"You're a bailiff?" The one who spoke was a river people. His face was gray and dirty, and he didn't know which old mud from the bottom of the lake was mixed with dry melaleuca needles and put it on his face. The river people stood outside the door of Lucian's private car, small in size, but not small in tone. He was wrapped in a few blankets for gold panning, which he was supposed to have picked up after the death of some of the guy who was doing illegal work on the outskirts of Progress City.

The rivermen did not breathe. Because it doesn't need to.

Lucian had heard of the Riverfolk before, but this was the first time he had met one up close. They had to keep their bodies moist at all times or they would dry up, so the rivermen never stayed away from their mud holes and ditches. If you're unlucky enough to flood a riverfolk in a stinking puddle during your trip, or if you accidentally put a gold panning plate into the mud where they live, the riverfolk will bite you like a crocodile and drag you into the impermeable mud with their mud-colored arms, and you're done. Since then, the Great West has one more wild ghost.

"It used to be." Lucian said.

He looked at the rivermen, and the riverpeople stared at him. Lucian was resting comfortably against the calico cushion in the carriage. The train rumbled forward, and from time to time a few rays of light came through the curtains, falling on the faces of the river people. He had the black eyes of a fish, almost completely obscured by the mud grooves on his face.

"I want your badge." He said.

Lucian nodded. If this guy had the Union badge, he would have been able to get rid of the monster hunters at the Night Castle and follow the trade route all the way to the mangrove swamp south of Bandel City. Maybe I'll open a shop there, because more and more people are coming from the east coast to settle in the lowland desert. Although this guy is a gambler, Lucian thinks that it is quite worthy of admiration to explain the bet first as soon as he comes up.

"There must not be many of you." Lucian said.

"There's not much of it." Riverman said.

The train passes through a jagged row of tracks, and the springs between the carriages clatter against each other. At the moment when the carriage shook, the rivermen opened their arms, a large mouth emerged from the mud on their faces, covered with needle-like fangs, and huge bone spurs erupted from their shoulders. Before the spring could be heard a second time, a burst of gunfire burst out. A slender flame pierced through the side wall of the carriage and ran towards the slowly setting sun. Before the riverfolk could touch the ground, Lucian's pistol was already back in holster.

The rivermen's heads split in two in the middle, burned beyond recognition, emitting a smell of sulfur mixed with blackthorns. His body twisted into a ball on the ground, scorched from the inside out. Lucian straightened his hat and leaned back into his seat. The darkness in the carriage covered him softly, and he smiled.

No one came to see the excitement. There was no one to collect the deformed corpses. Lucian left the door of the carriage open, and remained silent with the corpse until he reached the final stop, Angel Town.

He was going to find a preacher who could talk to the dead.

There have been rumors in Evolution City that the demon-ridden bailiff has lost himself, and now he's on his way to New Eden to talk to the Holy Priest there. Both of these things are bad omen in the Great West, so no one intends to stop this man who can smile in the shadow. They didn't want anything to happen to Twin Reeds or Red River again—the whole town had been razed to the ground because of some strange incident. They only hoped that Lucian would leave as soon as possible, so that whatever he needed, someone would always be busy delivering it.

Ever since he took over the task given to him by the Federation. They sent him to deal with the devil and bring him back to civilization. Then they will "let the devil do the same" – at least that's the plan – and prove to the world that the frontier is still safe human territory.

Of course, Lucian knew that there was more than one devil, but the public preferred to think so. He had seen the desert crawling with strange creatures from all corners of the world: demons in crisp suits, angels making their home in the rocks; Witches, ghosts, and monsters of all strips use the moonlight to tear unsuspecting pilgrims into strips. The natives of the West with their grotesque weapons, skull-faced stone statues that eat only cooked meat, human-made robots that have been out of control for years. And the devil, the devil who can't kill enough.

However, this devil is a little different. He goes by many names—Reaper, God Slayer, Old Jailer, and Big Horn. He'll collect souls—that's what the story says, anyway. He wandered from town to town, stripping souls from the living, leaving behind an empty shell. He is the evil ghost of the Great West, the fierce god of the wild frontier. The newcomer to the explorer was mighty, like a great river, irrigating his insatiable hunger and thirst. Because there are so many cases, people are finally starting to pay attention. For an expansionary government, once people pay attention, many things are inconvenient to do.

In total, a total of three bailiffs died at his hands. Lucian also knew two of them.

"They call it a hammerstone," the clerk told him. "Do you think you can do it?"

Lucian looked at the portrait and saw that the monster had a brass skeletal bull head burning with flames from the Seven Hells. He felt that the lantern hanging strangely beside the monster should be the source of its power. As long as he can hit with one shot, this battle is over without fighting.

But the devil has never been so easy to deal with, especially the devil with the blood debt of the Federation. He remembered fighting a very nasty guy near Chuparossa. The thing ran as fast as a sandstorm, stirring up a whirlwind all the way, so fast that it couldn't even be aimed. Had it not been for Lucian's companions intervening in time, he would not have survived. So, he needed a helper for this errand.

"I can't do it myself," said Lucian, "I'll have to ask Senna for help." ”

"Terminus, Angel Town." The conductor gave a gentle urging, almost like a whisper. The corpses of the riverfolk were almost roasted to dry skin by the scorching heat along the way, but in the long shadows of the carriage, an even more terrifying creature sat upright in Lucian's original seat.

Flames mingled with smoke, and teeth loomed in the fire. The two arms appear to be a pair of cannons forged by the devil deep underground. A faint humanoid figure, like a body heaped out of the ashes of a campfire, with the insignia of the Federal Marshal's insignia hanging upside down on its chest, glowing. The legs were like a pair of incinerated elm spikes, still burning with flames. The bright red heart seemed to stir up all the anger on the earth.

"Oh my God." The conductor didn't know which god he was calling. The monster stood up, its legs skinny and bony, as if leaning against the still air of the carriage. It was as if its face had been ripped open, and it grinned in the midst of a terrifying wildness—a tattered mockery in the light of the fire of hell.

At this moment, the dust fell, and a person stepped out of the dark shadow, it was Lucian.

"I'm sorry, friend." He said. "Not intentionally to scare you."

The conductor didn't say a word, just trembling vigorously. Lucian passed him, and stepped through the tin compartment of the caboose into the twilight of the night. He thought to himself that the conductor would definitely add a lot of fuel and vinegar.