MTL - Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?-v3 Chapter 22 Death of a Painter (3)

Alphonse Willie is busy looking at art paintings in his casino 'special office' as usual. Don't ask him why he has a 'special office' or why he appreciates paintings in a casino. The last person who asked this question had already been hacked to death with a hand axe in front of seven of his subordinates.

But one thing can be revealed, Alphonse Willie, 'Hawthorne', is very unhappy at this time, very unhappy.

Although his ugly and fierce face was not very friendly on weekdays, it still made several of his confidants feel a little scared at this time.

After all, you never know what Alphonse Willie will do in the next second.

as it is now.

He suddenly shouted: "Selik, Selik! Damn, what about the son of a bitch?"

Selik is his accountant.

Five minutes had passed by the time Selik ran to Alphonse out of breath. You won't see a hint of gangsterism in this special office, the fine floors, luxurious decor, that marble desk and the paintings and sculptures all over the room make it look more like an artist 's office.

Alphonse Willie was sitting behind his marble table. Selik couldn't see his expression, so he could only ask in a low voice, "My lord, what do you want from me?"

At this moment, his voice sounded normal again: "It's nothing, Selik, it's nothing. I just want you to see..."

He stood up, pointed to a painting on the easel behind Selik, and said, "What do you think of this painting?"

Selik looked back, it was a painting depicting a witcher. It's a pretty good painting if Iselick's heart is in it, but he can't figure out what Alphonse is thinking, so he just mumbles, "Uh... um... look, my lord, This is... uh..."

Alphonse grabbed the book on the table and threw it on the back of Selik's head, shouting, "You can't talk or what? Everyone, come and see! My accountant turns out to be an idiot who can't talk! "

Selik didn't dare to speak. He bent down to pick up the book, put it on Alphonse's desk, and whispered, "The painting is very good, sir..."

"yes?"

Alphonse calmed down again at this time, he asked lightly. Selik's heart was lifted in an instant, and he was tremblingly waiting for Alphonse's next sentence.

"I also think he draws well, alas, **** it. It's a pity that he can't stop those people. I guess he will die soon." Alphonse sighed. Then he said: "This kid finished painting this painting in the studio two days ago. I know why he refused to sell the original to me, so he simply asked a student in their studio to copy it for me. Look at this The color, the copying is so good! Damn it, why can't he think about it?"

Alphonse became more and more irritable. He slapped the marble table and said angrily, "Damn it, why didn't he sell it to me?"

Selik only dared to lower his head and listen. He didn't dare to let out the air. Who knew that would make Alphonse angry, but he didn't say more, just threw a bag of money to Selik and sat back in his chair. He said, "Take the flowers, don't ask me why, understand?"

Selik nodded vigorously, and then went out, leaving Alphonse alone in his office looking at the painting in silence - the silence didn't last long, and a loud noise almost made Alphonse fall from his chair. The top fell, and he immediately called out the name of the guard outside his office, but he couldn't hear anything but screams.

Alphonse Willi felt bad. He opened a box he put under the marble table, which contained a crossbow. Then, he extinguished the candle, walked to the door of his office, raised the crossbow and started waiting.

He heard the constant screams and the sound of the body falling to the ground, and some explosions and the sound of the blade cutting through the body. The thief is one of the four major gangsters in Novigrad today, and the number of people he has killed is not one thousand but eight hundred.

At the same time, another footstep was getting closer, and he didn't hide his intention at all. The footsteps stopped outside his office, and Alphonse heard a hoarse voice: "'Hawthorne'?"

The witcher looked at the door. He didn't hear anyone speaking, but his ears told him there was breathing inside.

He looked back at the mess he created, the stumps all over the floor, Geralt took a deep breath of the **** air, and he said, "You can choose to come out now, or I will let you out."

Still no one spoke.

"It looks like you chose the latter one."

The witcher kicked the door open, he heard the sound of the bowstring being pulled, and a crossbow arrow was lashing towards his head, but he had not yet had a close contact with the witcher~www.novelbuddy. com~ was blocked by the sword in his hand.

Geralt took a heavy step forward, his fist hit Alphonse's face precisely and powerfully, knocking him to the ground, and kicking him in the stomach with another kick. The witcher ignored the weak moan of the gang leader lying on the ground, dragged him out of his office, and threw him directly into the middle of his casino, along with the corpses of his men.

Then, he found a perfect chair and sat on it himself.

"Now, let's talk about Cronin Gregory."

When Alphonse heard this, he laughed, and Hawthorne said with a miserable smile, "That kid is dead, isn't he?"

Hawthorne reluctantly stood up from the ground. Geralt was a little surprised. He was very sure that the kick he just kicked must have caused this guy to bleed internally. He should be in pain now. But Hawthorne just stood up, not only that, he also picked up a chair leg, straightened his body in a comical gesture, and said, "Come on, mutant freak, if you want to kill me, do it, But one second before you chop my head off, I want you to remember that what they told you to do to that kid will be done to you sooner or later."

After speaking, he roared and rushed towards the witcher who was sitting on the chair.

Geralt didn't even bother to avoid him. He turned his head slightly and knocked Hawthorne to the ground with a slap. His body was fine among ordinary people, but he was weaker than a witcher like a baby.

"Cough...cough, ah, your fists are really heavy, you bastard." Hawthorne fell to the ground. He coughed twice and spat out a mouthful of blood, but his mouth was still dirty.

The witcher folded his arms tightly around his chest. His face and body were covered in blood. Hawthorne heard his hoarse voice: "I want to ask you a question."