The two men looked like soldiers, dressed in military greatcoats, leather boots, and puttees.
It was obvious they had just come back from the battlefield, the smell of gunpowder still clinging to them.
Although their appearances differed slightly, Duke immediately recognized those familiar faces.
One was “Wolverine,” Hugh Jackman.
The other was “Sabretooth,” Victor—as for the actor’s name, Duke couldn’t remember.
He was Wolverine’s half-brother from X-Men Origins: Wolverine.
He hadn’t expected to run into them in London.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t that strange.
Logan had been born in 1832.
By the time Duke transmigrated, Wolverine was nearly two hundred years old.
The brothers had fought in countless wars together—from the American Civil War to World War I, then World War II, and later Vietnam.
With lifespans like theirs, they had no choice but to keep moving from place to place to avoid attracting suspicion.
During the Civil War and World War I, Victor had still been close to his brother.
But as the years passed and the killing piled up, his bloodlust only grew stronger.
By World War II, the signs were already there, and after murdering his commanding officer during the Vietnam War, he was taken away by William Stryker… eventually becoming nothing more than a weapon made for slaughter.
At this point in time, however, Victor’s violent nature hadn’t completely awakened.
As far as Duke could remember, Logan had been sent to Europe in 1915 to fight in Belgium.
After that… his memory became fuzzy.
He hadn’t read many of the comics.
It was now 1918.
Did that mean Logan had stayed in Europe for three years?
That didn’t seem quite right compared to the comics.
Could this be the system’s so-called forty percent deviation?
After all, the system had stated that this world shared only sixty percent overlap with the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
That naturally meant the remaining forty percent would be different.
Perhaps sensing Duke’s gaze, Victor turned around and shot him a vicious glare.
“What are you staring at, yellow kid?”
“Victor, don’t start trouble. We’re just here for a drink.”
Logan quickly stopped his brother before offering Duke an apologetic smile.
Well, “smile” might have been an exaggeration.
The corners of his mouth merely twitched upward.
Duke paid it no mind.
He calmly returned to his drink while quietly listening to their conversation.
“He’s lucky. Lady Luck smiled on him today,” Sameer joked dryly.
“Oh? Soldiers?” the tavern owner asked with a grin.
“Just got back from the front?”
Over the past few days, he’d seen plenty of troops returning from the battlefield.
The war was nearly won.
It would soon be over, and naturally the soldiers were beginning to head home.
By mid-August, Germany’s main forces had already been shattered.
On September 15, Bulgaria’s army was defeated, and the country surrendered on the 29th.
The Ottoman Empire surrendered on October 31.
Austria-Hungary had also capitulated yesterday—November 3.
Among the Central Powers, only Germany remained, stubbornly holding on, though everyone knew its surrender wouldn’t be far off.
November 4, 1918.
There were only seven days left before Germany surrendered and World War I officially ended.
“Mhm.”
Victor let out a grunt after draining another mouthful of liquor.
“Which unit were you with?” the owner asked as he refilled their glasses—free of charge.
He genuinely admired soldiers.
“The 13th Border Regiment,” Logan replied.
“The 13th? That can’t be right. I heard they’re still fighting.”
The moment the topic came up, Victor exploded.
“The 13th’s been wiped out! That bastard of a commander was a complete idiot! We had a battle we should’ve won, and he managed to throw away over half the army! The unit my brother and I were in has been all but destroyed. Fewer than ten of us made it out alive. No one’s taking us in anymore, so we figured we’d just…”
The tavern owner sighed sympathetically.
“The worst thing on a battlefield is serving under a fool for a commander.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a story of your own,” Logan remarked before downing another drink.
“Heh, nothing compared to you boys. Not worth mentioning.”
The owner scratched at his leg.
It was an old injury, one that always ached when the weather turned damp.
“I like soldiers. Drinks are on the house today. Drink as much as you want.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Logan raised his glass in appreciation.
Diana glanced curiously at Duke.
“You’ve been paying close attention to them. Is there something strange about them too?”
“Yeah. I can sense an unusual kind of energy from them.”
He took another sip of gin.
“I’m not completely sure what they are, but don’t worry. They’re nowhere near my level. I could pin them to the ground without much effort.”
Gin really was meant to be savored.
Victor, meanwhile, was gulping it down in huge swallows like a cow chewing flowers.
Then again, it wasn’t exactly fine liquor.
Steve was too stingy to order anything expensive.
Duke simply hadn’t had much experience with foreign alcohol before, let alone a bottle from 1918.
An honest-to-goodness antique.
Steve felt as though his entire worldview had been overturned.
Sir Patrick—a man of tremendous status—was supposedly a powerful mage.
And now these two ordinary-looking soldiers weren’t ordinary either.
Seriously…
Sure, Duke claimed they weren’t that strong, but that was only compared to him.
If Steve had to fight either of them, he’d probably be knocked flat with a single punch.
“About Sir Patrick…”
Steve hesitated.
“Should I warn Candy?”
“Warn her? Why?” Duke asked.
“Because he’s…”
Duke waved a hand, cutting him off.
“Forget it. Her acting isn’t good enough. If you tell her, she’ll only be putting herself in danger.”
“My magical senses tell me he’s stronger than Diana.”
“I don’t know whether he’s friend or foe, but someone at that level wouldn’t kill an ordinary person without a reason.”
“But if she learns something she shouldn’t…”
“That’s another story.”
Steve nodded in sudden realization.
Only Sameer noticed something else in Duke’s words.
His eyes drifted toward Diana.
If Duke was saying Sir Patrick was stronger than himself…
And Diana was stronger than Duke…
Then…
Wait.
No wonder she insisted on going to the battlefield.
In this era, women held a very low status.
A woman joining the front lines was often seen as an insult to the men—or assumed to be one of those women who followed armies for less respectable reasons.
“Alright, don’t drink too much. We leave tomorrow.”
Steve handed over two room keys.
“Candy already booked rooms for you at the Old Barrel Inn across the street.”
“401 and 103.”
“Diana, Carlos—you’ll be in 401.”
“Duke, you’ve got 103.”
Sameer glanced at the room numbers and silently thought Steve had nerves of steel.
In London’s inns, the first floor had the worst accommodations.
The higher the room, the better the quality.
Wasn’t Steve worried Duke might get offended and kill him on the spot?
Men really did lose all sense whenever beautiful women were involved.
Completely forgetting who had tried to hug Diana earlier.
“You all go ahead.”
Duke remained seated.
“I’ll stay here a little longer.”
“Oh?”
Carlos shot him a sideways look.
“Planning to have a little affair?”
She’d noticed one of the rather… generously built barmaids throwing flirtatious glances at him earlier.
“You’re overthinking it, dear.”
Duke rolled his eyes.
Passing up the supermodel sitting right in front of him just to chase after a burly tavern waitress?
Not a chance.
He wasn’t opposed to women with larger frames.
Someone like Mera, the Queen of Atlantis, was exactly his type.
But that waitress…
She was built almost twice as broadly as Mera.
That was a little too much.
Still, one question lingered in his mind.
Why was it that both Diana and Carlos were Amazons from Themyscira who had never left the island—
Yet Diana was as innocent as a blank sheet of paper, while Carlos carried herself like someone who’d already seen it all?
Diana seemed to guess what Duke intended to do.
She patted him on the shoulder.
“Be careful.”