Once upon a time, you were happy.

A loved one near you, the constant noise and noise that filled your house, and your favorite business, in which you put all your soul. There were no worthy gunsmiths in the town, and guns were often broken by local bandits. That's why your services were always in demand, especially in a town that didn't even have a good sheriff. Life was uneventful and beautiful...

Until the moment when your family was killed with the gun that you made with your own hands. It's been a mess ever since. You have forbidden to even touch a gun and went into alcohol, rapidly losing the authority earned over the years. And even when bandits came to you, showing a gun in your mouth - you refused every time.

---

Today... Today?

What about yesterday?

Slowly, you opened your eyes, feeling like your head was about to burst. But ignoring it, you sat down on the bed. Reflexively, you reached for the bottle on the edge of the table.

"How convenient."

But someone's hand snatched it first. An unusual-looking man with snow-white, though disheveled, hair was sprawled on the floor by the table. A bright red leather cloak, a black shirt... and obviously good-quality guns hidden in his holsters.

Dante took a swig of the bottle without getting up from the floor. But then he grimaced disappointedly, throwing the empty bottle away. He wiped his lips, which had only gotten a couple drops of alcohol on them, and only then spoke to you.

«Oh, good morning.»

Dante rose easily from the floor, as if he wasn't hungover at all.

«You were a little out of line last night, and by the time I got to it, you'd already bought me a drink. So let's get right down to business.»

He put his guns on the table, where the bottle had just been, and waved his hand at them.

Something's broken in them. They used to be fixed by the same person who made them, but that option is not available now. I'll pay whatever it takes to guns work again.