Serious person, who is learning magic in Marvel?

That night, the Golden King's Tavern.

To describe it as a pub is actually inappropriate. This bar with a grand name is more like a small hotel. It looks unremarkable from the outside, but inside it is full of the characteristics of a high-end hotel in a rural town--of course, this is not a good word.

But then again, it would be nice to have wine to drink. Demon hunters are not picky about the environment.

The place is crowded and noisy, and the customers in the store have different identities, occupations and races, but whether they are locals or outsiders, they are all doing what they want to do. Even when the dedicated businessmen arrive at the tavern, they have to argue with the dwarves about their products.

Prices and loan interest. The less dedicated ones pinch the waitresses' butts. Some local idiots pretend to be well-informed and want to win the attention of young girls, but the girls'

Their thoughts were not on them at all. They were busy trying to please the rich people, and by the way, they were sneering at these poor and ugly country bumpkins.

The hard-working laborers like driver and fishermen were another scene. They were drinking as if they were desperate. A few sailors stood on the table and sang boat songs. He Shenyan listened with interest and was careless.

It sings about the waves of the sea, the bravery of the captain, and the beauty of the mermaids. Especially the mermaids, they sang this description so vividly that the rough voices of the sailors had a different kind of charm when paired with these words.

Keldemion and Geralt were sitting on the bar not far from him, lying down drinking. The fat Sheriff asked the bald shopkeeper: "Listen, man. When I just came in, I saw six people and one

Girls, they are all wearing Novigrad-style black leather jackets with silver trim. I saw them at the tax collection station. Tell me honestly, are they here with you now, or have they gone to the tuna tavern?"

The shopkeeper frowned. He tried to think about it and said with a bitter face: "My lord, they are here. From your tone, they don't sound like good people?"

Keldemion snorted coldly. He turned to Geralt and said: "I have never seen any good people walking around with swords all the time. They are not demon hunters like Geralt."

He asked the shopkeeper again: "Where are they now?"

"It's all in the cubicle."

"It seems they gave you a lot of gold, but you were willing to give them the compartment."

The shopkeeper almost fell under the table at this moment. He wiped the sweat from his face with his dirty apron and asked: "Sir, I didn't do anything... Are they watching?"

Like good people, but they give you money!"

Keldemion continued to drink at the bar. Geralt winked at him, returned to He Shenyan's table and said, "It seems the situation is very clear. What you extracted from his mind

The memories are indeed real."

He picked up a glass of wine and drank it in one gulp. The witcher's usually expressionless face showed a rare gloominess: "What he did made me feel sick."

He Shenyan was still listening attentively to the song sung by the sailors. Judging from the increasingly unpleasant lyrics, it should have reached the final climax.

He said casually: "Until his death, Strigorb did not feel that he was doing bad things. In his mind, he thought that he just made a difficult choice. He chose to take the small evil for the sake of the overall situation."

Geralt said in a serious tone for the first time: "Evil is evil. Whether it is big or small, medium or small. They are all the same. I am not a pious hermit, and not everything I have done in my life is good.

.but guess what?”

He drank another drink, wiped his mouth, stood up and said, "...If I had to choose one of the two, I would choose neither."

He Shenyan turned his head, looked at Geralt, and applied a magic shield to him: "Don't do evil for small things...right?"

The witcher walked to the door of the compartment, opened the hard door curtain covered with dust and stains, and entered the compartment.

Six people were sitting at the table, and the girl was not there.

A bald man with a disfigured face shouted: "What do you want to do?!"

Geralt looked around, his eyes scanning everyone's face, and said calmly: "I want to see Shrike."

A pair of twins stood up. Their hands had already touched the long sword on the table. Their faces were exactly the same, expressionless at the same time, and their clothes, hairstyle, etc. were all the same.

Even those two swords.

"Calm down, Ver, Nimr. You both sit down." The bald man said, and he said to Geralt: "Man, we don't have a man named Shrike here. I'm afraid you are in the wrong place."

"Yeah?"

Geralt nodded, held the table with both hands, and continued: "Let me make it clear. I want to see Shrike, Renfri. Of course, it doesn't matter if you can't. Just tell her that Stregobor is dead.

That’s fine.”

After saying this, Geralt turned around and was about to leave, but then, the conversation of several people inside made him stop.

"Ha! Who does he think he is?"

"An albino!"

"No, no, no, guys, listen to me. I saw this cat-eyed freak in front of the Sheriff's house. He brought a monster and wanted to exchange money. People say he is a witcher."

"Those mutant bastards? Mages who cast spells for a handful of silver coins? Oh! By the gods, how come these damn freaks weren't burned to death?!"

"Hey! Maoyan! Don't run away! Tell me, did your mother crossbreed with a monster to give birth to you, as people say?"

Geralt sighed.

He pulled out the sword on his back with lightning speed, so fast that only a silver light could be seen. Years of training and his superhuman physical fitness allowed him to turn around in an instant and raise his sword to slash,

The sharp edge of the sword was flawless, and it cut off the hand of the half-elf who spoke arrogantly at him.

He screamed, but no one cared in the noisy tavern.

There was no emotion in the demon hunter's eyes, and he said in a cold tone: "I won't kill you, idiot, but you have to pay the price for it."

"Do you really fucking think--" The bald man swallowed back half of his curse words, and a woman walked in.

She is almost as tall as Geralt, with ocean blue eyes. Her straw-colored hair is cut unevenly, only reaching her earlobes. She presses one hand on the door, wearing a velvet tight leather jacket and a gorgeous belt around her waist.

Belt. Her skirt is also not very symmetrical - the left side hangs down to her calf, but the right side reveals her toned thighs in elk leather boots. A sword hangs on the left side of her body, and a dagger with a huge ruby ​​on the handle is inserted into the right side.

"What's going on here?"

"Boss! He cut off Severil's hand!"

The woman was not moved at all. She said calmly: "I heard what he said. Shouldn't I be punished for speaking nonsense to other people's mothers?"

Geralt wiped the blood from the sword with his sleeve, and slowly put the sword back into its scabbard. He stretched out a hand to the woman: "Geralt of Rivia."

"You have no right to shake hands with her! Freak!" the bald man cursed again. The woman turned her head and stared at him. The bald man immediately closed his mouth and lowered his head, not daring to look at her. Geralt was very surprised, because the woman's

There was something very strange in his gaze - it reminded him of the light reflected on the blade, the screams of the murdered, as well as blood and severed limbs.

"Okay, gray-haired man." The woman turned her head, shook hands with Geralt, and suddenly put on a smile: "How about we go to a spacious place to talk? Hmm? Just you and me.

.”

She deliberately lengthened the ending to create a charming tone.