Summer was in full force, and no visitors had come since the four treasure hunters.

  "Well, the remains of 1876, what will you have in store for us, I wonder?"

  The land was lush and green again. Wildflowers were growing across the ridge leading to Crossway. The number of travellers was busy again on the road, and I watched them travel. Some days, I got a bit of excitement when the local cattle herds were driven along the ridge line.

  Then, late one day, a rider rode up to the gates.

  "Who are you now?"

  I shifted to the gates to get a better look at the rider. He was young, mid-teens, not close to eighteen. He was clean-shaven, with longish brown hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in settler garb, but it was not good-quality clothing. He wore a heavy, patched coat and a classic cowboy hat. His trousers were patched at the knee, and his boots looked worn.

  He had a pistol and rifle. The rifle was on his saddle in a holster, and the gun hung at his hip. I knew this because his coat was open and I could see it when he dismounted. Something else was attached to the saddle, but it was wrapped up, and I could not determine what it was.

  "Why did I think I have seen you before?"

  The teenager was familiar, but I could not place him or understand why. This was strangely irritating as I wracked my memory for the why. I should have seen him as a teenager, but he seemed like a boy to me. He was getting there but was not a man yet. I was at a loss at that moment.

  The boy started doing things that brought my attention back to him. He had tied up the horse he rode in on. The gun was removed from his hip and placed in the saddle bag on the horse. He had removed his coat, which was slung over the saddle. He was carrying two additional knives attached to his belt, each of a different size. But what he pulled from his saddle was truly interesting.

  It was a cavalry sword.

  He attached the sword to his belt and then put on his coat again. He slung a water canteen over his shoulder and a strap crossed his chest. The last thing he picked off the saddle was a mining lantern, which he carried. He checked himself over and then walked to the gate. He was prepared for this. His face was set and determined.

  "Here we go!"

  He crossed the gates into the courtyard and walked up to the plinth. He read it and looked at the church in the distance. A look of hatred crossed his features, and I wondered what its source was. He turned and walked down the southern path from the courtyard.

  [A Challenger has entered your Dungeon.]

  I could not interfere now that he was listed as a Challenger. The rules were clear, and I had to leave him to the hunters. He was in McGregor's hunting ground, and he would get first crack at him. I settled in to watch, following him as he walked.

  The sun was retreating behind the mountains, making the Dungeon darker. The skies were mostly clear, but the sun turned them fiery red. In the distance, to the east, the first stars were making their appearance. The boy stopped and lit his miner's lantern. It took a few moments, but the flame light soon pushed back the encroaching darkness. He clipped it to his belt so that he could still access his weapons. He drew his sword and went on.

  He walked the paths of my Dungeon, making a wrong turn. He quickly backtracked when he found the dead end and continued along the correct path, which would lead him to the church. McGregor made his move near a mausoleum the boy just passed.

  He moved out from behind the boy and almost glided up behind him with his blade drawn to take his life. Something warned the boy, who turned around, looking behind him. He cried out, startled to see McGregor almost on top of him. He turns, stumbling back, raising the sword to protect himself.

  McGregor slashed at him with his knife, but the boy was back peddling to give himself more room. He used his sword to block a few strikes, gaining confidence. He stopped retreating and held his ground. It was this new confidence that nearly killed him.

  Knocking the sword to the side, charging to close the distance for the kill, it looked like it was over. The boy, acting impulsively, punched with the hand holding the sword. The sword had a large and elaborate hand guard that covered his fist. The blow caught McGregor on the side of the head, knocking him off target at the last moment.

  The boy backed away again. McGregor stopped and lifted his hand to his head. His hand came away with blood and he snarled at the sight of it. His opponent had not come away cleanly, as there was blood on McGregor's blade. The front of the teenager's shirt was cut, and he had a small amount of blood staining the white linen.

  "You will pay for that!" McGregor snarled.

  The two circled each other. The boy was no killer, as he had the advantage with the sword but was not pressing it. His look of fear mixed with determination was another sign. This did not look good for him, and he should have been pressing his advantage.

  McGregor was angry and now attacked again. He wanted to hurt the boy and was probably going to take his time killing him now. Sadism was his thing, after all.

  "That could be a mistake."

  I spoke to myself as I watched the fight but expected my hunter to win. The boy was brave but lacked my Hunter's experience. He was backing up again from McGregor's attacks. Behind him was a large gravestone that would be used to pin him in place. It was a few short steps until he collided with it. With his evil smile, McGregor pressed the advantage.

  "You're going to die slowly, boy! I can't wait to see you piss yourself!" He mocked his opponent.

  This seemed to energise the boy, who pushed off the gravestone and started to attack. It was clear he had some training with the sword—not much, but more than I expected. Swords were a rarity in the Western world outside of duelling on the continent of Europe in my world here, I did not know. This forced McGregor to backtrack, as the sword held the advantage over his knife with length.

  The boy thrust forward, trying to impale McGregor, but the hunter avoided him as he was faster. This led to another bout of circling as each sought an opening. The boy reached in and pulled a knife from his belt, giving him a second weapon. Now, that was the smart thing to do.

  Things had gotten interesting. I would have bet the boy would have been dead by now. He was either lucky or more competent than I thought. The jury was still out on which.

  McGregor was getting angrier the longer the boy was resisting. His smile was gone and the snarl was back. Blood trickled down the side of his face from the scalp wound. He attacked.

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  The sword was knocked aside as he moved in, but the boy stepped in to meet him. He used his arm to change the direction of McGregor's knife and stabbed him with his.

  He struck true, catching McGregor on the side, cutting deeply. McGregor snarled loudly in pain and, in response, head-butted the teenager, knocking both their hats off. This separated them. The boy held the sword but left the knife on McGregor's side. I focused on the wound. It was not fatal, but it wasn't good. McGregor pulled the blade clear and it was as deep as four inches and covered in blood.

  He dropped the blade as the boy recovered from the head butt. His nose was broken and blood was coming from it. He was wincing in pain but seemed ready to continue the fight.

  McGregor now had a choice: continue the fight or retreat.

  He chose to retreat.

  He quickly backed away, favouring his side and retreated into the darkness outside the lantern's circle of light. The boy did not follow but did move and pick up his knife and hat. He stood looking around, trying to see if the assailant was coming back.

  McGregor was close to his lair and retreated to it to rest. Once he was inside, a countdown appeared above it but did not start.

  [Hunter: Charles McGregor will be healed in 18:00:00.]

  "Well, that was a surprise."

  The boy was still standing with blades in both hands. He eventually started walking again, looking over his shoulder regularly to see if McGregor was coming back. With McGregor bowing out, it was now Rodreguez's turn.

  After a few dead ends, the boy was still going in the right direction, but he was moving slower and jumping at a few shadows. His encounter with McGregor rattled him and he was on edge now.

  Rodriguez had found him close to the church and seemed was going to attack him before he entered. He was moving parallel to him. He walked into the space around the church and was walking from the south side to the north, where the doors were located. He was halfway along the east side of the church when Rodriguez moved.

  He charged out of the darkness, catching the boy by surprise. He collided with him, knocking him into the side of the church. Rodriguez was using a knife, which he carried in his hand, not his usual tomahawk. The tomahawk was in his other. He slashed forward to cut across the boy's stomach, but he moved to the side. He was not fast enough and was cut. Blood was quickly staining his shirt more.

  He cried out in pain. He punched with the handle of the sword. Rodriguez used his forward to block his counter. He twisted to stab this time as the boy was dragging himself with his back along the wall away from his attacker. Rodriguez missed his chest but cut across the top of his arm, but not deeply, as the heavy coat deflected much of the cut.

  In fear, the body stabbed back, catching Rodriguez with a light hit that was stopped by his coat. This did stop Rodriguez from pressing long enough for the boy to get a little space and bring his sword up in front of him.

  Rodriguez laughed as he swapped weapons in his hands and then dropped the knife. Then he started attacking again.

  "Now, that was stupid. I am going to have to talk with him about that."

  The boy was backpedalling, blocking, or avoiding the furious assault. They were nearing the north side of the church and the doors. Rodriguez was getting a feel for his opponent and was getting ready for the kill. I was not going to think it was guaranteed until the boy was dead. His lantern was swaying and getting knocked around, causing the area to light up strangely. This caused twisting shadows to move across the side of the church.

  Suddenly, the body stopped and lunged forward with his sword, forcing Rodriguez back. He knocked the blade aside with his tomahawk and then another, then another after that.

  "Damn, this boy is lucky as hell or has more natural skill than he is letting on."

  The counterattack lasted no longer, and the boy was backpedalling again to stay alive. Rodriguez was not laughing anymore; he was focused on the kill. Swinging his tomahawk down hard at the boy's head, it was blocked by the flat of the sword as Rodriguez used his superior strength and mass to push the blade down. In desperation, the boy stabbed with his knife as his knees were bending. He thrust up into Rodriguez's arm, not the centre torso. The knife went straight through his forearm and came out the other side.

  Rodriguez howled in pain and let go of his tomahawk as he jumped back and then staggered a few more steps. The sudden release of the pressure on him caused the boy to stumble forward to his knees. Rodriguez was holding his arm but did not pull the blade free. He flexed and tested his hand, noting the reduced movement, but he could still use it. The boy was now back on his feet and was looking wide-eyed at him. Blood was leaking from Rodriguez's sleeve, but he paid it no mind.

  Another knife was drawn from his belt with his offhand.

  The fight started again, and the boy was again on the defensive. Rodriguez knelt quickly to receive his tomahawk, giving his opponent an opening. The boy thrust with his sword, but Rodriguez's knife diverted it. Rodriguez was stronger, and his knife was a large survival blade; otherwise, he would not have been able to block it.

  He now had his tomahawk in his injured arm hand. His attacks were off as it was his primary had that was being limited. This allowed the boy a measure of control in the fight as he was not desperately defending himself. His limited sword skill came into play again as he tried to stab my hunter again. He moved forward, forcing Rodriguez to step back.

  The tomahawk was blocking the sword strikes. I could see that the blows were aggravating the wounded arm. More blood was flowing from the wound, but I do not think it was a problem yet.

  The boy stabbed again, and this time, Rodriguez misjudged the action as he was stepping in to stab him as well. The sword blade sliced into his shoulder, but he caught the boy in his leg with his knife. Both cried in pain and separated. The boy was limping slightly, but Rodriguez was in trouble. The shoulder wound was on his other arm, meaning that both arms were sporting wounds.

  Like McGregor, he now had a choice.

  He chose to retreat.

  The boy could not follow as his leg wound was causing him to limp. He watched as Rodriguez disengaged and vanished into the night. I watched as he almost collapsed in relief. He forced himself to move, walking to the church doors. He looked around before entering and securing the doors the best he could.

  With him standing in the church, I felt a strange sense of peace wash over me. No, peace was not correct. It was a feeling of a suspension of violence for the moment. He could breathe easily here. How odd.

  He was trailing blood as he walked but went straight to the altar. The look of hatred was back through the pain of moving. He reached into his coat and slapped an object down on the altar with a bloody hand.

  [Challenger's offering has been accepted.]

  The object was a silver necklace with a locket on it. Images and emotions flooded my mind. In the flashes, I saw a girl and then a teenager going around living her life as far as I could make out. But I knew her.

  "Susan Rochester."

  My memoirs filled in the blanks. The boy was the same one who was in the back of the wagons when they left. Glaring at my Dungeon, I closed my gates and scared the shit out of him. Now, he was back and was in my church as a challenger.

  As I sorted through my memories, the boy had been busy. He had stripped down and was treating his wounds. He had a three-inch cut along his ribs and a deep cut in his leg. From the blood that was flowing, the artery had not been nicked. If it had, the wound would have been pumping far more blood. He had a pack under the coat and a bottle attached to the back of his belt. He produced bandages and got to work bandaging the wounds.

  He tied the bandage around his leg, stemming the bleeding. The chest cut was shallow and had stopped bleeding badly, but he did what he could to bandage himself anyway. The lantern was his source of light. Moonlight was coming through the windows, but the moon's angle meant it was not as strong as it could have been.

  He had treated his wounds to the best of his ability and was redressing. This was a slow and painful time as he winced and groaned on several occasions. He finished in the end and drank from the canteen he had bought.

  I did not think it was alcohol.

  His lantern started flickering, indicating that the oil or kerosene was running low. He extinguished it and, using the other bottle, refilled the lantern in the moonlight. He returned to the front of the wooden benches, where the rest of his things were piled. He put his coat back on and looked around again.

  He settled to rest on the bench in the first row. He was safe here and would not be attacked. He seemed to know this, so he was in no rush and was less tense.

  "Well, Susy, I hope you found peace, and I hope that I kill the ones who killed you. I need to finish whatever this trail ends and this is for you and the rest of the family." He spoke to the altar and the ghost of his dead sister. I wished I could have replied, but then again, maybe it was for the best. I could address a Challenger when they reached the courtyard and the gates. I was even allowed to give my own bonus reward if I thought they warranted it from what I had gathered or knew. Looking at the boy, he might be the first to finish the trial.

  That is if he got past Rigger.