Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

LATEST WEBSITE: The funny thing about jokes is that you know the jokes are fake.

For example, someone told a rather special joke. It's about how a child accidentally kills his parents, and most people won't find this joke funny. But there must be a few people who will appreciate it.

Admit it, everyone has a different sense of humor, and some people just prefer the darker one.

But the one in front of Geralt wasn't, he just felt a huge sense of absurdity ensue, making him almost unable to laugh. Because he knew what He Shenyan could do. Naturally includes getting a person to start telling the truth against his will.

So, the bald man in front of him - what he said was the truth.

He didn't lie.

"You mean, Alphonse Willy. The biggest underworld boss in Novigrad is asking me to cooperate with the purpose of driving out a group of traffickers?"

The witcher laughed dumbly: "You might as well say that he wants to use me and monopolize the business himself."

"Do not."

Jack's lips continued to open and close, the muscle called the tongue worked, and the vocal cords vibrated to produce sound. His eyes were full of fear, but he was still talking.

"Mr. Alphonse Willie would never do this kind of business," said Jack. "Mr. runs casinos, fight clubs, brothels. But he's definitely not in the business of human trafficking, never."

"yes?"

Geralt folded his arms and stood aside. He makes this gesture whenever he has some interest in what someone is going to say next.

"Yes--because Mr. Alphonse Willie was kidnapped."

I said it.

Omg.

Jack's eye muscles began to twitch, and tears flowed involuntarily. I said it—he thought, how can I say such a thing? Mr. will definitely kill me afterwards because of this. By the way, I can still beg the witcher, I can let him...

His thoughts ended there.

Jack's bald head tilted to the right, he leaned back on the chair, his mouth wide open, and fell asleep in a posture that would definitely make him stiff when he woke up.

He Shenyan withdrew the mental tentacles that controlled his brain. The mage looked down at his right hand, and in Geralt's eyes, there was nothing there. And in his eyes, there is a blue gem that is gradually turning black.

But, for now, it's still blue.

"Well, that explains why he thinks this way... It seems that Hawthorne is well-informed. We just entered the city for less than a day, and he knew about the witcher who came in. It's me."

"Perhaps it's because your grey hair stands out too much, Geralt."

He Shenyan turned and left, Geralt following behind him. Neither of them cared about Francis Behring, who was sitting beside him, and they kept walking until they left this messy underground gangster gathering place.

It's already dark night.

There was a bright moon hanging in the sky, and Geralt and He Shenyan were both silent. The former is still thinking about Hawthorne. As for the latter, he was still busy with that huge ceremony. Their thinking continued until footsteps could be heard behind them.

From four hundred and seventy-three meters away, eight people, all armed. The one at the head killed forty people, the whole thing. Seventeen men, ten women, and the rest are children.

He Shenyan stopped, and his mental tentacles told him everything completely. The eight attackers had seen through him before they could see him. All their life trajectories so far, their names, what breakfast they had in the morning, what they did recently.

It's all clear - and in return, He Shenyan is going to reward them with something.

"what?"

Geralt looked at him in confusion, wondering why he stopped. He Shenyan knew why, the witcher's senses were not sensitive enough to hear footsteps 400 meters away.

"It's nothing, Geralt, I want to vent, you go back first."

The mage gave him a smile, and the witcher didn't know why at first, but then suddenly realized a smile: "Are you going to—? Well, I won't tell anyone. By the way, love and flowers are opposite. That store offers free overnight service."

"Okay, I took note. See you in the morning."

"See you tomorrow morning."

When the eight attackers were still 351 meters away, Geralt turned and left. At the same time, He Shenyan also turned around.

He's going to do something less mage, and there are many reasons why he's doing it. For example, the darkness I have seen along the way, like the child killed by the bastard at the head, and like... the problem that he is having a headache.

It's so fucking hard.

He Shenyan sighed. One second, he was still on the street, and the next second, he was already in a dark alley. The boots were light on the ground, and none of the eight noticed that he had reached behind them.

Which is more difficult? he asked himself. Doing the right thing forever, or trying to find a BC time coordinate?

Mage does not know.

He is also trying to find an answer.

"Excuse me." His voice sounded from behind the eight people, calm. "I have a few questions for you all."

"what?!"

His voice was so quiet, so peaceful that it was almost impersonal. The guy closest to him was so frightened he nearly fell to the ground. He Shenyan looked at him and said nothing. But he let go of his grip on the knife. The remaining seven people were standing by. They didn't know who was talking, but they knew the tone.

If any of them were planning to kill something next, they would use that tone.

The one at the head - the one who killed the most people chose to communicate.

He cautiously looked at the person talking in the dark, and said to He Shenyan in his self-righteous tone: "Listen, man. We are doing things for money, and I guess you are too. So we don't have to fight or bleed, you understand. ?"

"I'll give you the answers to the questions you want, and then you turn around and leave, okay? You've scared my little brother into peeing his pants."

Yeah?

No, you are not collecting money to do things, you are a member of the Swordsmen Group.

A guy named Walpole Royin tipped you off...you were here to kill Jack Tallinn, but changed your mind halfway through because you saw the 'white-haired witcher', too The person Alphonse Willie is looking for these two days.

But, for one thing, the guy who spoke didn't lie.

He Shenyan looked down at the crotch of the guy closest to him, and there was indeed a tick of yellow urine dripping down.

"First I want to ask a question."

"No problem, man, just ask - I'll tell you everything unless it's a question of principle."

There were fine beads of sweat on the forehead of the guy who spoke. He couldn't see who was talking in the dark, or even if it was a person. An invisible sense of oppression made his teeth chatter, his spine became cold, and even his fingers were shaking.

- Am I talking to humans, or am I talking to demons?

He asked himself, but got no answer.

"Very well, first question."

Darkness spoke: "It's hard to kill a child, or is it hard to live well?"

"what are you saying?"

"I'm asking you, Edmund Curtis. You are thirty-two years old, you were born in Kaldwin. At twenty you came to Novigrad with forty oren in your arms, and at first, you wanted to Live well here. But for the next ten years, your life is insulated from the word 'good'. You killed forty people, seventeen men, ten women, and twenty-three children."

"Your childhood was fairly normal. You shouldn't have such an anti-social personality. Gangsters don't kill every day, let alone twenty-three children. Your memory tells me that you're not tired of it."

The voices coming from the darkness were still calm, but the narration attitude made everyone's hair stand on end.

"Why?" the voice in the dark asked. "I read your memory, why?"

Edmund Curtis did not speak, he was speechless. This feeling of being nakedly dismantling his life, this feeling of thirty-two years of life being condensed into a few words... almost drove him crazy. And what really drove him crazy was the fact that the voice in the dark was saying the problem that made him realize it.

yeah why?

Why am I killing those kids?

They ask themselves, but can't find the answer - is it for the money? No, not for the money. What is that for? for happiness? No, he is normal. If he has money, he goes to a brothel, there are two or three women he knows well, and he has no craving for killing.

But... why?

He Shenyan did not spare any of them. From Edmund Curtis, to the coward who wet his crotch. He questioned them one by one, carefully, clearly, terribly logically. Each of them began to realize how miserable their life really was.

What's even sadder is that they don't even know why they're like this.

When the questioning was over, finally, he came out of the darkness.

The guy closest to him raised his hand, not to kill him or to do anything else. He just raised his hand and grabbed He Shenyan's boots. He held it like a life-saving straw. Tears welled up in his eyes - the man uttered a shaky word piercingly.

"Kill me," he said. "Please, hurry up."

The mage looked down at him, a tinge of remorse sprouting in his heart - long overdue, damn it. He's so negligent, he's doing his old habit again...and thinking he's in control of everything.

The Swordsmen Group, a huge organization specialized in human trafficking. They spread all over the world, spreading branches and leaves, and even formed an industrial chain. But the question is, this organization is so huge, is everyone in it a beast with a heartless heart and no emotion at all?

They treat their fellow men like livestock, and sell them as if they were a pig or a cow without emotional turmoil. This is abnormal, abnormal to the extreme. And there's another thing that's not normal.

- What about the money?

Such a profiteering... money? What about the money they exchanged for people? Where did the money go? The pockets of kings? Such a thing is unlikely, and no king would be stupid enough to make human trafficking an official business. Not even the most savage people would do that.

So, He Shenyan combined these two issues. The combination of questions and questions produces not another question, but an answer.

Everyone in the Swordsmen had no real sense of what they were doing, and even murdered without any psychological fluctuations, because they were more or less affected by spell hypnosis.

He Shenyan stared at his right hand. At this moment, what appeared there was not a gem. But eight strands of magic power, they were implanted in the minds of these eight people, a common sense mistake and deception, a deep-rooted psychological influence.

The spell is not very clever, but the person behind it is extremely clever.

In this way, it can be explained where the money went.

The master behind it is a mage, and mages are the most short of money—the people with the most money in the world are not debt-ridden gamblers, nor poor worms addicted to anesthesia powder, but mages. Warlocks, sorceresses, wizards... all kinds of spellcasters in this world need money.

So, where does the money come from?

We all know that getting something for nothing is the fastest way to get money.

He Shenyan clenched the eight strands of magic power, and the man holding his boots was still pleading. He can't bear to become a monster who helps traffickers and kills. Before he did these things, he was just an honest farmer, and now, the memories of 'he' are attacking his sanity .

He wants to die. He Shenyan could see it.

"I'm sorry, everyone." He Shenyan said. "But I'm afraid I'll have to kill you today. You're farmers, sailors, coachmen, and merchants, and there's even a wither carver among them. But you've all become—"

"—monsters, I know, sir."

Edmund Curtis, who had killed the most, knelt on the ground and stared at his hands. After a moment, he looked up, his pale face dripping with sweat, like a scratched stone. Sweat and tears mixed into a piercing blade that stabbed his conscience and shattered his mind.

"Go ahead, sir, kill us, we'll be damned. Then kill him—kill the monster who made us what we are."

Edmund Curtis says so.

Half a minute later, He Shenyan walked out of the alley.

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

Alphonse Wiley's office.

"That witcher came to the door? And a fellow mage? It doesn't matter, Jack. It doesn't even matter that you tell me about my past, I never wanted to hide it. Anyone with a heart would have been able to find out. This. I was sold to Novigrad when I was twelve, so what's there to hide?"

Hawthorne smiled indifferently.

"That's why I'm going to fuck them to the end, Jack. Get the word out... I've been covering up for the past few years, I'm tired. People on the road think I'm trying to do this myself. Bad ass business, but it's not."

Old Hawthorne stood up from the chair, he bent down, fumbled under the desk for a while, and took out a crossbow from under it: "Tell the boys, gather, let's go and see those few tonight. All the beasts with open eyes were killed."

Jack heard him laugh.

"Add fire to this city!"