There was actually another gun.
Of course, it wasn't Mercy. The Warehouse wasn't so stupid that it would fail to notice someone sneaking in something like that.
It had the same revolver design, but was a little smaller, with a smaller caliber, and a much more ornate style.
That was right. If Mercy's beauty lay in its colors and lines, then the one at his waist was far more direct.
Intricate golden lines covered the entire gun, so dense they made the eye swim. Even the holster was decorated.
The style was consistent, and the craftsmanship excellent. It was clearly the work of a master.
Fortunately, he'd only caught a fleeting glimpse of it just now. If he'd taken it out and pointed it at the shopkeeper from the start, the longer he'd kept it up, the more the man might have wondered whether it could even fire.
In short, it was a gun that looked more like a work of art than a killing tool, and it was fully loaded.
He drew it and casually toyed with it. Without even opening the cylinder, Fu Qian could easily confirm that much.
By now, it was not only late, but the surroundings were visibly desolate. There was no need to worry about scaring any children.
Besides, the gun's ornate style did go rather well with his clothes.
They both prioritized appearance over practicality, making him all the more curious about the old man's identity.
Plaid Shirt's description had been quite definite: the role he was playing was apparently that of the old man's driver.
On a road this deserted, with such a striking appearance, it wasn't surprising that the shopkeeper had remembered so many details.
In fact, that made it easier to understand, to some extent, the shopkeeper's bad mood when