American comics: From Hogwarts to God on Earth

Chapter 615 Why do I always run into old friends?

The old man at the other end of the bar unconsciously rubbed the inside of his glass with his fingertips, his gaze fixed on the liquid inside, not even bothering to lift his eyelids, as if he had no interest in the stranger who had intruded.

but----

The young man squinted, carefully observing the old man. The old man's hand, resting on his knee, had his knuckles slightly clenched, and something seemed to be quietly lurking beneath the swollen and deformed finger bones.

"Is the whiskey here strong?" the young man suddenly asked, his voice neither too loud nor too soft, yet clearly carrying to every corner of the pub. He was still looking at the old man as he spoke, his target clearly set.

A cowboy swallowed hard, sensing something was amiss. He crouched low, inching forward, and pushed the door open the instant he reached it, then quickly ran out.

Neither the young nor the old cared.

Those who survived here weren't stupid. Seeing this, they immediately stood up, ran out of the tavern, and didn't dare to say a word.

The bartender sighed: They haven't paid for their drinks yet!

After a long silence, the old man finally answered the young man's question, "The whiskey here is as strong as a wildfire in the desert."

As he spoke, the old man glanced at the bartender out of the corner of his eye, who turned his head away guiltily—he was joking, if the drinks weren't watered down, this little tavern wouldn't make any money.

"But no matter how fierce the wildfire is, it cannot burn the grass roots buried in the soil."

The old man's Adam's apple bobbed, and then he looked at the young man. His eyes under the brim of his hat were cloudy and tired, as if covered with a thick layer of sand. But the moment he looked at the young man, the cloudiness suddenly faded a little, and a faint but sharp cold light flashed.

The bartender sighed. "Could you please not fight in the bar? We're a small business—"

"Stranger, mind your own business," the old man warned. His voice was still hoarse, but now carried an undeniable coldness. He was both ordering runes and warning the bartender.

The young man was none other than Rune. His gaze swept over the old man's swollen knuckles, then over the faintly protruding shoulder blades beneath his coat, and a smile curved his lips. "I'm not here to meddle—but to find an answer."

A gust of wind swept in from outside the window, whipping up a cloud of yellow sand. The dense sand and gravel pounded against the doors and windows like an endless tide, making a crackling sound. The kerosene lamp in the tavern flickered violently, its dim yellow light swaying and flashing, but ultimately it remained between the two people.

"Whatever you want from me," the old man refocused his gaze on the whiskey in his palm, "could you let me finish this first? This stuff is really expensive here; I've been saving it up for ages—"

"certainly."

The old man immediately downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass.

The whiskey, diluted with water, was even slightly warm. It wasn't as sharp as when it was chilled, nor as rich as when it was aged in a cellar. The sharp edges of the alcohol were tamed by the temperature here, becoming more mellow. After drinking this glass of whiskey, the warmth inside his body combined with the heat outside, making the old man's heart surge with excitement.

His mind cleared up a bit as a result, and he slowly stood up.

Although his figure was still hunched, Rune could sense a terrifying aura emanating from him.

"Let me preface this by saying something unpleasant," his voice turned somber, "you won't find the answers you're looking for in this desert."

Everything here has been submerged in that tragic nuclear explosion; resistance was ultimately futile.

Rune gently swirled the water in his glass, creating a small vortex. "Oh no, my friend, the answer to my question—or rather, the answer I seek—lies within you."

"Tell me, why have you fallen to this level? Why have you grown so old and pathetic? How could a ferocious wolf like you become such an old dog, surviving on a glass of watered-down, cheap whiskey, Logan!?"

The moment Rune uttered the name Logan, the old man's hands clenched tightly at his sides. The next second, three cold lights suddenly ripped through the air, and sharp steel claws sprang from between his fingers, gleaming with a cold metallic sheen, their tips stained with thick blood.

"Oh my god————"

Rune wasn't intimidated. Instead, he stared intently at the blood dripping from the base of Old Logan's claws and muttered to himself.

Who is Wolverine Logan? He's someone who has faced nuclear explosions, fallen into lava, and even been thrown onto the surface of the sun, yet has survived multiple near-death experiences thanks to his powerful regenerative abilities.

But now, even the wounds inflicted by his steel claws are difficult to heal on their own after he extends his claws—this is simply unbelievable!

"I don't need your sympathy!" Logan roared angrily, then lunged at Rune. In his prime, Logan's wild pounce could even knock down the Hulk, but in Rune's eyes, his counterattack was so weak.

brush!

Rune appeared directly at the other end of the tavern. Wolverine missed his target, knocking tables and chairs over, spilling drinks and food all over the floor, and breaking countless cups and plates.

Thin, dark rays emerged from the shadows, like poisoned needles, piercing Logan's limbs and bones.

Logan's pupils contracted; although he looked very old, his movements were unexpectedly swift.

As he sidestepped to avoid a fatal blow, his steel claws swept across, attempting to investigate what these needle-like energies were, but their nature was far more insidious than Wolverine had imagined.

The black needle-like object that touched the steel claw was not cut off. Instead, it crawled up the claw blade to his arm. Wherever the energy passed, his skin instantly turned bluish-black and felt a burning pain.

Logan gritted his teeth, staring intently at Rune. "You're a mutant too, right?"

Rune raised an eyebrow. Although he had absorbed Wolverine's bloodline, even he didn't know if he was considered a mutant. However, he didn't deny it. Instead, he tried to extract as much information as possible from the other man by using their shared identity as a fellow mutant.

As expected, upon seeing Rune's tacit agreement with his reply, anger and sorrow welled up in Logan's eyes. He roared, "You, why won't you let me go? Huh? Haven't I done enough for you?"

As he finished speaking, his voice even trembled with emotion, "Aren't the deaths of my wife and son enough?"

Ok?

Rune sized up the elderly Wolverine, his mind filled with suspicion. This man actually had quite a few women, but due to his status, marriage was almost impossible. And if you combined his aged appearance with his past experiences, it seemed—

It seems that only that old wolf fits this experience.

So, Rune began to probe, "Then—where is your daughter?"

These words ignited Logan's fury. He mustered all his strength again and lunged at Rune, roaring, "You're going to die!"