Starting from scratch, Batman crushed my dream of getting rich

Chapter 245 John Constantine
"What happened?" Ma Zhaodi looked at the dead man on the stretcher, his heart sinking. "This has never happened before."

The force that caused its death was too strong and had not been observed by you. Because it cannot be observed, it cannot be understood, resulting in your current skill level being insufficient to prevent death.

"What if we upgrade?"

If the skill level is ten levels higher than the lethality level, then it can be forcibly interrupted.

Ma Zhaodi sighed. Since reaching level five, the upgrade cost for "I did not kill anyone" has become $200,000 in asset points per level. Even if he used up all one million points he had, he would only reach level ten.

That deadly force is very strange. Instead of suppressing it with skills, it's better to try to observe and understand it.

【Ding】

You have a new part-time job available. Please check your inbox.

Gluttons who starved to death

Mission Introduction: For unknown reasons and without explanation, a fat man turned into a thin man in minutes, a living person turned into a corpse in minutes, and a glutton starved to death in minutes—London has never been a place of reason, but as the saying goes, life will always find a way, and when the sky falls, there are always tall people who can hold it up. This is a profound truth that a certain legendary magician has come to realize.

Note: Of course, those who couldn't handle it have already been sent, but that's not the point. The point is that the solution isn't to become the highest, but to find someone higher than yourself.

Status: Pending (0%)

Reward: Proficiency in basic occult knowledge

Ma Zhaodi scratched his head. The system's task prompts were already very clear. He could tell at a glance that this incident was related to the occult, in other words, it was a paranormal event.

And coincidentally, he did know that there were a bunch of people involved in paranormal activities in London, England, in the DC universe, the most famous of whom was a seasoned, untrained magician, whose real name was—

"Constantine."

On a drizzly London street, a taxi is stuck in traffic, unable to move even after twenty minutes of congestion.

"Constantine, right?" The taxi driver was casually chatting with the passenger in the back seat to ease the frustration of being stuck in traffic. "Is that your name?"

The people in the back row ignored him.

He sat in the back seat, watching the pedestrians with umbrellas on the street, and seeing them squeeze across the road in front of the car from time to time. He felt more annoyed than the driver.

"Damn it, this traffic jam is because we have to make way for these bastards." He thought to himself, "I can still faintly smell the vomit from the night before in the back seat. I wonder which drunk bastard threw up in the car."

“I’ve had enough,” he said. “Dude, I’m getting off here. If I had decided to walk earlier, I would be fucking home by now.”

The driver glanced at the disheveled, unshaven man in the rearview mirror. He had beautiful, shiny blond hair and wore a dark yellow trench coat over a suit, tie, and trousers. Although the outfit looked quite expensive, it seemed to have been neglected for some time; it was wrinkled and had some faint stains that hadn't been properly cleaned. Clearly, the man had done some pretense of appearances, but not much.

If it weren't for his handsome blond hair, slightly roguish yet mature face, and slender, well-proportioned physique that concealed his slovenly appearance, anyone who saw him for the first time would frown and think he was an unkempt scoundrel.

In fact, this impression is correct.

"Sixteen pounds and eighty pence, my friend."

Constantine paid without a word, turned around, and walked into the light rain with his suitcase. After a few steps, he stepped on the garbage in the puddles by the roadside. The musty smell under his feet reminded him of the faint smell of vomit in the back seat of a car, which aggravated his stomach. The unpalatable airplane food inside churned like a swamp, making him extremely uncomfortable.

Whoosh— A cold wind carrying raindrops blew into his neck, and Constantine shivered. He immediately pulled up his collar. At this moment, he could no longer bear the discomfort in his heart and cursed out loud.

"Fuck the airplane food, fuck the rain, fuck England!"

Constantine cursed as he merged into the crowded streets, carrying his suitcase as he walked through them.

The city is often gloomy and rainy. Although unlike Gotham, there are times when the sun shines, it never feels warm. In Constantine's eyes, the whole city smells musty, decaying, broken, and on its deathbed.

Of course, this isn't entirely England's problem; when Constantine is in a bad mood, he finds everything disagreeable.

After walking for more than twenty minutes, crossing the street and passing the streetlights, Constantine finally arrived at the building of an apartment. He glanced at the van parked on the street, which had the logo of "Nando Clean" company—they specialize in pest control and house cleaning services.

Although he felt a little strange, Constantine was exhausted and didn't want to think about it anymore. He simply walked to the door, but when he reached for his keys, his hand suddenly stopped.

Where are my keys?

A moment later, he remembered that he had left his house key in Baghtania.

"Damn it, do I have to go all the way back to South America to get this thing?"

Constantine felt inexplicably frustrated, so he simply reached out and pressed the doorbell.

"Who's out there?"

"I am John Constantine."

With a click, the door opened, and the landlady with gray hair stood in the doorway, her expression quite displeased: "You left without a word, and there's been no news for months. Where have you been?"

"I'll just wander around, Mrs. M, just wander around."

Constantine made a casual excuse and went into the apartment. Mrs. M closed the door behind her, grumbling at him, "Wait a minute, son, I have something I need to tell you—"

Constantine sighed. The familiar smell of stewed cabbage wafted from the kitchen, automatically bringing to mind Mrs. M's bland and tasteless cooking.

Oh God, please stop torturing me.

"Please, Mrs. M, I'm exhausted. Let's talk later, okay?"

This was a lie. He didn't want to listen to the old lady's rambling any longer. All he wanted to do was go upstairs and find some peace and quiet. However, the old lady knew him too well. When she saw him about to go upstairs, she quickly continued talking.

“I didn’t kick him out because I knew he was your friend—but that’s not right, this is a respectable house.”

"friend?"

Constantine, who was going upstairs, turned around in confusion: "What friend?"

"The drug addict, his name was something like Lester or Gary—I can't remember."

(End of this chapter)