Stephen charged ahead, taking the lead.

  The terrain was complex and rarely visited, perhaps untouched for centuries. The trees were enormous, their trunks thick as a man's embrace, providing Stephen with excellent cover.

  Stephen's blatant advance naturally drew the attention of the O'Driscoll gang members, who raised their guns and fired at him.

  But these men were terrible shots, worse than many roaming bandits. Dutch was right – all they could do was pull the trigger, and that was about it.

  As Stephen moved swiftly, bullets struck the earth around him and chipped away at the tree trunks.

  However, Stephen remained calm, using the undulating terrain and thick trees to shield himself.

  Despite the seemingly intense barrage, not a single bullet hit him. He advanced almost unhindered into their midst.

  Looking at the men before him, Stephen was suddenly reminded of Mr. Yake's gruesome death, and his anger surged.

  These O'Driscoll boys deserved to die!

  He quickly pulled the trigger of the Schofield Revolver in his left hand, killing one of the men trying to shoot him with two quick shots.

  Then, raising the long knife in his right hand, he didn't even need to exert much force. The momentum of his advance was enough to draw the blade precisely across the neck of an unlucky thug.

  As blood spurted from the man's neck, he frantically tried to staunch the flow with his hands. But he couldn't stop the gushing wound, and he soon collapsed to the ground.

  Stephen killed two men in quick succession, his speed showing no sign of slowing down.

  He moved like a specter through the midst of three more gang members.

  First, a slash across the stomach. Guts spilling out.

  Second, Stephen flicked the long knife, sending it like a white lightning bolt through the air to pierce the man's forehead.

  Third, as Stephen ran past the second man, he grabbed the long knife, pulled it free, and with a reverse grip, used the momentum of his charge and his own strength to draw the sharp blade across the man's neck.

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  The man's head rolled to the ground after Stephen had passed.

  Decapitated in one stroke!

  Stephen's violence and power shocked everyone present.

  This was reality, not a game. These men wouldn't stand by and watch their comrades being slaughtered while trading gunfire like they were in a saloon brawl.

  The O'Driscoll gang members were stunned by how easily the men in front of them were being killed.

  They could understand being shot by a sharpshooter, everyone knew what a good gunslinger can do, but they couldn't comprehend Stephen, charging in with a knife.

  They couldn't hit him with their bullets, and he could kill them with a single stroke. Their limited imaginations couldn't grasp what was happening.

  When they saw an enemy they couldn't defeat, they made a simple choice.

  They were afraid, started crying and ran away.

  The remaining four or five O'Driscoll gang members dropped their weapons and ran back, crying and yelling, without even turning to fire a shot to slow Stephen down.

  The O'Driscoll gang was not the only one who was stunned. Arthur and the others watching from behind were equally shocked.

  "This guy... I'm starting to feel lucky we didn't die last night," Lenny said, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

  "He's a scary guy alright. If someone like that was after us, we'd be in big trouble." Javier shuddered at the sight of Stephen's slaughter.

  Good thing this guy wasn't their enemy.

  Stephen had no intention of letting the fleeing men escape. He hated these O'Driscolls with a passion.

  With a quick flick, he plunged his long knife into the ground at his feet, picked up one of the lever-action rifles abandoned by the gang members, and began to pick off the fleeing fools one by one.

  His marksmanship was not poor, but it was not as good as the Van der Linde gang's gunslingers.

  On the contrary, he knew how to hit moving targets.

  And he was good at it.

  As shots rang out, the fleeing bandits fell one after another. When Stephen ran out of bullets, none of the men remained.

  "Bunch of trash," Stephen spat at the corpses before throwing away the empty rifle, grabbing his long knife, and walking back.

  "Clap, clap, clap!"

  The five members of the Van der Linde gang were waiting for him outside. Dutch stood in the center, applauding.

  "Magnificent! This is the first time I've seen such skill," Dutch said, praising Stephen without reservation. "You're like a legendary god of war."

  "Just a little trick, nothing to mention," Stephen said, carrying his blood-stained long knife and standing opposite them.

  He appeared humble, but his tone was arrogant.

  "While you were performing your magic, we had them search the camp. This is information about Colm's train robbery. Would you be interested in joining us for a score?" Dutch asked, holding a map in front of Stephen.

  Stephen knew he had achieved his goal.

  He didn't look at the map. He had been in this era for two years, killing a lot of people and getting his hands dirty.

  He could work as a bounty hunter and go after criminals, killing the evil people. But he couldn't bring himself to rob innocent people just for money.

  "You can handle that. I won't be participating. My only target is Colm and his O'Driscoll gang," Stephen said bluntly.

  Dutch didn't get angry at Stephen's rejection. Instead, he smiled.

  He didn't care about the blood on Stephen and extended his hand towards Stephen, "Trust me, I think we'll cooperate very well when it comes to dealing with Colm."

  Stephen reached out and shook Dutch's hand firmly.

  "Of course, I have no doubt about that."