If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Agreed." Caleb turned to the other men. "Split into three groups. Take different routes back to Saint Denis. Travel light, travel fast. No fires, no unnecessary noise. If you're pursued, lead them away from the others. Understood?" The men nodded, their faces set in grim determination.
After that, despite the heavy, suffocating silence of the Grizzlies that demanded absolute discretion, everyone let out their whistles to call for their horses. The sharp, piercing sounds cut through the damp night air like physical blades, echoing off the rocky walls of the Kamassa River gorge.
The surviving mobsters looked around nervously, their eyes wide with the lingering adrenaline of the slaughter they had just escaped, terrified that the noise would draw the Pinkertons and Cornwall's Gatling gun carriages right down on top of them.
Including Caleb, who calmly brought two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp, perfectly pitched whistle to call for Morgan. Even though it was inherently dangerous to let out loud sounds in hostile territory teeming with enraged, well armed enemies, Caleb didn't care in the slightest.
He possessed the absolute, unshakeable confidence of a man who knew his own stats. With his high agility stats, his unparalleled gun skills, and his level four Dead Eye, he knew he could get out of here safely no matter what came through those trees.
If a battalion of Pinkertons appeared, he would simply turn them into red mist and fade into the shadows. The survivors, however, lacked such god-like assurances; they just wanted to hurry back to the safety of Saint Denis, shivering in their ruined, blood-soaked suits and clutching their empty weapons.
Soon enough, the heavy thud of hooves on soft dirt announced the arrival of their mounts. Morgan arrived alongside the horses of the survivors, her dark coat gleaming even in the faint moonlight filtering through the pine canopy.
She trotted directly up to Caleb, her intelligent eyes scanning the battered, groaning men who were pathetically trying to pull themselves up into their saddles with wounded limbs and shattered morale.
Seeing the condition of the survivors, Morgan sassily mocked them in her own unique way. She tossed her head, letting out a series of derisive snorts and nickers that translated perfectly into Caleb's mind.
"Look at these fragile, two legged creatures," Morgan projected, her mental voice dripping with equine superiority. "Covered in mud and their own leaking fluids. They can barely stand, let alone ride. They certainly aren't as great as you. I don't know why you bother keeping them around. They look like they'd fall over if a squirrel sneezed on them."
Hearing her snobbish, pragmatic assessment of Saint Denis's most feared enforcers, which only resulted in Caleb letting out a low, genuine chuckle, he reached out and patted her on the thick, muscular expanse of her neck. "Easy, girl. They did their part," he murmured affectionately, ensuring his voice was low enough not to carry.
Before then, he turned to face the ragged band of survivors. The moonlight caught the silver studs of his duster, making him look ethereal, an untouchable general among broken foot soldiers. He asked, his voice steady and commanding, who will be part of his group for the ride back.
Instantly, several men raised their hands, fighting through their exhaustion and pain to be near him, including Silvio, who was still clutching his bleeding shoulder.
They looked at Caleb not just as an Underboss, but as a savior, a talisman against death itself. Caleb looked over the volunteers and nodded his head, his expression grim but approving, before ordering the rest of the battered mobsters to group up into two separate, smaller groups and to go out first.
"Scatter your tracks," Caleb commanded, utilizing his Leadership skill to cut through their panic. "If they find a trail, they won't know which one leads to the main force. Keep your heads down, trust your mounts, and don't stop until you smell the smoke of the city factories."
Hearing that, that's exactly what the survivors did. They quickly divided themselves, their discipline returning under his steady gaze. And after that was done, the two groups rode out first, splintering off into different directions into the dense, dark woods just like what Caleb had ordered.
Watching them disappear into the shadows, Caleb was very satisfied. He opened his system interface in his mind's eye, checking his progress.
He had a strong feeling that very soon his Leadership skills could level up to level 3. He had been intentionally using it to make a profound, psychological impact on Bronte's men tonight.
He hadn't just saved their lives, he had orchestrated the entire scenario so that they would see him as the ultimate, infallible leader they should be fiercely loyal to, eclipsing their loyalty to the Don himself.
By deliberately feeding them into a trap and then pulling them out of it, he was rapidly gaining his own followers.
He knew that when he found the perfect moment to make Bronte vanish forever and take over the mob completely, he would need his own core of absolute loyalists who would help him consolidate his power without question. Tonight had forged those loyalties in blood and fire.
After seeing the two groups had safely gone, their hoofbeats fading into the ambient noise of the wilderness, Caleb led his own group to the other direction, where they would take a long, arduous route to return back to Saint Denis.
They swung wide, avoiding the main roads and the Kamassa River crossings that were likely already swarming with Cornwall's furious patrols, instead navigating the treacherous, uneven terrain of the eastern Grizzlies.
On the long, tense ride back to Saint Denis, the silence between the men was heavy, filled only by the creaking of saddle leather and the rhythmic breathing of the horses.
Eventually, the awe became too much for the wounded capo. Silvio, riding slightly behind Caleb, asked Caleb respectfully, his voice filled with genuine reverence, how could he get so incredibly skilled.
"Underboss," Silvio rasped, coughing slightly. "I have seen men fight, and I have seen men die. But I have never seen anything like you tonight. How... how could you get so skilled in using guns, in fighting those peoepl with your hands and knife? You are very perceptive, very agile, and you could even sneak around completely undetected so easily. It's like you're not even human sometimes. You move like a ghost and shoot like a demon."
Caleb didn't turn around immediately. He let the silence stretch for a moment, letting the mystique build. He just smiled under the shadow of his hat, with his max level Persuasion and Acting Skill fully toggled on, preparing to deliver a sermon that would cement their worship of him.
"I am a bounty hunter, Silvio," Caleb said, his voice a low, resonant baritone that carried easily over the clopping of hooves. "In my line of work, you don't survive by being good at just one thing. So, I need to be ready for all kinds of scenarios. A man hiding in a swamp requires a different approach than a man fortified in a saloon. You have to keep training, and training, and training."
He turned slightly in his saddle, looking back at the bruised and battered men hanging onto his every word.
"The problem with most men in this life," Caleb continued smoothly, weaving his philosophical web, "is that they get comfortable. Because when we feel that we have become the best, or that there's no challenge left in our little corner of the world, we grow soft. But to me, when you feel there is no challenge, it simply means we need to do it even harder. It means we have entered into a new line of limitation to reach into and break through. You cannot stagnate. The mindset to have is that there are always those who are better than what we have now, because there are many experts who have hidden themselves away in the dark corners of the world, just waiting for a fool who thinks he's the fastest gun alive."
Hearing that, Silvio and the other survivors that were part of Caleb's group were visibly surprised, and at the same time, they felt profoundly enlightened by the words of the Underboss.
It wasn't just tactical advice, it felt like a creed, a way of life that explained his terrifying competence. They began to feel, with absolute certainty, that this kind of Underboss was much, much better compared to Guido Martelli.
Guido was a man of ledgers and petty jealousies, a man who was just ordering and ordering from the safety of a parlor, acting like he was the big boss when the Don wasn't around, but never bleeding with them, never teaching them, never pulling them from the fire. Caleb was a warrior king.
Caleb, seeing the raw devotion settling into their exhausted features, smiled a genuine, calculating smile, and they continued their ride through the twisting, moonlit paths of the wilderness.
They had been riding for another hour, the dense pines giving way to the swampy, humid outskirts of the Bayou Nwa, when suddenly Caleb's high perception stats flared violently.
The system practically screamed in his mind, a sharp, cold prickle at the base of his neck. He noticed something, a shift in the ambient noise, the sudden silencing of the frogs, the faint, rhythmic vibration of multiple horses approaching fast. He knew instantly that it was danger.
Without a word, he raised a clenched fist. He led his group to veer sharply off the muddy path, guiding them to hide amongst the thick, Spanish moss draped trees of a small forest to their side.
"Quiet. Hands over your horses' muzzles," Caleb hissed.
They had barely settled into the deep shadows, the men holding their breath and gripping their horses tight, when the danger manifested.
After everyone rode into the brush with their horses, a large group of what should be Cornwall's remaining guards and some Pinkerton agents came tearing down the path.
They were riding past them at a furious gallop, holding lanterns high that cast wild, swinging shadows through the trees, while shouting toward each other in angry, panicked voices, desperate to find the men who had just reduced Annesburg to cinders.
Caleb watched them pass through the gaps in the foliage, his hand resting casually on the butt of his Navy Revolver. He could have activated Dead Eye and wiped the entire patrol out in the span of three seconds.
But Caleb, of course, let them pass. Why risk a loud, messy gunfight that will only attract more patrols and slow down their extraction? He had already achieved his strategic goals for the night, there was no profit in gratuitous slaughter here.
He waited until the glow of their lanterns faded into the swamp mist and the sound of their shouting was swallowed by the night. And after it was done, and the crickets cautiously resumed their chirping, he led his group out of the brush to continue the ride.
The journey took them deep into the night, the grueling pace testing the limits of the wounded men, but Caleb's presence kept them moving. Finally, as the first faint, grey light of pre dawn began to touch the eastern horizon, they made it. They finally arrived back to Saint Denis.
They avoided the main northern roads, instead entering the city through the southwest entrance. They passed through the industrial rail tracks, the iron rails gleaming dully in the gaslight, and rode past the Saint Denis stable, the smell of hay and manure a strangely comforting scent of civilization.
From there, they headed northwest, navigating the quiet, cobbled streets toward the wealthy Garden District and Bronte's mansion.
For Silvio and the other survivors, exhausted, bleeding, and having stared death in the face, they felt that Saint Denis looked much more beautiful than usual.
The ornate wrought iron fences, the manicured hedges, and the flickering streetlamps seemed like the gates of paradise as they had finally arrived to absolute safety.
When they finally arrived to Bronte's mansion, the massive gates loomed ahead. They immediately saw that the two other groups had arrived first, evidenced by the large number of exhausted, mud splattered horses hitched in Bronte's mansion front courtyard.
Caleb and his group entered through the gates, welcomed eagerly by Bronte's men that stood guard around the mansion and at the gate and outside the mansion. The guards looked at the battered survivors with a mixture of shock and profound respect, seeing the horrific toll the night had taken.
They got off their horses, their boots hitting the immaculate cobblestones with heavy, weary thuds. They then entered into the grand mansion.
However, instead of taking them to the parlor or the study, Bronte's fastidious butler intercepted them in the foyer. The butler, eyeing the soot, blood, and swamp mud dripping from their clothes, smoothly escorted them to the back courtyard.
He explained diplomatically that it was the only place big enough to welcome everyone at once, and also, unspoken but heavily implied, that the Don doesn't want his pristine mansion interior to be dirty with the grime of their warfare.
The back courtyard was brightly lit, a stark contrast to the dark woods they had just escaped. Create a scene where Bronte turned around from a table laden with wine and expensive cigars. He was wearing a silk dressing gown over a tailored suit, looking every inch the untouched aristocrat.
When he saw the state of his men, his eyes widened, but then he saw Caleb striding at the front, looking untouched by the carnage. Bronte turned around fully and saw Caleb, welcoming his Underboss McLaughlin back with open arms.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 50x50x50)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 2)
- Leadership (Lvl 2)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 250,992 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, & 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern
Bank: -