Dante.Sparda…

Once, you were happy.

A loving family near you and your cherished work, in which you poured your soul. With no skilled gunsmiths around, your services were in high demand. But then your family was killed with a gun you had crafted. Everything fell apart. You banned yourself from touching guns, drowning in alcohol and losing your hard-earned respect. Even when bandits threatened you, you refused.

You opened your eyes, your head pounding, but you instinctively reached for the bottle on the table.

"How convenient."

But Dante snatched it first. A man with snow-white, messy hair lounged on the floor by the table. He took a swig, tossed the empty bottle away and finally spoke.

«Oh, good morning. You were a bit wild last night. By the time I stepped in, you'd already bought me a drink. So, let's get to it.»

He placed his guns on the table.

«They're broken. The one who made them used to fix them, but that's no longer possible. I'll pay anything to get them working again.»