He casually tossed the bottle into the trash can.
Cypher continued forward, preparing to bite the bullet and negotiate with the seemingly approachable witch.
"Cypher..."
The bar owner suddenly raised his head and spoke to Cypher in an almost imperceptible voice.
"Hm?" Cypher abruptly stopped and tilted his head slightly, fixing the owner with an icy gaze. At the same time, his right hand beneath his cloak settled on his revolver.
There was not a trace of fear on the weathered face of the owner. He met Cypher's gaze directly, his wand held vertically at his side in his right hand.
With his empty left hand, he straightened the cowboy hat on his head.
As though blaming Cypher's sudden reaction for stirring his hat.
Their gazes met for two or three seconds. The killing intent in Cypher's eyes grew heavier. He had killed enemy wizards before, so naturally, he would not hesitate.
Just as the owner's calm gaze was beginning to falter and his trembling right hand started to rise—
"Corvin..."
To anyone else, it seemed as though Cypher had simply uttered a nonsensical name.
But the owner had his confirmation.
He discarded the speech he had prepared—namely, offering Cypher another Butterbeer.
Instead, he nodded directly. Keeping his expression calm, he pulled a parchment-wrapped envelope from his robe with his left hand. The seal bore the imprint of a feather.
The fiery red pattern caught Cypher's attention, and he could not help staring at it.
It really was the pattern of a feather from Fawkes the phoenix.
Cypher snorted coldly, snatched the envelope, tossed down a copper Sickle, and turned to walk out of the bar.
After leaving the camp, Cypher made sure no one was following him before heading straight toward a distant hillside.
He opened the envelope