Back on the deck, Laziel glanced up at Jericho with concern. "Uncle, do you think Nate's in trouble? He's been gone for a while."
Jericho turned to his nephew, offering a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. His curiosity probably got the best of him, but he's tough. He'll make it back just fine."
As if on cue, Nathaniel emerged from the cabin, walking back toward them. Jinzo followed behind at a distance, making sure to stay out of sight, though his watchful eyes never left Nathaniel. He blended in, pretending not to be paying attention, so the others wouldn't suspect anything.
"There he is, the future gunslinger of the West!" Jericho chuckled, giving Nathaniel a friendly pat on the shoulder.
Nathaniel shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry, I just got a little lost looking for the bathroom."
Jericho raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Jinzo, who was lingering a few steps away. But instead of saying anything, he let out a chuckle and shook his head.
"Well, looks like you took care of what you needed to," Jericho said, grinning. "We're almost at the island anyway."
"A few more minutes and we'll be at Beastmarrow's hunting grounds, boys," Jericho announced, his voice brimming with excitement. "That's where you two will show the other marksmen just how tough and skilled you really are! But stay close—there's a lot of risk in going out alone."
Laziel's face lit up with eager anticipation, his excitement barely contained. Nathaniel, on the other hand, wore a calm expression, though there was a noticeable tension in his posture, a quiet unease that didn't quite match the situation.
Jericho picked up on Nathaniel's sudden shift in demeanor, his sharp eyes narrowing with suspicion. Still, he opted to address it directly, giving the boy a reassuring smile as he placed a hand on Nathaniel's shoulder. "Nathaniel, would you mind coming with me for a second? There's something we need to talk about."
Nathaniel hesitated, his gaze drifting toward Jinzo, who gave a subtle nod, silently encouraging him to follow Jericho. "Y-Yeah, okay," Nathaniel finally replied, his voice hesitant.
"Good!" Jericho laughed heartily, striking a playful hero pose. "Let's go! To the higher deck!"
Jericho led Nathaniel up to the higher deck, the wind whipping around them, strong yet strangely soothing. The salt of the sea filled the air, and their clothes fluttered as they stood together, staring out at the horizon. Jericho crossed his arms over his chest, his expression calm but tinged with a depth of thought.
"You see, Nathaniel," Jericho began slowly, his voice steady but carrying an edge of something old and wistful, "when I was your age, I was exactly like you and Laziel. Proud, confident, and determined to prove that any dream you had could be earned. I had the same fire in me to be the best marksman, to show the world that I could surpass anyone who dared challenge me."
As the sun hung low, casting its golden light across the waters, Jericho paused, a distant look in his eyes as he reminisced. "You know, I always took on the toughest hunts. I trained endlessly, perfected my aim, and made sure my skills were sharp. I had one goal: to be the strongest gunman in the world. But somewhere along the way, that dream... it just died. It all came crashing down after I lost my brother."
Nathaniel's eyes widened in surprise, sensing the weight of Jericho's words. He studied his uncle, trying to understand the depth of the pain he was describing.
Jericho's voice softened, and he looked down for a moment before continuing. "Vance... my brother, he and I were like proper family. Nothing else mattered—no marines, no duties, nothing. We were inseparable. But what broke us apart wasn't just our choices—it was what we both wanted out of life. Vance always dreamt of the sea, of pirates, of treasures. He wanted freedom, the thrill of the unknown, the fame that came with being someone notorious. He wanted to make his name in the world, build a legacy out of his adventures." Jericho's gaze grew far away, as though seeing something in the distance, far beyond the waters. "But for me, it was different. I had a family to care for. A wife, a son. I couldn't leave them behind for some dream that didn't have roots. I needed stability. A place to call home. I wanted to stay close, to provide, to build a life for them. That's why I joined the marines. It was the only way to stay near, to keep them safe. And in a way, it worked. We had a home, a place to build a future."
Jericho's voice grew quieter, the nostalgia thickening the air around them. "I opened a shop. We sold everything—rare guns, pistols, rifles, muskets, even launchers. Anything and everything you could imagine. Guns became my life in a different way. But no matter what I did, that old dream of being the best marksman, of hunting down the toughest challenges... it never really faded. So, I kept training, kept taking on hunts, kept teaching younger marksmen. I passed down my knowledge, helped them improve. But... eventually, even that became hollow. I didn't realize it until it was too late. One day, after years of honing my skills, I shot the wrong person."
Jericho's face grew more solemn, his eyes reflecting a far-off pain that Nathaniel couldn't fully comprehend. "It wasn't just some accident. It was a mistake, a miscalculation that cost someone their life. And that moment, that loss, it shattered everything I had worked for. All the years of training, all the dreams of being the best—it all felt meaningless after that."
The silence between them lingered, the weight of Jericho's confession hanging in the air. The wind picked up again, blowing through their hair, but neither of them seemed to notice. Jericho stood still, his face carved with regret, yet there was a sense of resignation in his voice.
"After that, I realized... there was no way to reclaim what I'd lost. No matter how much I tried to perfect my craft, there was always something that would stand in my way. A mistake I could never undo. That's why, Nathaniel... that's why I want you to understand something." Jericho turned to face his nephew, his gaze now sharp, but with a soft edge. "You're on a path that I once walked. I see the same fire in your eyes, the same desire to become the best, to surpass your limits. But you need to be careful. Because sometimes, the road to greatness isn't just about skill or talent. It's about what you're willing to sacrifice to get there. And sometimes, even that isn't enough."
Nathaniel stared at him, struggling to grasp the full weight of his words. But as he met Jericho's eyes, he could see something—something that transcended the lessons about marksmanship. It was a deeper understanding, a cautionary tale that Jericho had lived through and wanted to spare him from.
Jericho gave a small, rueful smile. "It's not all bad. I've found new meaning since then. But there's always a part of me that wonders what could have been. And I don't want you to carry that same weight."
Jericho gently ruffled Nathaniel's hair, his eyes softened with a quiet affection. "I still find joy in teaching the next generation of marksmen," he said, his voice a little more thoughtful than usual. "But after everything I've been through, I've learned that there are things I can never allow myself to repeat. I only take up a gun now when there's a beast that needs to be brought down. Unlike most gunmen who aim at people for sport or power, I've made it a vow never to point my weapon at another human being, not again. That... that part of me is gone." A shadow of regret passed through his gaze, but he quickly brushed it aside, focusing on Nathaniel.
"Vance, my brother, though... He's a different story. He's made quite a name for himself across the Vast Expanse. He's carved out his place among the strongest marksmen in the world. People know his name. His fame, his reputation, they've grown beyond what I could ever have imagined for myself. He chose a different path—one full of glory, danger, and the kind of freedom I could never afford. You, Nathaniel, you've got that same fire in your eyes. I see it in you—the same drive, the same ambition to be the best. But you might find that the road to greatness isn't always straight. You might have to walk a path that's different from mine, and from Vance's, too. The marine life, the rules, the orders—it might not be the right fit for someone with your spirit."
Jericho paused for a moment, his hand resting on the hilt of his pistol as his gaze drifted to the horizon. There was a deep, almost wistful look in his eyes, as if he were recalling a part of himself long since left behind. Slowly, with deliberate care, he unsheathed a beautifully crafted pistol from his side. It gleamed in the sunlight, a masterpiece of engineering and design. He held it in his hands like a relic, a part of his past that had shaped who he was today.
"This," Jericho said quietly, "this is the pistol I forged with my own hands when I was at the height of my training. When I was convinced I could become the best marksman the world had ever known. It's the finest weapon I've ever crafted—a piece of my soul, forged in steel and fire. This was meant to be my legacy, my tool to prove myself to the world. But it's not my legacy I'm passing on now. It's yours, Nathaniel."
He took a step forward and placed the cold, polished steel in Nathaniel's hands, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "One day, when I'm gone, I want you to take this pistol—my pistol—and bring it to my grave. Don't just bury it with me. No. Bring it when you've finally become what you've always dreamed of. The best. The most legendary gunslinger the world has ever seen. Let that be the moment you understand what it means to carry a legacy—not of fame or recognition—but of responsibility. The kind that shapes you into something greater than just a weapon in someone else's hands."
For a moment, Jericho let go, and the weight of the pistol settled into Nathaniel's grasp. It was heavier than any gun he had ever held, but it wasn't just the weight of the metal—it was the weight of a dream, a promise, a future that could be if he chose to carry it. The world suddenly felt both vast and intimately small, and Nathaniel understood, for the first time, the kind of journey he was being asked to undertake.
Jericho stepped back, his eyes searching Nathaniel's face for some sign of understanding. "Remember, kid," he said softly, "the world doesn't need another gunman like me. But it does need someone who can shoot with purpose, with honor. And I think you're the one to carry that torch."
To be continued...