Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

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"Gustav, the guy who doesn't do enough and fails more than that."

The man had just returned to the station of the Swordsmen when he heard his companion discussing Gustave la Valédi, who had died not long before. The remark made him nod slightly - he agreed.

Over the years, Gustav was the only scavenger to die in the 'clean-up' process. To say he's not accomplished enough is nothing short of a compliment. Until now, he didn't understand how the bastard died.

His death was nothing, but what came with his death was the real problem.

Gustav exposed?

No one knew the answer to the question until the white-headed old man was found.

The man tore off his raincoat and threw it on the ground. The floor became wet, he walked over, his boots stepped on the ground, and had a wonderful response to the rain, the sound was very similar to another kind of sound, such as the footsteps when stepping on blood.

"Ah, you're back, Orff."

His companion raised his hand and threw a bottle of beer over. On the naked chest is a picture, a sharp sword wrapped in a circle. Orff reached out to take it, and by the way, took off the purse from his waist and threw it in front of his companions. They just happened to be gambling.

"How do you know I'm just short of money?"

"You never win at poker with them, do you?"

The companion cursed with swear words, and continued to play poker with the other two. The cheap poker cards with the rough portraits were old, and a few kerosene lamps and candles lit the room brightly and illuminated each of their faces.

Aside from the table where they were playing cards, there were still a dozen scattered people doing their own thing and passing the time.

Orff bit off the cork of the beer, walked to the sofa beside him and sat down. His wrists were aching, a 'gift' left over from years of training and fighting. The master who taught him to use the sword jokingly called it the revenge of the sword.

"Orff, every sword is made to kill. But people like us kill people in the hands of them, they absolutely don't want to. So we're always going to be wounded one way or the other in battle, and some are enemies. Caused, and some of it is because of yourself."

He recited this sentence in his heart, a wry smile suddenly appeared on his face, and then quickly disappeared. He raised his beer and took a sip, and the time passed in a tedious manner. They have to wait until two o'clock in the morning, which is the sleepiest time for people and the best time for them to start.

The rain continued, and the raindrops hit the windows with a grumpy sound. Orff fell into memory, he vaguely remembered that the first murder was also on a rainy day. He was eighteen that year, by the sea... A local lord found out about their kidnapping of women and children, and Orff had to kill him.

He remembered that he was holding the sword and pierced through the rain curtain. The lord's carriage was stopped by them as planned, the bowman in ambush fired deadly arrows, and the carriageman was killed. They rushed out and dragged the lord out of the carriage, along with his family.

Not one left, not even that child.

Orff was so absorbed in his memories that he was too absorbed. Today he is more sentimental than ever, and because of this, he ignores some deadly sounds. They were hidden in the rain, and no one could hear them.

People rarely observe things above their heads, the first person to look up at the sky is unknown, but the first person to be captured by a pterodactyl that fell from the sky will always be remembered.

His name is Laprio, a villager. After him, people began to understand that the sky is a dangerous place, and it is also a place that human beings have never mastered. Even sorcerers and wizards can't fly - for today, of course.

A drop of rain fell on Orff's head, and he didn't realize it until the second drop, the third... The rain fell down the top of his head. Orff frowned, looked up, and saw that the roof was shaking.

Those planks -- the planks that make up the resident's roof, they're shaking.

The old wood began to bend a little bit and flew up, and the torrential rain and wind filled the entire room in an instant. The rain soaked everyone's clothes, and the playing cards, tables and chairs were blown away by the wind. They whizzed by, like the howls of the afflicted in hell.

Orff raised his head with a dull expression, a man in a black robe was flying in the air. The rain swept past him, and the wind blew his sleeves. They passed him meekly, without disturbing his peace. He was floating there like a natural phenomenon.

He also noticed that the man was smiling.

Then, the door was opened.

A white-haired witcher entered.

The killing begins.

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

The next day, a barber found their bodies. He passed by the station of the Swordsmen Group, originally wanted to open a shop, but found that the single-family wooden house collapsed. The roof was blown off, the yard was full of broken planks, and some furniture was scattered all over the place.

Out of the most basic sense of morality and the nature of watching the fun. The barber walked in, and he began to shout, but no one responded. He then walked into the cabin and a minute later let out a scream.

The patrol arrived later, and all seventeen members of the well-known local gang, the 'Sharp Swords', died. Each of them is a desperado with a bounty on their head, and the total reward is even more than 2,000 oren. Some people speculate that they were killed by their enemies, because everyone's death was appalling.

From a certain point of view, this guess is correct.

He Shenyan strolled across the street corner, where they were stopped when they entered the city yesterday. There is no one there now, and in the circular square not far away there is a poster preaching aloud. He spoke of the destruction of the Swordsmen with a three-inch tongue, and put it in his religion.

"The eternal fire will consume all evil!"

The announcer waved his hands. He was wearing a white robe with a hood, and his voice was strong and enthusiastic: "Can you guys tolerate it? The gangs are doing mischief in our city. They oppress the good and do all evil! Yes! Who hasn't seen them come to extort money?!"

He stretched out his hand and pointed to the people in the audience, and shouted in pain: "I know some people think that this kind of thing will not happen to you, because you are a pauper. But in fact, they are looking for pauper! Rich gentleman, they even Don't dare to touch it! Today, they look for your neighbors, and you ignore them, tomorrow, they look for you, and your neighbors ignore them!"

"We should be united, we should protect ourselves! Protect our neighbors and friends! Come, brothers and sisters, join the eternal fire, let us fight together for a better tomorrow under the gaze of this flame of hope! "

He Shenyan stopped and listened carefully. The language skills of this announcer were among the best among the preachers in the Middle Ages. Many people still only used the set that if you don't believe it, you will be killed by thunder, and he has learned how to stir emotions.

interesting. The mage nodded. His nodding was regarded as a kind of approval by the announcer, and his emotions became agitated again, even to a higher level.

"Look! Friends, this gentleman from the East agrees with our philosophy! Come on, sir, please come to the stage and tell us what you think of us!"

The crowd separated in front of him, and many people began to look at him expectantly - He Shenyan couldn't help but smile.

The announcer still doesn't know who he has invited to the stage.

The mage walked forward until he came to the notice board. The contrast between the white robe and the black robe is strong and incomparably obvious. And the announcer didn't know anything about it at the moment, he patted He Shenyan on the shoulder and said enthusiastically to the audience: "Come on, friends, this gentleman is about to express his insights, let us give him A little applause."

In the warm applause, He Shenyan smiled and said one word: "Stupid."

The applause stopped, just for a moment. Then there's the stiff atmosphere and the stagnant smile on the poster's face. Before he could make amends, his body froze, and then the oriental man he personally invited to the stage began to say something that made him begin to doubt his life.

"Okay, everyone. The concept that the announcer said is very interesting, and even the advanced ones in this era are a little too far. However, does the demise of the Swords really have anything to do with the eternal fire?"

His voice was not loud and he was not speaking too fast. But enough for everyone to hear.

"Assuming that the permissiveness of the world is, as the Announcer says it is, sustained by the burning eternal fire, it means that all evil in the world is the acquiescence of this fire. Imagine that eternity The fire is omnipotent, and the world is created by it, which means that evil is also its handwriting."

He Shenyan released his control over the announcer's body, and the guy shouted as soon as he recovered, "He's lying!"

"Really? Then you explain why the Swordsmen have been doing evil for so many years and have not been eliminated until today?"

"Because—" The Announcer got stuck. "—because, because..."

"You can't give a reason for yourself, sir. According to you and your religious beliefs, everything in the world is maintained and designed by the eternal fire. If so, then , why are there so many poor people?"

He Shenyan pointed at the audience: "Look at them, sir. How many can afford to wear clothes like yours? How many people woke up this morning to eat instead of going to work hungry? Live? How many people can sleep in a warm home without having to endure the torture of mosquitoes, rats, ants, and blackmail by gangsters?”

The black-robed mage asked softly, "Are you trying to tell us that your flame that leads people to be kind and represents hope is actually the source of evil that acquiesced in all this?"