With his decision made, Brendan McKinley sent a telegram to Sean, ordering him to stand down and focus all his efforts on monitoring Henry's movements.
Next, he put out a word in the underworld: a public bounty of ten thousand dollars for Henry Bruce's head.
Then, he contacted four top-tier assassins his family had worked with before. He offered each a two-thousand-dollar deposit, with the full ten-thousand-dollar bounty to be paid upon completion of the job.
After that, he ordered his family's mineral prospecting team to take a "vacation" to the California coast, getting them clear of the escalating conflict.
Finally, he assigned men to dig deeper into Henry's family history and, more importantly, to identify anyone Henry cared about.
So what if he has royal blood? Brendan thought with a snarl. The dead can't rule.
Henry was completely unaware of the storm Brendan was stirring up against him.
At 3:30 PM, he led his five remaining officers to the town's church and cemetery for the funeral of the fallen lawmen. Most of the townsfolk were Protestants.
Twenty-four black coffins were lined up in the church, a silent, orderly formation that was suffocating to behold.
The town's only pastor, a fifty-year-old Scotsman named Philip, read the eulogy and prayed for the deceased. The families and friends below prayed with him. When it was over, each coffin was draped with a velvet pall and carried to the cemetery.
The families could only weep in silence, so as not to disturb the peace of the departed souls.
Flower petals were scattered into the graves. Once they were filled, a cross was placed at each headstone, along with a bouquet of flowers. The families lingered for a moment of quiet remembrance, then departed.
Over fifty children from those twenty-four families were now fatherless. Some were still infants in their mothers' arms. As they passed Henry, the parents gave him solemn nods of gratitude for avenging their loved ones.
In this life and his last, Henry had always hated the oppressive atmosphere of cemeteries. The black coffins and white tombstones seemed to drain the world of color, as if life and death were separated by a single, fleeting moment. It was a stark reminder of how fragile life truly was.
Mayor William attended the entire funeral, his granddaughter Janice by his side. Afterward, he stood speaking quietly with Bryan's widow, Linda. Her two children, Andre and Becky, were dressed in formal attire, clinging to her legs like exquisitely carved dolls.
Henry stood nearby, listening quietly. When they were done, he shared a brief embrace with Linda, and then began to walk them home. The Mayor's three guards followed at a respectful distance.
It was a small town; the walk would take half an hour at most. It was nearly 7 PM, but the sky was still bright.
The group left the cemetery and, after a few minutes, stepped onto the main road.
Huh?
Henry's eyes swept the street. About fifteen or sixteen meters ahead, six men were scattered in a loose formation—three in black suits, two in grey, and one in a cowboy vest. He saw them exchange a subtle glance.
His sharp eyes caught the unnatural bulges under their coats.
The three in black are drawing from their coats, they'll fire in one second. The two in grey are a second slower. The one in the vest is the fastest. He's a professional.
Henry processed the six men's movements in a single, frozen instant. A sharp, stabbing pain pricked his brow. Danger.
It all happened in a flash, as if a picture of the immediate future had unfolded before him, every detail laid bare.
Lightning-fast, Henry's hands blurred toward his hips, drawing both Colt 1878 double-action revolvers. He straightened his posture, and the moment the guns cleared leather, they roared.
BANG! BANG!
The motion was too fast for the naked eye to follow. If a blink takes 0.3 seconds, Henry's draw took less than 0.03.
The man in the cowboy vest had just placed his hand on the grip of his revolver when a bullet shattered his brow, his eyes instantly going vacant. The man in black next to him was hit at the exact same moment, his own pistol clattering to the ground.
Henry raised his revolvers and continued to pull the triggers.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The remaining four men all went down, each with a bullet hole perfectly centered in their forehead, their own guns falling from lifeless hands.
Only then did the bodies of the first two assassins finally crumple to the ground.
From the moment he drew to the moment he fired his sixth shot, less than half a second had passed.
The warning in his mind had not faded.
Thirty meters further down the road, four more men—a mix of cowboys and gentlemen—were moving unnaturally.
Henry continued to fire, his movements deceptively casual, as if he wasn't aiming at all.
Four more shots rang out, and the four men collapsed almost simultaneously, each with a small, neat hole in their brow. Their pistols clattered on the dusty road.
The danger signal in his mind vanished. The entire engagement had lasted one second.
A double-action revolver requires significantly more trigger pressure than a single-action, but with his LV 3 Constitution, Henry handled it with ease.
He holstered one revolver and began reloading the other with fresh .44 cartridges.
It was only then that the others snapped out of their shock, staring at Henry's tall frame as if they were looking at a ghost. The children, their eyes not covered by their parents, had seen it all. They stared at Henry, their eyes shining with awe.
"Pete, search them. These men are assassins," Henry said calmly as he reloaded.
Pete and the other officers, suppressing their shock, moved forward to inspect the bodies.
Janice broke free from her grandfather's hand and ran forward, stopping a few feet from Henry and looking up at him with pure adoration.
Henry just gave her a small smile before returning his focus to his weapon. It took him forty seconds to reload the first revolver, then he swapped it for the second.
When both guns were fully loaded and holstered, he reached down and gently patted Janice's head.
Mayor William walked over, his face a mask of cold fury. "This is lawless. These thugs dare to attempt murder in the heart of my town."
"Indeed," Henry said. "Unfortunately, the situation was too urgent for me to take any of them alive."
The Mayor clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't blame yourself, Henry. Your actions were exceptional. You did well."
Henry nodded and looked at Linda. "It's alright. Don't worry. The people behind this won't get away."
Linda nodded forcefully, clutching Becky in her arms. "Becky, say thank you to Brother Henry."
"Thank you, Bwother Henwy," the little girl said in her tiny voice.
"You're a good girl, Becky," Henry praised her with a warm smile.
Just then, Pete returned. "Two of them are wanted men, Sheriff. Quickdraw Jimmy and Demon Allen. They're all professional killers, no doubt about it."
"Get a wagon and haul them back to the office," Henry ordered. "I'll examine them later."
Pete nodded, untied a police horse from a nearby post, and galloped toward the Sheriff's office.
"Luke, you watch these bodies," Henry commanded the remaining officers. "Maddy, Lawrence, you're with me. We're escorting everyone home. And stay a few meters back from me, just in case."
With that, Henry led the group on their way.
They walked behind him, their eyes fixed on his tall, broad back. The fear was gone, replaced by a sense of pride and absolute security that was so strong it felt like it would burst from their chests.
Half an hour later, after seeing everyone safely to their doors, Henry walked back to the Sheriff's office alone.