Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

Wingford didn't resist for long—to be precise, he didn't resist at all.

He Shenyan didn't even say a word, he recruited everything. He's a man of the moment, knows how to behave in the face of sheer power, and knows that any stratagem is useless in the face of someone who can kill you with just one breath.

Who is he, who he first learned magic from, what he wants to do, who got this meditation technique from, and the original plan.

Everything is revealed.

Frankly speaking, as far as He Shenyan is concerned, he appreciates such people.

Abandoned by his parents and raised in a slum, Wigfortz might have become a gangster or something if he hadn't met a bunch of druids. But he was taken away by the druin and wandered with them. When he was a little older, Wigfords left them.

He was a soldier, a spy, and even a farmer or trader. For the first few decades of his life, he was not a mage.

But the firmness of this person's mind is almost a natural mage. The combination of his ruthlessness towards mortals, his addiction to magic, and the pursuit of interests is simply the sum of the prejudice against mages in the books.

He Shenyan sat on a chair, put his legs up on a table, flipped through the diary that Wigfortes had carried with him, and said to himself, "You know what I think. Mister Wigfords, they should have put your name in the dictionary right below the word 'mage'."

Wingford couldn't answer, for he had gone to the sun to be with His Excellency the Senator, which was nice, at least he wouldn't be cold there any more.

why?

The answer is actually very simple. Wingford has been chasing more powerful forces since he became a mage, and his goal is the blood of the ancients.

This powerful power is an irresistible temptation for any mage (local only). He secretly helped Doni, the father of Ciri, to marry him to the princess Paveta of Sintra, but he never expected that a black-robed mage would come out in the middle.

His plan was interrupted because Ciri became He Shenyan's accidental son - out of some intuition from fellow mage, Wigfortz almost instinctively turned his thoughts to a very dangerous place. He believed that He Shenyan's behavior was entirely the result of deliberate deliberation, and he was taken first by others.

In short, he wanted to trouble He Shenyan. But he also heard that the black-robed mage is very strong, and it was just in time for the meeting. Francesca was implementing a new type of meditation technique, which was open to all kinds of warlocks, mages and even Druyin for free. Wigfords immediately went, and he studied there for three full years before he started his apprenticeship, and then began to search for He Shenyan's traces without stopping.

He found it.

Then he died.

"With all due respect, Mr. Wigfords. There are two utterly stupid things in the world, and you have done both."

He Shenyan shook his head and dropped the diary, stood up, opened a portal and left, leaving only one sentence, and the diary that was slowly burning into ashes.

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Geralt wasn't swaggering like a mage, swaggering down from the sky. In fact, even if he wanted to, he couldn't.

He was sure that He Shenyan would kill that congressman, and he himself had some people to kill.

Get rid of evil.

The sky was pale, with white clouds and mild sunshine overhead. His Excellency Councilor's manor stood majestically halfway up the mountain. Geralt walked to the main entrance and politely told the servant at the door that he wanted to find someone.

"Who are you looking for, Master Witcher?"

The servant looked at him suspiciously, not understanding what a witcher was here for, until Geralt raised his finger and described it carefully to the servant with Axifa and his eloquence, so the servant began. Nodding again and again.

"Yes, not tall, and thin. Yes, sir, the way he sees people is creepy, and the people with whom we don't really dare to deal with them, but the lord invited them back. But That guy in the lead disappeared yesterday."

"yes?"

Geralt nodded thoughtfully and drew the steel sword behind his back. The Axifa Seal was still functioning stably, and the servant didn't think there was anything wrong with the witcher's action of drawing his sword. Then, he heard the witcher say, "Please go and tell them that Geralt of Rivia is outside. Wait, if they ask who I am, they say, I killed the blade cat."

"Okay, sir." The servant nodded. "You killed the blade cat."

He turned and walked into the mansion.

Geralt waited patiently where he was, standing in a more relaxed position—perhaps I shouldn't say that, since he was standing like a layman.

His hand holding the sword drooped down naturally, and it was so slack that it was doubtful whether it would fall off in one hand. His legs were also, not at all like they could move forward or backward at any time, but they loosened up naturally and stood there like a dazed idler in the village.

"Deceiving Kangxi"

Is he?

Five minutes later, five strong men in leather armor with mace or long sword came out, and the one at the head was very strong. His leather armor has no arm parts, but leaves two strong arms exposed.

This man caressed the scar on his nose with a bad expression, and cursed: "You **** idiot, I will let you know that some things can't be said casually! I want to let the world get rid of you, you filthy idiot. The imbecile!"

He changed his tone and wanted to scold again, but Geralt's eyes had become ruthless.

The Witcher starts in a split second—excuse my ill-timed analogy, but if I had to choose between a Lamborghini and a preying cheetah, I'd still choose a Lamborghini for his speed.

Because Lamborghinis can kill a lot of people.

In the blink of an eye, he was in front of the man. The blade droops, the grip is clenched, the muscles are naturally exerted, and it is extremely smooth, like cutting butter with a red-hot blade - his steel sword cut straight into the man's jaw, his gums, tongue and Fragile oral tissue was cut in half, along with the nasal cavity.

Blood splattered, some on Geralt's face. He pulled out the sword expressionlessly, and then slapped the sword. The man's skull rolled to the bottom of his feet and was kicked away by the witcher. He stood there with a sudden smile on his face.

"Come on," he said. "I'm in a hurry. My friend made a bet with me. If I lose, I'll have to treat for three days."

The remaining four looked at each other and immediately rushed up together. They are very professional, very professional. These are seasoned, skilled, and cooperative professionals—professional homicide.

On the left and right, the roads on both sides were completely blocked, and two men with mace in their hands were in front of them. He couldn't block this kind of thing with a steel sword. The one with the long sword was in the back, covering each other's backs, they rushed forward, Geralt chose the pair on the left first.

The first man raised the mace in his right hand and waved it at him, but it was only a feint. He dodged immediately, so that his brother with the longsword behind him could stab a dangerous sword straight into Geralt's throat.

and then?

The witcher evaded all attacks faster than them, the blade cut off the right hand and right ear of the person holding the blade with brutal arc and force, before his screams came out, even the sword. Before the blade hit the ground, Geralt swung his second sword.

The steps are spinning, like dancing, and the steps are brisk, like tango. The steel sword slid through the air again, and another head flew straight up, with confusion and pain still remaining on his face.

"that's it?"

He even had the energy to ridicule them, with a smile on his face: "I thought the guy who could follow the blade cat should be good."

"You'll see."

The man with the mace said coldly behind him, the evil wind came from behind his head, and at the same time, the two men who attacked him on the right also arrived. Two mace, a long sword, his eyes, throat, brain were all aimed at them with malicious eyes.

Geralt released his left hand, and the Quinn Seal was cast in an instant. All their attacks were resisted, and it was as if they were chopped on a hard rock. The shock force cracked their jaws and their palms trembled.

Naturally, the witcher would not miss such a good opportunity.

The sword was pressed very low by him, very low. He thrust his backhand into the abdomen of the person behind him, then turned around immediately, drawing the blade with this spinning force. He saw the guy's intestines flying in the air, his stomach was ripped open, and all his food spilled out. He opened his mouth as if to scream.

Geralt didn't give him the chance, and he fluttered his sword, leaving a penetrating wound in the guy's throat. Immediately, he turned around again, the blade spinning above his head, spinning like a windmill. The remaining two people watched this scene in shock, only the reaction with the long sword in hand was relatively quick, and they knew that they had to lift the sword to resist.

Does it work?

No.

Geralt stabbed them across, heart to heart, blood to blood. He let go and the two fell to the ground. The witcher looked up at the sky, making sure he wasn't wasting too much time. He drew his steel sword, wiped it on their clothes, and put it in its sheath.

Then he left quietly.

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"Oh, I am amazed."

"Surprise for what?"

"You didn't waste half an hour on them."

He Shenyan said regretfully, smashing his mouth, snapping his fingers, twenty gold coins spilled out of the air and piled on the table. Geralt panted, took off his sword, and thumped his waist.

He complained without any image: "My old bone is doing my best for this little money."

"Old bone?"

The mage looked at him with contempt: "Don't take this money to a brothel, old bone, huh."