The next morning, dazzling sunlight filtered through the cracks in the wooden house's windows.
Johnny Blaze opened his eyes suddenly and immediately raised his hands to shield them.
The burning pain in his throat drew his attention to the water cups on the bedside table. He grabbed the nearest one, tilted his head back, and drank. The cold water slid down his throat—but it was like pouring it onto a scalding iron. Wisps of white steam evaporated instantly.
He didn't stop to think, gulping down cup after cup until he'd swallowed the last drop. Only then did his cracked lips finally feel some relief.
"Drink slowly, boy."
A hoarse voice spoke.
Johnny Blaze looked up and saw a white-haired old man standing in the doorway. He wore faded cowboy clothes, a revolver at his waist, and held a plate of steaming fried eggs and toast.
The old man stepped inside slowly, set the food on the bedside table, glanced at the empty cups, and added without surprise:
"It's always like this after a transformation—you're parched."
Johnny Blaze panted, eyeing the stranger warily. "Who are you?"
The old man pulled up a chair and sat. He took a wrinkled cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips—but didn't light it. Instead, he rolled it between his fingers and said, his eyes deep with meaning:
"Me? Name's Carter Slade. I'm the caretaker of this cemetery. Your father's grave is here too—I've been tending to it all these years.
You could say I was his keeper.
So by rights… you might call me 'grandpa.' At my age, I've earned it."
Johnny Blaze studied the strange old man and suddenly felt a prickle of unease.
Ignoring the younger man's suspicion, Carter Slade went on:
"Next time, bring more water. Transformations drain you—without enough fluids, you'll dehydrate fast.
And lay off the spicy food. Hellfire and capsaicin don't mix well… especially not the morning after."
Johnny Blaze bit back a retort but caught something odd in the old man's words. He leaned forward urgently:
"Wait—how do you know all this? Are you also…?"
Carter Slade didn't answer directly. He just grinned, revealing a few yellowed teeth, and said:
"It hurts at first. But it gets easier."
"…Easier the more it happens?"
"You get used to the pain after a while."
Johnny Blaze: "…Right."
He was about to accuse the old man of being insane—when suddenly—
Jingle…
A clear bell rang from the southwest of the cabin.
Carter Slade's expression hardened. In a motion startling for a man his age, he snatched the shotgun from the wall and bolted outside.
Johnny Blaze hesitated only a second before grabbing his coat and following.
They burst out of the cabin and raced toward the cemetery.
When they arrived, a red-haired man stood by a tombstone, holding a shovel in one hand and a severed strand of bell wire in the other—the cemetery's crude alarm, just tripped.
What made Carter Slade's blood boil was that his big yellow dog was circling the intruder, tail wagging like a propeller, nuzzling his legs with shameless affection—as if the mutt had forgotten whose side he was on.
Carter Slade ignored the traitorous hound, leveled his double-barreled shotgun at the red-haired man's chest, finger on the trigger, and growled in a voice cold as steel:
"Put that shovel down, boy."
However, Diluc ignored his warning and instead flicked his wrist, tightening his grip abruptly.
"Crack!"
The wooden handle of the shovel shattered, and a yellowed parchment scroll slipped out and fell directly into Diluc's palm.
Seeing this, Carter Slade pulled the trigger without hesitation.
"Bang!"
Gunshots echoed through the cemetery, startling a flock of crows. Yet Diluc simply raised his hand—and caught the bullet firmly between his fingers, a wisp of smoke curling from its hot metal tip.
Johnny Blaze's pupils shrank. He tensed instinctively and took a half-step back.
Carter Slade stared intently at Diluc, slowly tossed aside his hunting rifle, and reached for the revolver at his waist with his right hand.
It was an ancient weapon, its barrel etched with intricate runes that glowed a deep, ominous red in the sunlight.
Carter Slade's voice was low and dangerous, the revolver's muzzle fixed unwaveringly on Diluc as he demanded:
"Who are you, anyway? You know about the San Venganza Contract—and you can even catch bullets with your bare hands… Did Mephisto send you?"
Diluc weighed the parchment scroll in his hand and replied calmly:
"Diluc Ragnvindr has no connection to Mephisto. If anything, we are enemies.
As for this contract…"
He looked up at Carter Slade and continued:
"I know its value. I know Blackheart and Mephisto are searching for it—and you cannot protect it."
Hearing this, Carter Slade sneered.
"Listen, boy. I've kept this contract in my possession for over eighty years, and Mephisto has never even glimpsed its shadow! I don't need anyone's 'help.'"
"That's changed now."
"Bang!"
Carter Slade fired point-blank. The bullet whizzed past Diluc's ear and blew a bowl-sized hole in the tree trunk behind him.
"I won't miss the next shot."
Carter Slade's finger hovered over the trigger again.
Diluc remained expressionless—and suddenly tossed the scroll into the air.
Carter Slade instinctively reached for it, but the San Venganza Contract dissolved into glowing motes, vanishing like quicksand.
"What did you do?!"
Carter Slade's eyes turned icy.
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Five shots rang out in rapid succession, yet Carter Slade's arm remained steady as stone, each bullet aimed precisely at Diluc's vital points.
In a flash, Diluc drew the Blackrock Slasher from behind his back. The blade carved a dark red arc through the air.
"Clang! Clang! Clang!"
Two bullets were deflected cleanly by the Blackrock Blade, sparks erupting on impact.
Two more were struck sideways by the fiery edge, their trajectories veering off into the cemetery's flanking trees.
The final bullet was smacked away with the flat of the blade, skidding deep into the graveyard.
"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Five granite tombstones exploded in sequence along the bullets' paths, sending debris flying in all directions.
At last, the silver bullet embedded itself deep into a low tombstone—the grave of Johnny Blaze's father.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone.
Johnny Blaze whipped his head toward the tombstone, his expression d
arkening instantly.
Diluc sheathed his sword. His cold gaze swept over the two men before him, and he asked calmly:
"Now—can we talk?"
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