Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

Geralt stood on the side of the door, slowly raising his hand.

It was a wooden door—a rather worn wooden door, to be exact. There are many traces of time on it, and two deep gaps. The witcher could imagine the shivering of the people in the house on a cold, windy day. However, the door is still very strong.

At least for now.

He knocked on the door, and a man's impatient voice came from inside: "Who is it? Hell, Goddess Meritelli's ass is on top, it's morning!"

"King Kong Is Not Bad Dazhai Master"

The man walked in cursingly, and Geralt patiently counted his steps. His extraordinary hearing gave him enough room to do this, and at the same time, his hand was already on the short knife around his waist.

Three, two, one.

The door is opened.

Geralt reached out his hand like lightning, pulled the man out of the room, pressed him hard against the stone wall, put a short knife to his throat, and covered his mouth with his left hand.

"You should know what to do, right?" Geralt asked in a low voice.

The man widened his eyes in horror and nodded again and again. Then, he saw an oriental man walking slowly from behind the cat-eye freak, the man glanced at him and showed a smile.

"Geralt, he's calling you a cat's eye freak in his heart."

"Really?" The witcher nodded. "It's okay, we'll have time to deal with him later."

He put away the short knife, let go of his left hand, turned to press his neck, and patted the man's cheek with the blade. The coldness made him nearly wet his pants. Geralt asked calmly and clearly, "Your name is Shiloh, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"Very well, your mother paid us to find you."

"why no?"

The man almost thought he had heard it wrong. He looked at Geralt, then at He Shenyan, his face full of disbelief: "What are you two talking about? My mother died three years ago!"

"I know, you heard that right, in fact, Shiloh..."

A smile appeared on Geralt's face. He released the hand that was holding Shirlo's neck, and then said, "It is indeed your dead mother who found us."

"You're fucking talking—ho, ho..."

Shirlo's swearing words were halfway through and he couldn't continue. His legs and feet slid down the wall weakly, and a short, rapid breath came from his throat, as if someone was choking his throat. But in reality, no one does.

Geralt moved away slightly, and a chill came from behind him, and then he felt a great sadness and endless anger. At this time, he knew that the night demon had already arrived.

"Happy vengeance, ma'am," he heard the mage say.

-------------------------------------

The bonfire burns slowly.

The witcher didn't look like he had before. He sat wearily in front of the fire, stirring with a spoon in his bowl, trying to make the soup cooler. He Shenyan sat on the other side, eating with a piece of bread in his hand, still reading. He was reading a geography magazine, written by the dwarves, and the writing was hilarious.

"I still don't understand, He, how could such a thing happen." The witcher said blankly. "The dead mother begged us to take her to find her son... This is the first time I've gone against my own principles and watched monsters kill."

"The monster didn't kill, the monster was the one that was killed."

He Shenyan put down the book, took his bowl placed near the fire, dipped the bread into it, and sucked up the soup. He took a big bite and squinted contentedly before continuing.

"Do you think he has faith, Geralt?"

"what?"

The mage repeated: "Do you think that man, the one called Shiloh—does he have faith?"

"I'm not sure, he did call Goddess Meritelli's name, yes,

But also called a certain body part of her. Goddess forgive me. "

"In most cases, having faith is a good thing." He Shenyan told him slowly. "Between the countryside, the laws of the city don't apply. On the contrary, beliefs are more restraining people's behavior, such as not stealing, not killing, not bullying... and so on."

"However, there are also some things that people know naturally without religious education. For example, you don't need anyone to tell yourself that it is wrong to kill your mother."

He Shenyan took out a spoon from the bowl and gave a fictitious nod to the direction they came from: "Look, that man knew it was wrong to kill his mother, but he still did it, which proves that faith has no restraint on him. He lives in such an environment that even his faith can't do anything about him, and the law is even more impossible."

"Do you think a witcher like you will go to a judge and the judge will believe you? You tell him: Your lord, a sensible night spirit told me that she was stoned by her own son and that she wanted revenge , so I took her to her son's house... who would believe it?"

He Shenyan picked up the bowl and drank the soup in one breath. He put the wooden bowl down, folded the spoon in the bowl, looked at the witcher's silence, and sighed.

It was July and they had been away from Wengerberg for more than two months. The weather is getting hot, even more so as they head south. And Geralt's emotions began to become more and more strange. He was often silent, often sighed, and sometimes even dazed for a long time because of some things.

He has something on his mind - of course, it's not surprising that he behaves like this, but the question is, how did he get on his mind.

"Well, Geralt, I think we need to talk. As a friend, I think I need to ask you, where were you on the last night we left Wengerberg?"

"......what?"

The witcher raised his head, his eyes dull. "What did you say? Sorry, Ho, I didn't catch it."

"Come on, you just don't want to talk."

He Shenyan exposed his lies in a few words, took out the facts ruthlessly, and threw them on the ground: "As far as I know, there is a very famous shop in Wengerburg. Famous sorceress, your Yennefer, an old lover, is the owner. The shop sells magic face creams, as well as all kinds of high-end cosmetics, and is quite famous among the local ladies."

"..." Geralt nodded reluctantly.

"Do you want me to go on? There are some things that might sound unpleasant for me to say, Geralt."

"All right."

Geralt sighed. "You were right. I went to see her that night, that's right."

"And didn't come back until the next afternoon."

"...that's true, but it's not my problem. As soon as she sees me... just..."

Geralt's tongue began to knot, and it took a while to get the whole thing out of the way.

That night, he planned to go out for a drink in a low-class pub, where 'low-class' meant that the waitresses would wear low-cut dresses and short skirts.

Witchers can't eat, but at least they can watch. This is one of his little hobbies. If he hadn't run to the door of his old lover's shop in a daze, he should have returned to the hotel early the next morning.

Too bad he's lost his mind.

Geralt came to the door of Yennefer's store inexplicably, and at half past seven in the evening, she still hadn't closed. Fate or not, Geralt raised his head and glanced at the second floor of the store, when Yennefer just stuck his head out of the window.

The two looked at each other, and their eyes collided, as if there were lightning bursts in them.

What happened next got out of hand, and the sorceress was running downstairs within a minute, not even wearing a single boot.

She eagerly invited the witcher to come in and sit, then closed the door. The two had a big fight inside, and under the emotion, Geralt also accidentally smashed a glass counter, letting the expensive liquid contained in the exquisite glass bottle spread all over the floor.

But Yennefer wasn't angry. According to Geralt, 'She looked at the ground with those eyes, then at me, and suddenly laughed. I don't know why she laughed, I was very angry, so I asked: Are you crazy? ’

' She winked at me, laughed and cried, and said yes, otherwise I wouldn't have wanted to kiss you. ’

He Shenyan began to regret why he opened this topic halfway after hearing it. He had no idea about the relationship between Yennefer and Geralt. This is a bad debt that cannot be washed.

You know, sorceresses are mostly examples of promiscuity - saying this may sound like the author is insulting women, but in fact...it's true.

But Geralt wasn't much better, or worse. It is a match made in heaven for these two people to mix together. One pile driver and one pile driver are still infertile. It is fate that they are together.

"Hey, what's your look?" Geralt asked angrily.

"No, I just feel worthless for the red-haired lady, what's her name? Triss, right? Alas, Geralt. You really..." He Shenyan shrugged shrugged. "Watery poplar."

"That's a word to describe a woman!"

"You look like a teenage girl who was dumped by your first love."

Geralt wisely shut his mouth, knowing that he was never going to beat the mage in the battle of words, and how... pathetic he had been along the way.

So he didn't say anything, just finished the soup and got ready for bed. Unfortunately, today, he was unlucky.

A thin middle-aged man came out of the woods, panting, with gray hair, an aristocratic hooked nose and a pale complexion. Looks a bit like a tax collector in a bank.

"Uh, the two of you."

He approached them breathlessly, keeping a polite and safe distance, clutching the straps of his satchel tightly in both hands, as if that would protect him. "Excuse me, I think, can I borrow your fire?"

"It's impossible."

Geralt looked at He Shenyan who answered in advance in surprise. He instinctively felt that something was wrong. You know, the mage basically did not talk to outsiders on the way. He was allergic to chatting with strangers at all, but now he Acting like an enthusiastic acquaintance.

"As travelers, we can't get out of the forest without helping each other. What do you think? Come and sit down."

He Shenyan waved at him with a friendly smile, and even asked thoughtfully, "Have you eaten? Do you need food?"

"Well, I'm not hungry, to be honest."

The middle-aged man answered honestly, then approached the bonfire. At this moment, Geralt smelled the strong herbal scent on him. Out of professional instinct, he immediately began to doubt the man's profession. And the man obviously knew how to get rid of this, and he immediately started introducing himself.

"Gentlemen, my name is Emile Regis, and I'm a barber."

"The barber doesn't have such a strong herbal smell," Geralt said. "I'm a witcher, as you can see. Just call me Geralt. The one next to you is a mage. His name is He Shenyan, and his name might be a bit awkward, so—"

"—Just call me anything, Mr. Regis." He Shenyan took over with a smile.

Geralt noticed that when he mentioned the word mage, Regis' eyes became very complicated for a moment.

"Because I sometimes work part-time as a herbalist, I don't have any other work at hand these days. I can't survive just by doing my own job."

Regis explained, pulling a bottle of wine from his satchel, and Geralt heard other clanking sounds. There must be a lot of bottles and jars in that satchel.

"Gentlemen, do you drink? Here's a bottle of Averus, and I think it's a perfect thank you for allowing me to borrow the campfire."

"That's a pretty expensive bottle, Mr. Regis," said Geralt, not without surprise.

But, as a senior alcoholic...how could he refuse?

After three minutes, he sighed, this time a sigh of contentment, because Avroth was really good.

He Shenyan did the same. He shook the wine in his glass and asked Regis casually, "So, Mr. Regis. What makes you, a hairdresser, a part-time herbalist who would be a part-time herbalist in the middle of the night? What about people appearing in the forest?"

Hearing this, Regis showed an embarrassed smile.

"I'm a herbalist, that's true, but I sometimes get drunk and go prescribing medicine for people."

He said slowly: "...for this reason, I was kicked out by a local village united. Because the village chief's daughter had a cold, I gave her a supplementary medicine for constipation. . That night, she sprayed all over the house."

Geralt almost laughed.

"As you can see." He shrugged. "I have nowhere to go and I got lost in the forest again. If I hadn't met you two kind gentlemen, I'm afraid I would be eaten by wolves now."

"Well, a wonderful story, full of humor and self-deprecation." He Shenyan raised his glass and took a sip. "Unfortunately you're a vampire, Mr. Regis."

When his voice fell, Geralt threw down the glass, and Zeng stood up, his hand almost touching the hilt of the silver sword.