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.

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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.