A cold gun barrel suddenly aimed at Wayne. At that moment, the tent flap lifted, and everyone waiting outside saw the scene inside, immediately letting out a chorus of gasps!
The man's hand holding the gun trembled, his eyes bloodshot, muttering:
"Heretic, damn it... damn heretic... kill you... get money... get money..."
"Woof! Woof!" The puppy Wick quickly lunged at the man but was sharply stopped by Wayne.
Staring at the dark gun barrel before him, Wayne felt all the blood in his body turn cold in an instant. When truly facing death, the fear rooted in biological instinct was something no mindset could overcome!
[Minstrel Performance] activated!
[General Medicine] activated!
[Stranger in a Strange Land] activated!
[Tactical Dagger Usage] activated!
Wayne instantly activated all his skills, quietly reaching for the dagger beside him while quickly opening the panel to view the brief information about the man in front of him. He said:
"Brother, don't be impulsive. You must be going through some difficulties..."
[Edward, a disoriented frenzied wandering beastfolk, from a rural beastfolk tribe in Texas. Once a devout Christian, raised by a single father, nicknamed Little Red Horse. After his father's death from illness, he turned to alcohol, leading to Enhancement Drug addiction and becoming a wandering beastfolk. He accepted 20 dollars from Bottle Old Joe to kill someone.]
A hired killer? Someone wants me dead!
Wayne's heart turned cold.
Who could it be?
The Latino Seta Group? The Blood Gang? Those corrupt cops?
Wayne instantly ran through all possible enemies in his mind but couldn't find any leads.
"Heretic... heretic... kill you... kill you..." Suddenly, the white homeless man Edward widened his eyes and pulled the trigger!
"Bang!" A crisp gunshot echoed through the street. Whether it was the patients waiting outside, the homeless onlookers, or passersby on the street, everyone instinctively dropped to the ground.
"He has a gun!"
"Shooting! Call the police, quick!"
"Mr. Medium! Oh God, no!"
"This is a drugged-up crazy bastard!"
In that instant, Wayne felt a tearing sensation in his chest—not pain, but a chilling cold, followed by a burning sting.
He spat out a mouthful of blood and looked down to see his right chest pierced by the bullet. Immediately, alarms blared on his panel!
[You have suffered a fatal injury. Health Points reduced to 1/60. Execution Line triggered. Death may occur at any moment!]
Wayne's pupils contracted as he shouted inwardly:
Allocate points!
Without hesitation, he allocated the one Free Attribute Point he had saved directly to his Health Points.
Instantly, his Health Points, which had dropped to a single point, surged to 101/160.
At the same time, Wayne could feel that his pierced chest, punctured lungs and muscles, even his bones, were all instantly repaired in that moment, leaving only some external flesh wounds!
This was truly a life-saving attribute point!
His previous near-death state had instantly recovered, and he was even in much better condition than before he was injured.
However, the danger was still not over. The other man's revolver was still aimed at him, and there were clearly still bullets in the cylinder.
Wayne remained calm. The stagnant blood in his mouth continued to trickle from the corner of his lips, feigning a severely wounded, on-the-verge-of-death appearance. With one hand gripping the dagger, he wore a compassionate expression and slowly said:
"Edward, Little Red Horse, how did you end up like this?"
The homeless man Edward, who had been wearing a look of madness and ferocity while trembling as he held the gun, was stunned. He stared at Wayne and murmured:
"How do you know…"
This nickname was known only to his father, and only his father would call him Little Red Horse.
"The grass in Texas has already turned yellow. Do you remember when you were little, and I took you hunting on horseback? Do you remember those rabbits? Forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye… my illness… it was all God's will…"
Wayne spoke slowly, his gaze like that of a loving father looking at his own child.
Although he didn't know what this Edward had experienced in his childhood, since he was a redneck from Texas with the nickname Little Red Horse, he must have ridden horses and gone hunting with his father as a child—this was basically a standard experience for Southern rednecks.
Sure enough, upon hearing Wayne's words, Edward, who was disoriented from drugs and agitation, trembled all over, tears welling up in his eyes. He slowly lowered the hand holding the gun and said to Wayne:
"Father… Father… they took our farm… the price of soybeans was too low… it all turned into debt… I went bankrupt…"
Wayne sighed, spat out another mouthful of blood, and continued:
"Daddy's Little Red Horse, poor child, you must have suffered a lot coming from Texas to Seattle, right? God bless you, you've always been a kind child. It was the alcohol and drugs that ruined you… Daddy has always missed you…"
"Now, Little Red Horse, put down the gun in your hand and pray to God. God will forgive you…"
As he spoke, Wayne's breathing grew labored. Another stream of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth, staining his clothes crimson. He looked as if he could die at any moment, yet a compassionate smile remained on his face as he reached out his hand toward Edward.
In Edward's bloodshot eyes, the man before him was not some heretic but his own father—and he had personally shot his father, causing him to die once again before his very eyes!
Looking at that compassionate smile, Edward felt as if the world were spinning. A frenzied and chaotic emotion flooded his mind, overwhelming his drug-addled brain. He wept bitterly and cried out:
"God! What have I done!"
Then, he abruptly raised the gun in his hand, aimed it at his own chest, and pulled the trigger.
Wayne quickly reached out to stop him, but it was already too late.
"Bang!"
Blood sprayed out, covering the tent. Edward collapsed to the ground.
At the moment the gunshot rang out, the people outside who were already lying on the ground pressed themselves even lower. Only after seeing Edward fall did they slowly rise to their feet.
They could see Edward lying on the ground inside the tent, while the Voodoo Medium sat motionless, clearly having met a tragic end.
Some of the patients who had come seeking treatment began to weep. The glimmer of hope they had just witnessed had once again vanished into thin air.
Reduced to nothing by a single bullet.
Old Billy hurried over with an armed Black man, only to find he was too late. He let out a mournful cry:
"Bondye! Why! Why is this happening!?"
Just then, the crowd suddenly gasped in unison once more.
Then, to their disbelief, the Voodoo Medium, who had been shot in the chest and should have been dead beyond doubt, now stood up, lifted the body of the gunman Edward, and walked out of the tent!
"I'm sorry... I... I'm sorry... I shouldn't have shot you..." Edward murmured in Wayne's arms.
In his final moments, he became utterly clear-headed, finally breaking free from the control of the drugs and realizing the terrible mistake he had made.
And being able to see his father's face one last time filled him with gratitude.
"Thank you... thank you..." Edward said sincerely to Wayne. "Thank you for letting me see him... cough... Now, I will return to the Lord's embrace. I'm going to see my... father..."
With these words, his pupils rapidly dilated, his head slumped, and he breathed his last in Wayne's arms.
The sun had just risen, and Wayne's silhouette seemed gilded with gold against the morning light.
The brilliant sunrise, the chaotic street, the repentant gunman, the bloodstained Wayne, his compassionate expression, and the hunting dog at his feet.
Seeing this scene, Old Billy involuntarily knelt down, murmuring in worship:
"A Saint, he is a Saint!"
Moved by the atmosphere and inspired by Old Billy, the dozen or so patients waiting in line, along with some onlooking homeless people, all knelt before Wayne, calling out the names of Saints or God.
Only Wayne stood there, holding the body, unwavering in the morning breeze.
The sound of engines grew closer, accompanied by blaring sirens.