Time slowed. The world turned to amber.

“Not a trinket,” the Merchant said, his voice lowering. He pulled back a velvet cloth. Beneath it lay Leon’s own Silver Ghost—but transformed. The barrel was longer, etched with symbols that seemed to drink the light. The grip was carved from what looked like petrified wood from the village’s bell tower. And the chamber… it glowed faintly, as if harboring a trapped firefly.

Leon S. Kennedy crouched behind the crumbling stone wall, the acrid smell of gunpowder and damp earth filling his lungs. His Silver Ghost—the trusty starting pistol—clicked empty. Ahead, a hulking Garrador tore its chains free, its blind rage swinging massive claws that shredded the chapel’s pillars like paper.

“Your first kill as a cop. Raccoon City. The rookie you couldn’t save.” The Merchant’s eyes glittered. “Give it to me, and this gun will never miss a weak spot. Every shot to the head will bloom like a crimson flower. Every burst will stagger a beast. And when you aim down the sights… time will crawl for just a heartbeat.”

Boom. Crack.

He vaulted the wall.

But the gun never missed.

Leon snatched the upgraded pistol. The moment his fingers touched the grip, a cold rush flooded his mind—the memory of that rookie’s face faded to static, then vanished entirely. He felt lighter. Hungrier. More focused.

Ashley’s cries became sobs of relief.

Ting-ting-ting…

Leon lowered the gun. Smoke curled from the barrel like a whisper. He felt no joy, no triumph—only the hollow efficiency of a tool perfectly made for destruction.

And that, the Merchant knew, was the deadliest upgrade of all.