Inside the bar, most of the patrons seemed still immersed in the earlier performance. They stared at the slowly dispersing smoke—some astonished, some curious, some with twisted expressions, while others felt as though they had watched an incomparably real film.
"It's Magician Kebo Phil!"
Carl holstered his revolver and walked over to where he had fired earlier. Seeing the smoking bullet hole in the opposite wall, he asked Aaron with an extremely grave expression, "Did you provoke him? If you hired me to deal with him, then I refuse."
Hey, hey, aren't you supposed to be crazy? Do you have to be this rational?
Aaron rolled his eyes and grumbled inwardly. He poured himself a beer and nodded calmly.
Balkin looked at the boss, then at Carl, not daring to say much. He was merely an ordinary person. He could handle low-Primordial Beyonders well enough, but when faced with a ruthless character like this, he wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.
"Then... to compensate everyone present, everything you spend tonight is on the house."
Aaron looked up at the drunks and announced loudly.
"Thank you, Boss!"
"Long live the Boss!"
The half-drunk patrons had not been particularly frightened to begin with. Now that they heard there was extra compensation, they immediately howled in excitement.
Aaron, meanwhile, slowly put away the double-barreled hunting rifle, carefully storing the pennant that read "Happy New Year."
As if nothing had happened, Carl came to the bar counter, rested an elbow casually on it, and said, "Magician is not someone to be trifled with. He's committed countless crimes in Plymouth without ever being caught. Mormora Yard has been helpless against him, and even the Investigation Bureau has had to put up hefty bounties, yet they've never found a single lead..."
"He hasn't."
Aaron looked