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(A/N: I don't really know if what I do makes sense or not in terms of creating a makeshift suppressor and the steps, so I hope for everyone's understanding)
Something like a sturdy metal tube or pipe, short enough to fit over a revolver barrel without affecting the front sight. Maybe a rubber padding, or leather could do in a pinch. Cloth or wool for stuffing. Some sort of a cap or end plugs with venting holes. Some screws, clamps, or straps to keep the thing in place.
The biggest hurdle? Precision. A bad seal meant backpressure could blow the damn thing apart or worse, his hand.
He stood abruptly, mind buzzing. One and a half days to prototype, test fire, and adapt. Two if he pushed it. Arthur wasn't always exact with his timing, he could delay, or go early, depending on how Dutch pressed him. Time wasn't on Caleb's side.
He crossed the room, opened the drawer, and pulled out a folded scrap of paper and a pencil. He started sketching ideas, notes scribbled in shorthand:
1. A hollow tube like a brass or iron piping from the blacksmith
2. Baffles, a stacked washers, or mesh
3. A secure mount which was a threaded adapter to fit his Schofield
4. Test with a live round outside town, distance fire.
Once he had the plan drafted, he pocketed the paper and reached for his coat. He adjusted his gun belt around his waist, positioned his twin Schofields at their holster on his hips, and then grabbed his hat.
This might actually work.
But there was one final detail to consider. Even with the makeshift suppressor, even with the shot fired at close range from the side of the building, he had to see Micah. Predict his position. In the game, Micah looked out that window only once Arthur got close. Would the same happen here? Would Micah move to the window randomly?
He didn't know.
Which meant he needed to scout.
Caleb made for the door, his boots thudding on the wood floor with purpose now. First stop, the blacksmith store, then the general store.
Maybe even ask around the stable for spare scrap metal. After that? Ride out west, find a secluded grove, and test fire his invention. He exhaled sharply and stood. "No time to waste."
Valentine's blacksmith was a burly big man named Fergus, his apron streaked with soot and his forearms scarred from sparks. He squinted at Caleb's request.
"Iron tubs? Aye, got some offcuts. What d'you need it for?"
"I wanna do some experiment mister," Caleb said smoothly, handing a dollar for him to take. "Creating some sort of new sight for a gun."
Fergus snorted but took the money. He rummaged around his work area and produced a half foot long iron tube, its diameter just wider than a Cattleman barrel. "This'll do?"
"Perfect. Two of those please Mister."
Next stop, the general store. Caleb bought a box of assorted washers that he says to repair a wagon and a small roll of fine wire mesh to build a chicken coop patch. Mr. Worth didn't bat an eye and proceeded to take the items for Caleb and said it was 5 dollars in total.
Back in his room, Caleb laid out his haul on the bed:
- 2 Iron tubing as the primary chamber, with one he stored just in case of failure in using it
- Steel washers for it's baffles
- Wire mesh for additional sound damping
- Spare leather strips from his saddlebag, for sealing
- Some gun oil as a lubricant for threading
His hands moved with methodical precision. Using his knife, he carved grooves inside the tube to seat the washers. The mesh was cut into discs and packed between them. A painstaking hour later, he'd assembled a crude but functional baffle stack.
The real test came next, fitting it to one of the Cattleman revolvers he had taken from Chez Porter. But it was functional enough for a test. And more importantly, expendable.
Caleb unscrewed the revolver's front sight, exposing the barrel threads. With careful strokes of his knife, he notched the iron tube's interior to match.
"Please don't explode."
He smeared gun oil on the threads and twisted the suppressor into place. It seated snugly, the extra weight tipping the barrel forward slightly. With that, it was finished.
He ran a hand over the finished suppressor. It wasn't pretty. The iron tube had minor dents, the seams where washers and mesh stacked were slightly uneven, and the leather straps he'd used for sealing the barrel to tube connection looked rough, but it was tight. Secure.
And, if the gods of crafting were kind, functional enough to test. The inside was packed with alternating layers of steel washers and discs of fine mesh, all held by tension and friction grooves he'd carved with his hunting knife.
He gave it a final twist, locking the assembly in place. The suppressor hugged the barrel just shy of the front sight post, not obstructing aim.
It looked… mean. Improvised, ugly, but something that might've been built in a frontier laboratory by some outlaw tinkerer with too much time and not enough sense. Caleb chuckled at that thought.
As he adjusted the final leather strap around the muzzle, pulling it taut with a grunt, something shifted in his peripheral vision.
DING!
A soft, ethereal chime echoed in his skull like a memory being pulled from the depths of a dream. His eyes snapped toward the middle of the room, nothing was there. But inside his head, something bright flared against the black. His system interface blinked open, startling him even though he should've expected it by now.
[New Skill Acquired!]
Crafting (Lvl 1)
Description: Due to successfully creating a makeshift suppressor, you have grasped fundamental concepts of crafting and can create primary items easily, with the chances of the result being a perfect creation: 15%. The more you craft items, the higher the perfection chance for that specific item. Increments are small but permanent. This skill will evolve with the diversity and complexity of crafted items.
Caleb blinked. Crafting? That was new. He thought skills needed repetition, trials, or guided learning to emerge. But here it was, full Level 1, not 0, and all from one single yet functional innovation.
He tapped on the skill again, this time inspecting the deeper interface. A simple line graph showed Suppressor, Improvised logged as the first crafted item under his repertoire.
Below that, a faint progress bar hinted at incremental mastery. It was almost like the system remembered his inventions. It didn't reset after failure.
"Damn right," he murmured with a small, proud grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Looks like I'm the damn Benjamin Franklin of the West."
As the grin stayed across Caleb's face, he knew this skill changed everything. Not just for today's mission, this skill could revolutionize his entire approach to survival in this world. The potential applications spun through his mind, concealed weapons, survival gear, and even better explosives.
Satisfied, Caleb slipped the revolver with its attached suppressor into his satchel. He strapped his belt tighter around his waist, adjusting the weight of his twin Schofields, then grabbed his coat and hat.
Time to test the future.
Valentine's streets were still as busy even though the sun began to dip toward the west. The afternoon crowd had come out, mostly folks heading home from the fields, stablehands washing horses, or the exhausted ranchers entering into the Saloon. Caleb nodded at a passing farmer and made his way to the hitching post in front of the hotel where Morgan waited.
His mare let out a soft huff as Caleb approached. "Alright girl," he said, patting the steed's neck. "Got somethin' new to try. Just you and me."
He mounted and clicked his tongue, and Morgan trotted into motion, hooves echoing lightly on the packed dirt. Caleb turned westward, away from the farms and roads, cutting through the thickets behind the stable until the scent of manure and tobacco was long gone.
They rode for nearly thirty minutes, weaving through the woods and shallow streams, until Caleb spotted a secluded grove surrounded by tall pines, just west of the Dakota River bend.
Perfect. He needed to ensure that his experiment remained a secret for as long as possible. The advantage of possessing such advanced (for this time) technology was immense, both in terms of personal combat effectiveness and potential future opportunities.
The thought of the monetary value of such an invention also flickered in his mind, but for now, his focus remained on its immediate application.
He dismounted, tying Morgan loosely to a branch, and pulled the Cattleman from his satchel. The suppressor still sat firm on the muzzle. He could feel the weight of it in his hand, unbalanced slightly toward the barrel but not unwieldy. He checked the cylinder. Loaded.
He picked a tree ten paces away, took a breath, raised the gun, and—
CRACK!
A muffled pop spat from the revolver, barely louder than a heavy book dropping to the ground. The gun jolted, the recoil tamed by the weight of the suppressor.
Smoke leaked slowly from the muzzle end, curling through the tiny holes he'd drilled into the cap. It worked. Not silent, no, not like one he played in games, but it reduced the noise enough that no one outside the grove would hear.
He grinned, thumbed the hammer back, and fired again.
POOF!
The gun hiccupped. The suppressor stayed intact, but a thin seam of smoke burst from one of the gasket edges. Still manageable.
Third shot.
CRACK!
This time, something gave. A soft ping! And the end cap snapped off, spiraling into the grass like a bottle top. Caleb ducked instinctively, though no fragments followed. He stared at the barrel, half the mesh inside had torn, the baffle stack was crooked, and the inner walls were blackened with soot. It wasn't destroyed, but it was done.
Still, he laughed. "Hell. I'll take it."
He sat down on a stump, the broken suppressor in one hand, the revolver in the other. For a first draft, that had gone far better than expected. He leaned his head back, looking up at the canopy above as the wind rustled the pine needles like whispers of approval.
The broken suppressor sat in Caleb's hand like a medal earned through grit and improvisation. He turned it over a few more times before slipping it back into his satchel, there were lessons to be learned from its failure.
Reinforce the cap. Better sealing on the mesh. More careful shaping of the washer grooves. He had enough left in him for another go, but first, he needed supplies. And daylight wouldn't last much longer.
"Come on, girl," he said softly to Morgan, untying her reins. The mare let out a gentle breath and stepped forward obediently. Caleb mounted and gave her a small kick, guiding her back toward Valentine.
By the time the town came into view, the last sliver of sunlight had dipped below the hills, painting the sky in a moody palette of lavender and steel. Valentine's buildings glowed with warm lamplight, their flickering a soft contrast to the darkening horizon.
He dismounted in front of the general store, tethering Morgan loosely again before stepping inside. The bell above the door gave a short ring.
"Hello again Caleb, I'm about to close up, what do you want to buy?" Mr. Worth behind the counter said with a smile when saw Caleb. Caleb returned the smile and ordered the same items he had bought before.
Hearing that, Mr. Worth moved to grab the wire mesh and the small washers.
Caleb nodded. "That, and a bit more gun oil. Good stuff this time."
"Of course Caleb, wait a moment," Mr. Worth replied, laying the items out on the counter and putting them with practiced ease.
Caleb reached into his coat, pulling out a few bills. "How much, Mr. Worth?"
"7 dollars and 34 cents in total Caleb."
Caleb handed over the money
Stepping back out into the cooling evening, he slung the supplies over his shoulder and walked the short distance to the hotel. He gave a brief nod to the desk clerk, who nodded back in return with a smile.
In his room, Caleb set the bag on the table and lit the lamp, its yellow glow illuminating the rough walls and his collection of tools. He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He followed the same process as before, but this time, more carefully. He used his knife to re curve the grooves inside the iron tube, this time with shallower cuts that would hold better without risking a split.
He reinforced the end cap with a leather washer soaked in oil, fitting it snug before sealing it shut with two extra wraps of twine and a thin leather strap. He packed the mesh discs with tighter compression, layering them between the steel washers and tamping them in.
It was still crude, he wasn't building clockwork, but this second suppressor looked more refined. The seams were tighter. The metal bore fewer dents. The cap was secure.
By the time he was done, nearly two hours had passed. He gave the new suppressor a slow twist onto the threaded muzzle of the second Cattleman revolver, watching as it seated smoothly and aligned straight.
Perfect.
He pulled open the chest at the foot of his bed, placed the revolver inside, suppressor attached, and shut it. Two brass latches clicked into place, and he slipped the small iron key into his coat pocket. The weight of fatigue hit him all at once. His arms ached from the carving, and his back was stiff from leaning over the table. But more than that, his stomach growled.
________________________________
Name:Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 6/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 6/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 5/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 2)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 1)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 2)
- Poker (Lvl 1)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 1)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lv1) - New
Money: 651 dollars and 36 cents
Bank: 40 dollars, 2 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets