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Dressed in a tailored suit, Sabretooth Victor behaved like a perfect gentleman, inviting a dancer onto the floor. Nearly the entire bar revolved around him.
An old gentleman.
Hot-tempered.
Witty conversations.
A wealth of vivid anecdotes.
Money spent without restraint.
All of it made Victor the object of every man's envy—and every woman's pursuit.
"A hundred years ago, this place was still dense forest. Back then, a group of lumberjacks took it over, struck it rich, and built a small town here…"
Inside the bar, Victor Sabretooth spoke endlessly. He had lived for far too long; even after drowning himself in slaughter, he still remembered countless stories from the past.
"Mr. Victor, Mr. Logan has arrived."
Harkins quickly stepped behind him and whispered the reminder.
"He finally made it? My mutant brother, Logan."
Victor smiled faintly. He had already been waiting in the agreed-upon bar for two days.
What surprised him was that Wolverine Logan had only found him now.
Boom!
The wooden doors of the bar were kicked open and slammed violently to the floor, the sound deafening.
"Victor!"
At the entrance stood Wolverine Logan, shirtless, his muscles tensed—rock-hard and bulging even more than before.
Everything about him screamed uncontrollable rage.
"Betty! Give me back my Betty!"
Logan swept his gaze across the bar before locking onto Victor at the counter, roaring furiously.
When Logan had encountered Sabretooth earlier, he had rushed home—only to discover that his wife, Betty Hausmann, was gone.
Just as Victor had said.
Even a fool could tell who was responsible.
So, consumed by rage, Logan stormed into this nameless bar—and found Sabretooth Victor.
"Wow. You look exactly like I used to, Logan."
Victor sat casually at the bar, a bottle of whisky in his right hand. He set out two glasses, pouring as he smiled at Logan.
This Victor was completely different from the tyrannical, savage beast Logan had met before. He radiated the air of an old nobleman—calm, refined, dignified.
"Go to hell, Victor."
Mocked beyond endurance, Logan finally snapped. He roared and charged forward.
Clang.
Logan's claws burst out, stabbing straight toward Victor's throat and heart. The bone claws gleamed with blinding sharpness—nothing like their former rusted state.
After Betty was taken, Logan had snapped his own claws, regrown them, and spent two days sharpening them with a whetstone.
He was confident now.
Sharper than metal.
"Logan, your crude behavior always reminds me of my past self," Victor said calmly. "That's why I'm willing to play with you—despite being able to crush you instantly."
Victor's pupils contracted slightly. His eyes flicked once—then his right hand shot out like lightning, gripping Logan's wrist.
"Die, Victor!"
Logan froze for half a second, shocked that one hand had stopped both his claws—but rage overwhelmed reason. He bellowed and struggled with all his strength.
Useless.
Victor's grip didn't budge an inch—steady as a mountain.
He even had time to lift the two glasses with his left hand.
"Logan, haven't you noticed?" Victor said lightly, placing a glass into Logan's hand.
"I'm not the Victor I used to be."
With a slight squeeze of his right hand—
Bang!
Logan's massive body slammed into the table behind him.
The solid wooden table didn't break.
Not yet burdened by the future, Logan endured the impact.
"Jimmy, I'm no longer a beast."
Victor spoke with emotion, taking a sip of whisky.
"Look around. Look at the fear and disgust on their faces. If it were the old me, they'd all be dead by now."
He tapped the table lightly, pointing first at Logan's exposed bone claws—then at the people cowering in the corners.
"But now, they're alive."
Those words cooled Logan's fury—just a little.
He noticed it too.
The fear. The revulsion.
They were looking at monsters.
He was used to those eyes.
And because of that, he finally realized something was wrong with Victor.
If this were the old Sabretooth, the bar would already be a slaughterhouse.
But now, Victor sat calmly, utterly indifferent to their stares.
No—more than that.
Logan realized Victor spoke clearly and logically, without impatience or irritability. There was no trace of frenzy or rage.
It was as if he had become an entirely different person.
Yes.
His mutant brother had truly changed—becoming rational, composed, a gentleman.
"Jimmy, come with me. Leave this place. Go to the House of Evolution."
"There, you'll earn my King's favor—and the honor and respect you deserve as a mutant."
"We are born different. Stronger. Superior. We are born above humanity, Jimmy. Don't waste your gift."
"As brothers, we hold the key left behind by our ancestors. Together, we should walk the unknown path of evolution—guided by my King, Lancelot—and forge a glorious future."
"Come, my brother. Join the House of Mutant Evolution. Kneel before my King Lancelot."
"He will grant us a new and radiant future—the future of mutants."
Victor stood, passion blazing in his eyes as he extended the invitation.
When he spoke of Lancelot, that fervor became almost fanatical. His devotion and longing were so intense that his eyes shifted into pale golden, beastlike pupils.
"Oh?"
Logan's pupils narrowed.
"My mutant brother Victor… you're no longer a beast, you're just—"
"A loyal dog."
Logan admitted that Victor's impassioned speech had almost moved him.
But then he thought of Betty—alive or dead.
And that alone made everything Victor said unacceptable.
"So be it. Beasts don't speak logically."
Victor finally rose from his seat, scanning the room.
"Harkins, remember to record my fight with Logan. That footage will be excellent material."
Logan sneered, unmoved.
Logan didn't understand the greatness of the King.
He didn't understand the magnificent evolutionary journey the House of Mutant Evolution was pursuing.
Victor didn't blame him.
No one explains ideals to a beast.
The only way for a beast to understand—
Is to be defeated.
To learn who the true master is.
"Jimmy," Victor said calmly, eyes burning,
"let's have a fight to the death."
"I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time."