Chapter Seventy-Nine: Wang Hui Transforms into a Cowboy Gunman

On a table behind him sat a bearded man in a tall hat, engrossed in a game of cards. Without warning, the man snatched up a few cards from the table and flung them at Wang Hui. The cards whistled through the air with astonishing speed, reaching Wang Hui in the blink of an eye—accompanied by the crack of gunshots. When the shots subsided, the cards fell to the ground, each one smoking and pierced clean through by a bullet. In that fleeting moment, the man had fired several shots in rapid succession, each one striking the cards with uncanny precision—a testament to his formidable marksmanship.

Wang Hui, however, remained motionless throughout, simply watching the man's display with a faint smile.

The man, having completed his showy display, swiftly holstered his gun and sat back in his chair, fixing Wang Hui with a mocking gaze that said everything.

"Now you see the gulf between us? Get lost already!"

The bartender, impatient, echoed the sentiment, urging Wang Hui to leave.

Surrounded by jeering eyes, Wang Hui chose to silence them with action. He bent down, picked up a playing card the man had missed, and shook his head. Now the entire bar’s attention was focused on him, curious to see what this young man of Eastern descent intended.

With a casual flick, Wang Hui tossed the card into the air. In the next instant, a revolver appeared in his hand. Another shot rang out, and the card’s trajectory abruptly changed, flying straight toward the man who had fired before.

With a crisp snap, the card embedded itself in the man’s hat.

The man's expression grew grave as he slowly removed the card from his hat and examined it. It was perfectly intact, showing no sign of having been struck by a bullet.

A true master—undeniably so.

Wang Hui had clearly struck the card with a bullet, yet through flawless control of timing and angle, he left no mark at all. This feat was far more impressive than the man’s earlier display.

Applause erupted throughout the bar.

Wang Hui turned back to the bartender and spoke again: “I’d like a glass of vodka, do you understand?”

The bartender’s face betrayed no emotion—certainly no smile—but rather a sullen gloom, clearly displeased. He bent down, retrieved a bottle of vodka from behind the bar, and handed it to Wang Hui. “One gold coin.”

Wang Hui grinned and handed over two gold coins. “Consider it payment for the one I lost to you earlier.”

With that, he flicked the neck of the bottle with his finger, shattering it instantly, and lifted it high, drinking in great gulps.

Just as he was about to finish, a bullet suddenly whizzed by, striking the vodka bottle in his hand. The bottle exploded, shards narrowly missing his face.

Looking back, Wang Hui saw the same man glaring at him, pistol still smoking, his face twisted in fury. “Do you dare duel me?”

This was precisely what Wang Hui wanted. Though this man was not the Jessem he sought, he seemed a worthy adversary. Defeating him might draw Jessem out.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Moments later, the two men faced each other outside, a crowd gathering to watch as dust swirled at their feet.

The other man was tense, but Wang Hui seemed utterly at ease, smiling broadly. “Shall we count down from three?”

No sooner had he spoken than a gunshot rang out—a bullet speeding straight toward him.

So much for the code of honor, Wang Hui thought.

Yet when the smoke cleared, Wang Hui stood untouched, while the other man lay on the ground, a bloody hole in his forehead.

Such was the fate of gunmen in this country—death could come at any moment.

A group of men tasked with handling corpses emerged to silently carry the body away. Here, no one bore legal responsibility for deaths in duels.

Wang Hui, with casual ease, holstered his gun and turned to the stunned onlookers. He spoke slowly:

“So these are your gunmen? The so-called nation of sharpshooters is hardly impressive, is it? Hahaha!”

With that, he strode back inside the tavern, returning to the bartender.

“Well? My skills are passable, wouldn’t you say?”

The bartender now looked at Wang Hui as though he were a mortal enemy, brimming with resentment, but powerless to act.

Desperate to save face, he continued polishing a glass and muttered, “The man you just killed was with the Cantrell gang. Cantrell won’t let this go.”

Wang Hui waved off the warning. “I’m not interested in this Cantrell gang. I just want to know if you’ve heard of Jessem.”

The moment Wang Hui uttered the name Jessem, the entire tavern fell silent.

The bartender stopped polishing the glass mid-motion. “You’re asking about—”

Before he could finish, he grabbed a bottle, took a deep swig, and rinsed his mouth. “Let me rinse my mouth first, lest I sully the man’s name.”

Only after finishing did he continue. “Why are you looking for Jessem?”

“I’ve heard he’s strong, so I want to challenge him.”

Those present shook their heads, some beginning to whisper:

“This kid from the East really doesn’t know his place, challenging Jessem.”

“They say Jessem’s bullets can bend in midair.”

“Every year there’s one or two like this. Such a shame—he’s so young. I was hoping to witness the birth of a new champion.”

Wang Hui paid no heed to the murmurs and asked again, “Where’s Jessem? Do you know?”

“You can’t beat him.”

“I asked if you know where he is.”

“I’m telling you, you can’t beat him. Don’t throw your life away.”

Others might not know, but as Jessem’s friend, the bartender did. Jessem possessed a power that made him far faster than any ordinary man, even allowing him to control bullets after they were fired.

“Is that so?”

Wang Hui gave a knowing smile and slowly rose to his feet.

As everyone thought he might give up, Wang Hui drew his gun without hesitation and fired past the bartender, leaving a deep hole in the wall behind.

“At this time tomorrow, I’ll be back.”

After Wang Hui left, the bartender waved his hand in an uncharacteristic gesture. “Show’s over, everyone. We’re closed for the day.”

The others, aware of the bartender’s connection to Jessem, dared not protest and quietly dispersed.

Once everyone had gone, the bartender retreated to a back room. Inside, a grotesque man covered in pustules was toying with a bullet.

“This man—”

“No need to say it. I sensed everything. He’s on par with me.”

“Then—”

“So what if he is?” The man drew a beloved gun from his belt. “This weapon has a soul of its own!”

Indeed, the country’s top marksman was a summoner—a powerful B-rank one at that.

Xiao Zi had long sensed his presence, which was why she’d instructed Wang Hui to put on a show and reveal himself, luring this man into a challenge. Only by defeating him openly could Wang Hui build his reputation, furthering their plans.