Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

Geralt hurried back to the house he shared with the black-robed mage at six o'clock in the evening. It was very common and cheap. In addition to that, it was enough for both bachelors to have their own space.

After careful consideration and calculation (basically He Shenyan's calculations), Geralt came to the conclusion that if he wants to stay in Novigrad for a few months until spring, it is better to find a hotel if he wants to stay in a hotel. house for rent.

As we all know, the innkeepers are all profiteers, trying their best to cheat your money.

Although Geralt knew that He Shenyan was mostly rich and didn't care about money, he still asked for half the rent, and the black-robed mage agreed with a smile. "The mutant killer who kills water ghosts in the sewers" - you can make it ten times worse. Trust me, that old woman is much more ugly.

But when the black-robed mage appeared, she immediately changed her attitude. The magnitude of the change made Geralt secretly slandered in his heart for a long time.

Back to the topic, Geralt opened the door, and he was not surprised to see He Shenyan lying on the comfortable green sofa again, reading a book. There were already several stacks of books around him, and the witcher's good eyesight allowed him to see the title of the book, "History of the Witchers," and he said calmly, "What book are you reading?"

"About your history." He Shenyan showed part of his face from the book, his eyes still on the book instead of the witcher, Geralt heard him say: "I think I know you from you. Not enough... After all, you've been killing water ghosts all winter, do you know what the guard in the sewer said about you? 'Water ghost slayer', haha, he really has a good sense of humor."

The witcher put the sword on the table on the right side of the door, and he said angrily, "Yeah, that idiot yells that **** title every time he sees me coming, and I don't know how he came up with it. What the hell. And you can't blame me for this, it's not my problem that Novigrad only kills water ghosts."

"Uh-huh."

"..."

Geralt walked straight to the kitchen and started getting himself something to eat. It's been a long time since he ate something seriously in the house. If it's normal, in the wild, he basically eats some cold and hard jerky. If the conditions are better, he just throws it into the pot and cooks it so that they don't get eaten. So chewy, Geralt wondered more than once that if he wasn't a witcher, the jerky might have cracked his teeth.

As he was busy cutting vegetables, he raised his voice and said, whether intentionally or unintentionally, "Cough, do you know, a young man drew a picture for me when I passed by the Leader's Square today."

"Uh-huh."

"He draws very well."

"Uh-huh."

"And it's not finished yet. He said he wanted to paint it in the style of oil painting, and he told me to visit his house last week."

"Uh-huh."

Geralt wanted to curse at this moment, but he held back. The black-robed mage came from the living room with a smiling voice: "I can't bear it anymore, Geralt. I can still make a joke."

Yes, of course you can afford it.

Geralt remembered that he came back drunk a few days ago and accidentally vomited on several of the mage's books. When he woke up the next morning, he found himself thrown naked on the balcony. The woman stared at him stubbornly, and then patted Geralt's **** when they met later. Thinking of this, he felt a chill in his heart.

The Witcher decided to leave the story behind.

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

One morning a week later, Geralt changed into a decent dress, at least that's what the tailor shop owner said. Geralt didn't need clothes, as long as they weren't tights, but in the mirror his blue and white robe looked really good, so he bought it.

He followed the address given by the young man all the way to the front of his house. A remote villa in Uptown—I mean remote, but this house is very grand. The beautiful wooden villa has three floors, and Geralt looked at it for a while before confirming that the windows of the house were all painted glass, and there was actually a small fountain in front of the door, and there was a statue of a man he did not know. The witcher guessed it was an art celebrity or something.

And there is a garden behind the house, where he can see vines and many precious flowers. Geralt realized that even if the young man was a fool, he was a very rich fool.

He walked to the door, knocked on it, and the witcher waited patiently for five minutes, but no one answered.

He knocked on the door again, harder this time, his fingers making a thudding sound on the heavy oak door, he was sure the guy could hear it even when he was sleeping, but after five minutes~www.novelmt.com~ Still no one answered.

The witcher suddenly felt that something was wrong. A familiar smell began to spread in his nose. He couldn't distinguish it because of the floral fragrance and the overly complex smell here, but now, he smelled it.

Clear and memorable—blood.

The witcher kicked the door open and saw the young man who was still alive and kicking a week ago lying on his back in his living room, with drawings scattered around. His entire thoracic cavity, including his abdominal cavity, was cut open, and his internal organs were taken out and put aside.

Geralt felt as if something was stuck in his throat. His special eyes not only allowed him to see in the dark, but also to see traces that ordinary people could not see.

Traces of dragging.

He quickly entered the state, Cronin was not killed here, a long drag trail stretched from a room inside to the living room. The witcher entered the villa slowly, his footsteps as soft as a cat's, not making a sound on the hardwood floor. He picked up a vase as a weapon at random, stepped over Cronin and his guts and blood, and came to the room.

It's hard to describe the way Geralt stood in the room holding the vase. He lowered his head, the morning sunlight shone through the open glass window, and the breeze blew his hair. In the very center of the room, there is a completed oil painting.

The witcher stood in the middle of the picture, with an expressionless face, a sharp sword in his hand, another one stuck on the ground not far away, and a terrified woman leaning against him behind him. The witcher shielded her with one hand, and pointed his sword at a huge, dark figure with the other.

"You draw very well, my friend."

Geralt's voice echoed in the room.