, I can drink ten bottles a day.”

Naturally, Brandi would not believe the drunkard's bragging, and had no time to respond. He just continued to look at the fire and be in a daze.

"Ahem, what a boring young man." The old man muttered, and then poured another large gulp of wine into his stomach.

The alcohol content in the small flask was not low, and he drank it so fast that his liver, which was older than his real age, could not help him relieve the hangover even if it was working at full capacity. Within a few minutes of drinking the wine, the old man's nose and cheeks

He turned red all over, and looked even more energetic under the light of the campfire.

The old man poured the wine jug casually. The jug was now empty, with only a few drops of remaining wine left.

"I really...can't help but drink..." the old man muttered, and dropped the wine bottle with a bang. It bounced in a high arc, and then disappeared into the grass up to his ankles.

.

Brandi was interrupted from his daze. He raised his head and met the blurred eyes of the drunken old man.

"The sins...the sins I bear? You don't believe it when I say it..." The old man's voice was very deep, but when this voice was transformed into words through his tongue that was already unable to move well, it seemed a bit funny, "But...if I could

A little whiskey to soothe the throat, or something else... maybe... I might... burp~... I'm interested in telling you..."

Of course, Brandy didn't have whiskey. If he had, he would have brought it to accompany the meal. He thought for a moment, turned sideways, took out a slightly deformed cigar from his butt pocket, and lit it with the flames of the campfire.

, handed it to the old man's mouth.

"That's all," Brandy said. "If it weren't for the boring night, I wouldn't be bothered to listen to you."

The old man chuckled, took the cigar, and took a deep breath. A trace of intoxication appeared on his red face: "I haven't tasted such a good cigar in many years... The last time I smoked it, I was riding a fast horse.

Slaughtering buffalo on the prairie, racing with those Indians...well, this also shows that it is indeed worthy of my story."

The old man took another breath, this time very slowly, as if he wanted to fully chew the taste and soak it deeply into his lungs before spitting it out.

"My family...had some connection with the Braithwaite family...you should know, right? The Braithwaite family, the family that made its fortune from plantations, horse business and slave trading, has a super luxurious mansion.

And the family with a vast land... My great-grandfather and grandfather were all housekeepers of their families. Up to my father's generation, because he was too... How do I put the word... Yes, uneducated and incompetent... So,

I just got a job as the head overseer in the plantation... I was responsible for managing the black slaves who worked in the plantation... Yes, there were still a large number of black slaves on this land at that time... It was really quite

A distant era..."

"I grew up listening to the sound of whips and the cries of black slaves... When I was very young, I watched my father punish those black slaves. He never cared about the method of punishment in front of anyone.

, even in front of my own son... I really wish I had never witnessed those scenes... I don't know clearly, but I beat a strong black man to death with my own hands, and tortured an underage black girl until she was incapacitated.

My father in the province was more cruel, but I was still watching indifferently, and sometimes I was even more cruel when I helped him... These days lasted for many years, until President Lincoln won the Civil War, my father lost his job, and soon fell ill and died.

, I also left Lemoyne to try my luck in the outside world."

"You should know Camp Riggs, right? Yes, that's right, it's just south of Strawberry Town. However, a few decades ago, there was no Strawberry Town there... Right there, those Indians were imprisoned like livestock.

In the cage...some of them will be pulled out and executed, sometimes shot, sometimes beheaded, sometimes hanged. However, what my friends like the most is to tie them to wooden stakes and skin them alive.

Their scalps, drinking with their screams, and watching them slowly die is one of their pastimes..."

"Why do you do this kind of thing? Ha, of course it's for money, what else... No one would persecute other people just for fun... Well, they pay a lot of money! Those government guys...

...However, the money was quickly spent, but...but the bad things done...no one can erase..."

"I know that feeling...I was still young at the time, but...I still remember those faces...as if they happened yesterday, really...as if they were engraved in my mind..."

The old man finished his chatter, threw the cigar butt into the fire, belched, and a circle of smoke came out of his nostrils and mouth.

Brandy remained silent from beginning to end. The old man's story was not very organized, and was long-winded and confusing. It was easy to make people feel bored, but Brandy did listen.

"Nice story." Brandy's comment was brief.

"This is more than a story, this is history, my history."

After the old man corrected him, he wanted to say more, but then he yawned loudly.

"Suddenly I feel... a little sleepy... That's okay, but I don't know how long... I can sleep this time..."

The old man muttered, stretched greatly, and then lay down on the grass. Not long after, snoring could be heard.

"This man...has a really big heart."

Brandy looked at the old man who had just fallen asleep in surprise, and withdrew the hand that was stroking the handle of the gun on his waist from time to time.

He simply stacked his two long guns and the old man's repeating rifle, and just put them on this hard and painful "pillow" for his head.

Brandy originally thought that he would just watch the sky gradually turn from dark to white, but unexpectedly, he fell into sleep after just lying down for a while.
Chapter completed!