Henry's only regret was that he couldn't loot all the bodies in public. He had only managed to discreetly collect the wallets of the twenty-seven men nearest to him. The three wounded outlaws, left without aid, had finally gone to the place they deserved.
He walked over to the small hill and checked the eight bodies of the Gatling gun crew, emptying their wallets before returning to the group.
He now had a massive surplus of pearls. His progress bar read Level 3, 23.23%. He had enough pearl energy—the equivalent of 1,014 grey pearls—to upgrade a skill to LV 5. He suppressed his excitement, deciding to wait for a safer moment.
Nearly all the passengers from the four Pullman cars came to give Henry their business cards, thanking him profusely. He had none of his own to give in return.
Two hours later, the local Sheriff, a man named Walter, arrived with a small posse. They were all stunned by the sheer scale of the carnage.
"Which one of you is Henry?" Walter asked.
Henry, with the lawyer Carlson at his side, stepped forward. "I am."
"Henry," the local Sheriff said respectfully, "did you kill all these men?"
"I did," Henry stated calmly. "These outlaws opened fire on the train with a military-grade machine gun. They were robbing the passengers and attempting to kidnap the families of several prominent citizens. I acted to stop them. This is my legal counsel, Mr. Carlson."
Walter's head was spinning. Military machine guns, prominent families, a high-priced Chicago lawyer… this was a nightmare.
"Two of the leaders escaped," Henry added. "They claimed to be the James brothers."
After a brief, formal statement, Sheriff Walter knew he was out of his depth. The facts were clear, the victims were powerful, and there were multiple reporters and a lawyer on the scene. He had no desire to antagonize the man who had single-handedly caused all this destruction. In the West, it was all too common for lawmen to get shot in the back.
After the lawyer's assistants, Mike and Danny, were tasked with handling the follow-up paperwork, including the collection of Henry's bounties, the matter was settled. The reporter, Tom, had already done a preliminary calculation: the bounties on the identified outlaws, including the four Younger brothers, totaled $9,450.
By 9 AM, the tracks were finally repaired. The passengers re-boarded, and the train slowly chugged back to life, continuing its journey toward Chicago.
Six miles down the track, at the Marshalltown station, Tom jumped off to telegraph his story to the New York Sun, hoping to make the evening edition.
The editor of the Chicago Tribune, Davis, then came to Henry's compartment and interviewed him for a full hour.
Finally, Henry was alone. He told Linda and Pete he needed to rest for a couple of hours, then drew the partitions on either side of his compartment.
He focused his mind. Use the green skill pearl.
Instantly, the warm current washed over him. He was flooded with the phantom experience of a life lived with a preternaturally sensitive nose, the ability to distinguish and identify a thousand different scents from a hundred meters away.
Two minutes later, he had a new talent: Super Smell LV 1. It was ten times more powerful than a normal human's.
The world exploded in a symphony of odors. He could smell the fresh grass outside the train, the scent of wildflowers, the faint decay of distant carrion, the thick, coppery stench of blood from the ravaged guard car, and the individual perfumes and body odors of every passenger in his own car. It was like pulling his head out of water for the first time and taking a true breath of air. For a moment, he felt he was finally perceiving the world as it truly was.
He forced himself to adapt to the overwhelming sensory input.
Next, he focused his will on his vast reserve of pearl energy. He would save one white pearl and nine grey ones. The rest, he would use to upgrade his Rifle Mastery.
Once again, the warm energy enveloped him, his mind flooded with a lifetime of experience with every rifle imaginable.
A minute later, he emerged. He felt his understanding of the rifle had reached a transcendent state, a level of mastery that was purely intuitive, a divine understanding that existed beyond mere technique. He could pick up any rifle and instantly know its every characteristic, how to make it an extension of his own will.
His speed and accuracy had increased, but it was more than that. He now felt he could make any shot within the rifle's effective range. Even a shot from over a thousand meters.
He understood, with an instinctive clarity, how to account for the arc of the bullet, the speed of the wind, the rotation of the earth, and the movement of his target. He could make the impossible shot.