit. Faced with the overwhelming force of Pinkerton detectives, the ammunition was still insufficient.

"I'm almost out of bullets, only three left." Calaway didn't bother to count; for him, calculating his and the enemy's remaining ammunition was instinctive. "There are at least twenty more on the other side."

Mike pulled a revolver from his boot and handed it to him, saying, "It's full."

“…There’s another one hidden in a place like this.” Calaway took the revolver, adjusted its weight, and his expression remained grave. “Six shots, three shots, you still have five shots left, right? If you hit them all in the head, that’s fourteen lives. Not enough.”

What about the remaining six?

Mike remained silent, then drew the dagger from his waist. Its cold light shone on his face, making him look like a skilled old hunter.

“Yes, that’s the only way.” Calaway licked his lips and actually smiled. His bloodthirsty nature was essentially a pursuit of “excitement”. He loved the feeling of dancing on the edge of a knife. “But this won’t work now. They’ve learned their lesson and are hiding inside.”

“I’ll be the bait. In a bit, I’ll run towards the river, and they’ll definitely chase after me.” With the enemy at hand, Mike’s tone was extremely calm, like a weighty anchor. “You’re quick, you shoot.”

"Are you sure you're okay? You're over fifty, and you're still doing this kind of life-threatening work," Calaway joked with a laugh.

"Stop talking nonsense. Haven't we done this kind of thing enough before?" Mike said, taking off his shirt and throwing it aside.

The thick clothing wouldn't stop the bullets; instead, it would hinder him and slow him down. Besides, Mike's plan was to use the river water to reduce the bullets' power. In other words, he intended to dive into the river soon, and the thick clothing would absorb water, potentially dragging him down.

February is almost over, and it's early spring, so the weather is quite cold. The elderly man, over fifty, doesn't have the same vigor as a young person, and he shivered the moment he took off his clothes.

"Have a sip." Calaway handed him his flask.

"..." The strong liquor slid down his throat and into his stomach, and Mike's body warmed up, feeling a bit like he was in his youth again. He stretched his arm muscles, glanced at the overturned metal bucket, and exhaled, "What a waste of my fish."

“It’s alright, Elan.” Calaway took the dual pistols and murmured, “We’ll go fishing again when you get back.”

With the atmosphere built up to this point, both of them understood that this was a fight to the death.

If Lao Zhang were here, he'd probably just pick up a rock and hurl it into the jungle, killing a few people first to intimidate the other side. Then he'd launch a war stomp, roar, charge into the jungle, and single-handedly tear twenty people apart.

But they weren't Zhang Renfeng; they didn't possess superhuman physical abilities, nor were they confident they could dodge bullets. Their only reliance was the marksmanship honed through countless battles. This move to lure the enemy in was extremely risky; they might not be fast enough during the process and be caught by bullets.

Mike held his breath and asked himself a question before setting off.

Did you choose all of this today?

If so, then there's nothing to regret!

He suddenly opened his eyes, ready to rush out, when he heard a discordant gunshot.

Then... came a scream!

The scream continued for half its duration before abruptly ceasing, turning into intermittent breathy sounds. Mike recognized it immediately; it was the man's throat, slit open by something like a knife!