English
中国人
ខ្មែរ
Sir Cedric of the Silver Vale was a paradox in the sun-scorched town of Dry Gulch. He wore polished plate armor that glinted under a relentless desert sun, while the locals sported faded denim and wide-brimmed hats. Though his sword was sharp and his vows were lofty, Cedric harbored a secret that gnawed at his spirit: the fear that his knightly ideals had no place in this harsh, unforgiving land. He could recite the chivalric code from memory, yet his voice would quiver when he faced the town's rough-hewn inhabitants. The desert winds seemed to whisper a challenge, one he felt utterly unprepared to answer.
The trouble began when a gang of outlaws, led by the notorious Cactus Cal, thundered into town with demands for tribute. The sheriff, a stout man with a gray mustache, stepped forward to reason with them, but Cal's response was a swift, brutal blow that left the sheriff sprawled in the dust. The townsfolk turned to Sir Cedric, their eyes pleading, but he opened his mouth and produced a stream of apologies and philosophical hedges about the nature of violence. As he spoke, the outlaws laughed, and a young cowboy named Jem, who had boasted that he would shoot any man who looked at him sideways, suddenly found his horse and fled in the opposite direction. Cedric's fine words hung in the air like a mirage: impressive, but utterly insubstantial.
