Angel Town is a new place on the edge of civilization. The trees shade the sky, and the air is filled with the aroma of honey and wine. At the foot of the hill to the west of the town grows a huge pine forest, which forms a barrier. No one knows what to expect further west, but people know that the town has enough men and weapons to withstand whatever monsters pop up on the western frontier. That's what they think anyway. That's all the creatures that call home in Angel Town know so much beyond the borders, for no living creature has ever been able to come back sane farther to the west, if ever.

Lucian slipped out of the busy station and into the center of town. Along the way, he met no less than three snake oil dealers, selling ointments that had been poured from the industrialized east. There was also a barmaid with the body of a cobra and a pair of milky white eyes hidden under a veil. In this way, the guests will not be turned to stone before they can sit down and drink.

Past a group of lumberjacks and lamplighters, past several grocery stores and brothels, and through a secluded gunsmith's house, said to have been a fallen god, and finally near the intersection of the main road, you will reach the most famous tavern in town. Rumor has it that the tavern has been open since the town was founded, perhaps for a longer time. The tavern is called "King of Mortals". Whether you are a man, a woman, a man or a beast, if you want to turn the tide of fate, this door is open to you...... As long as you can afford to spend it.

No matter how you look at it, this tavern is the kind of place where you can lose yourself. But there was not much left of Lucian's lost self. He often felt his soul tremble and hang over the invisible threads, while his own shadow smirked behind him. He couldn't stay long.

Humans know very little about the villages of the Far West, and the creatures of the towns have to fight before they reveal their precious secrets. As for the natives here, even if they can speak, they never make any comments on anything. Even the few who can tolerate outsiders spend their days tinkering with their strange machinery.

Lucian had to get help from his friends. Many of the people he knew were Federation detectives, but they didn't have much interest in the devil, and whatever you thought, Lucian was about to become one of them himself. So he had to find his former friends, long before he had taken the government contract, before he had set foot on the cobblestone streets of St. Zuan, until he was a young and impatient hired gunman. At that time, he met many partners, all of whom carried a revolver in their hands, and lived happily and died faster. But there is only one man who has always stood strong. He is very big and can't be killed, and at the same time, he is scheming and vigilant. This man wasn't actually a human being, but when he started fighting people, the continent hadn't yet welcomed the first ships to dock. And it seems that it is possible that after everything has long since turned to dust and sighs, he is still fighting.

Lucian paced through the tavern door, and the air inside seemed to freeze. The grim-faced patrons cast a look up and down at the sorrowful stranger. "I'm looking for a horn." As soon as the words ended, everyone turned their attention back to the table or the wine glass. There was a lot of noise, a hiccups, a piano that wasn't in tune emitted a piercing high, and it all crashed together.

Lucian soon spotted the horn at the farthest end of the bar. Even in the midst of a crowd of revelry and drunkenness, it's hard to miss him. Don't look at him so big, Long Horn still prefers to stay by himself, but there are always young people who don't know the height of the sky to provoke him, thinking that he can win Long Horn and become famous in one fell swoop. The results are always tragic. No matter how arrogant the troublemaker is, Longhorn's response is always a simple and swift slam on the head - the person with a shattered skull will not be able to speak again.

Alista was a minotaur, ten feet tall and six feet wide. If you're going to fight him, it's time to count points in your mind.

"Long horn." Lucian said.

"Sir." Alista answered.

"I'm going to New Eden." Lucian said.

"Who isn't." With Alista finished, Lucian sat down beside him.

Alista is very old, and there are not many of his compatriots left, so there is no doubt that Alysta will live longer than all of them. He was a legendary bully by day—the weaklings, of course—and at night he would spend the night in a tavern with a barstool half his size.

The two stared solemnly ahead in a daze. Anyone comes to Angel Town for a reason, and everyone who comes to the King of the Mortal World has a more terrifying reason. It is a drinking place for traitors and the dead, and a drain for the depressed to drift with the waves. Others come here for the final duel of their lives. They spent all their money on it, turned around and stepped into the wilderness, and disappeared from there.

Lucian wants to go deep into the hinterland of the Northwest that no one knows about. There is no train there, and the forest is full of fierce spirits. And for the sake of a rumor, he had to gamble his life to survive.

Both of them knew the chips in the game and knew which way to bet, even if they didn't open their mouths.

"When you get there," Alysta asked. "What do you think she'll say?"

"I don't know." Lucian replied. "I really don't know."

Longhorn sighed and buried his head in drinking. The thick aluminum cup is the size of a child. He never liked to say goodbye with mud and water.

"I'll draw you a map."

Lucian and Senna first met when he was being pointed at a gun, hers. It was in a filthy tavern in the Vulture Valley, and a bloody shootout broke out. It's not that the shootouts are new in Vulture Valley, but this time it's different. A bounty hunter with a bad brain pulled out a gun and pointed it at the back of an outsider. And then it was out of control.

These self-proclaimed foreigners, I don't know where they came from, but they spread all over the world overnight anyway. They wear clean and crisp suits, and because of their love of gambling, they are known to unscrupulous gangs and desperate farmers. If you win a foreigner, there will be an untold amount of wealth out of thin air, with the fire-lacquered seal of the foreigner. Even the peeled seal alone is worth a small amount of money. But losing is a different story, because the only bet they accept is what the other person cherishes the most. For example, farms, watches, children, souls...... Or the favorite knife - it's always a dangerous gamble, but many people don't realize it yet.