Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 295 Bar Brawl (Second Update)

"That's him!"

"I know this guy, he has two very beautiful girlfriends, hey..."

Bang! Before the burly, middle-aged white man could finish speaking, his head was slammed into the bar counter. The solid wooden plank snapped under the force, exposing the dark yellow splinters. In an instant, the man lost consciousness. Salomon, expressionless, gripped his neck and slammed his head down again. The splinters cut the man's face, drawing blood. Even the seasoned bartender was so terrified by the sorcerer's brutality that he crouched under the bar counter.

The others in the bar drew their pistols, ready to shoot the sorcerer, but Mr. Rither, who had entered with Salomon, fired first. The former CIA agent was a sharpshooter; his shots were all non-lethal. Every person who tried to draw their gun would have their limbs come into close contact with a bullet—perhaps two. Even top agents in such a chaotic scene would forget whether they had fired at that person or not.

Mr. Risser did not kill anyone, at least not intentionally; he merely used the body of a thug to shield himself from bullets fired by other thugs.

The sorcerer tossed aside the man whose fate was unknown, punched the charging thug to the ground, then pulled out his bolt pistol and fired a shot at the wall behind the bartender who had drawn a shotgun. The expensive .0.5-inch bullet, handcrafted by fallen angel artisans, was propelled by a rocket into the concrete wall. The high explosives inside detonated within milliseconds, and the concrete wall behind the bar collapsed instantly. The deafening sound even drowned out the gunfire echoing throughout the bar.

The bartender's face was covered in blood and blisters—grazes from rocket-propelled bullets. Thick blood was also oozing from one of his ears. Then, he was struck squarely by a wooden plank falling from the ceiling. The dust kicked up by the collapsing ceiling and walls obscured everyone's fingers.

The screams didn't stop. Salomon closed his eyes as the dust rose, using his exceptional hearing to move towards his target. He kept his promise not to kill these bastards intentionally, but he also didn't promise to let them go to prison unharmed. Years of martial arts training allowed him to find his opponents' vital points quickly; this was already the thirteenth joint he had broken and shattered, and the bulky magazine of the prototype bolt-action rifle also came in handy.

No one can remain conscious after being hit on the head by something that's similar to a brick.

"Hey, that's enough." After the dust settled, Mr. Rither found Salomon in the crowd, who was picking out his favorite joints from a group of groaning thugs. He grabbed the wizard's shoulder. "Except for the first one, the others have all learned their lesson. That guy needs an ambulance. I think he has a broken neck and will spend the rest of his life in bed drinking juice."

Salomon broke free from Mr. Rither's grasp. The arm he used to fire the gun was still throbbing with pain. If Rodin hadn't used less ammunition and activated three more holy marks, his arm might have been shattered by the gun.

"I only promise you I won't kill anyone, Mr. Risser. That doesn't stop me from making sure they're in wheelchairs for the rest of their lives, to ensure everyone's safety and that my life isn't disturbed." He picked up his gun, head down, and walked toward the next wailing thug, making no attempt to clean the dust off his clothes. Like a child stepping on colorful bubbles in a puddle, he enthusiastically crushed someone's knee.

The fourteenth.

"Remember the agreement. Next, I need to meet with your partner to make sure he's signed the contract."

"I guarantee it. You've achieved your goal. Now, let's go, the police are almost here."

The short-haired man with glasses, sitting at the other end of the bench, had his neck stiff. He was Mr. Harold, Mr. Rither's companion. The sorcerer didn't know where he was; Mr. Rither had brought him here, and he wasn't very familiar with the city. He only knew that he was still in New York, and that he could still see the Statue of Liberty from here.

The evening breeze by the river was a bit chilly, and Mr. Harold put on a thick overcoat. To say he "put on" it would be a misnomer, as he was already huddled inside it.

"Mr. Damonette..."

"You can call me by my name."

"Alright, Salomon. Since you're still busy reviewing your A-Level courses, I'll get to the point. I thought this was a confidentiality agreement, but in fact, I've never signed a magic contract in my life. Apart from certain books, I've never even touched parchment. You should know that John and I didn't sign with our real names, right? You don't seem to mind at all? In legends, magic contracts always require real names..."

"This is your true name. A true name is a name that gives a person their true nature, not the one given at birth. Since you have chosen this name, then this name represents you." The sorcerer examined the two signatures on the parchment without looking up at him.

“Okay, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Mr. Harold turned slightly to look at Mr. Reese, who was keeping watch outside. “Before this, I didn’t believe in magic, until… you know, aliens, portals, the whole world went crazy. This isn’t over yet, Salomon. The thugs you and John attacked were just small fry. A new force is rising in New York City…”

"If it weren't for your warning, those thugs would have broken into my apartment..."

"Then they will die. I've seen your methods; you've received professional training. It's hard to imagine you're a wizard."

"Yes, I think so too."

"The key point is that they won't give up that market, and you're very likely to be attacked again."

"Then it's up to you to save their lives, Mr. Harold." Salomon shrugged, rising from the bench, the prototype bolt gun in his hand. As he picked up the weapon, Mr. Reese's sharp gaze shifted from across the river back, as if he had eyes in the back of the head.

"I've learned my lesson. Even when I go out to buy some spices, I'll activate all my defenses," the sorcerer said. "Next time, those people won't be so lucky. Also, here's a hint: my girlfriend is a better fighter than me; I'm the weakest one in the family."

"That's amazing news. Anyway, I'm glad you kept your promise, Mr. Damonette." Finch stood up, and Salomon noticed that one of his legs was a little uncomfortable. "I hope that if a similar situation arises again, you will let us know so we can handle it."

"If I have time, or if they just come seeking revenge with a donkey jawbone. By the way," the sorcerer said, "I don't know where you heard that someone is in danger... but if you encounter a supernatural threat, such as magic or aliens—things Mr. Reese can't handle—remember to call me. It's my duty."

"We probably won't encounter that kind of thing. However, it was a pleasure talking to you, Salomon."

"Me too, goodbye."

After Salomon disappeared in a flash of light, Harold raised an eyebrow at Mr. Rither standing beside him. "A wonderful experience, wasn't it?" he said with a smile. "Oh, magic! I'll have to look in the bookshelf for some stories about magic."

"Don't forget we've already signed a contract," Mr. Risser said softly. "I didn't understand a word of what was written in the contract."

"That's Latin. It means 'If you break the covenant, your soul will be offered to the Triune God.' I've read the terms. Don't worry, we can discuss it together."

"What a pity, Zoe definitely doesn't know anything about the wizards. She even claimed to know everything about this city."

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(End of this chapter)