Pop! Pop! Pop!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire rang out nonstop through the streets. Saint Killer had already done everything he could to fire, but every time, either his bullets missed or they struck corpses someone else had left behind.
He had Infinite Bullets, while the other side still had to reload, yet he still could not keep up.
A monster? If his sense of smell was right, the person at the other end of the street was just an ordinary human. Since when had the world produced such a freak?
He drew faster than even the Acolytes, and every shot hit?
Saint Killer was unwilling to accept it, but he had no choice. Their contest had moved from this street to several others, from horseback to on foot, yet he had not claimed a single head.
More than six hundred people in the entire town had all been killed by the other man as though their names had been called one by one. Every time Saint Killer aimed at someone, that person would be taken from him.
All the targets were dead, and the dream was about to reset once more, but Saint Killer stopped the process. He silently dismounted and slowly walked toward the other man.
The town fell silent. Only tumbleweeds bounced past nearby, while the blazing noon sun overhead bore witness to everything.
The Acolyte put away his weapons, one hand resting on his holster. His face was expressionless, but his heart was far from calm.
"You're a good shot."
The two slowly approached until they were twenty yards apart.
He stopped and called out to the other man. He had not spoken in a long time, and his hoarse voice sounded like an old, broken bellows being pulled apart.
"You're not bad yourself." The mysterious man