American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 128 The Owl Who Embraces Justice and Sacrifice; The Cold-Hearted Lionel.

Gotham on the second day.

It was still shrouded in a gray, drizzly atmosphere.

Lead-gray clouds hung low, almost touching the tops of skyscrapers, and the damp air was mixed with a chill.

There was no sunlight, and thankfully, the terrifying thunder that sounded like divine punishment from last night did not resound.

In the city center square, a giant electronic screen is still playing the Gotham Daily News.

The impeccably made-up female news anchor, with a professional smile, read her script in a clear but emotionless voice:
"...Early this morning, the archives center of the Wayne Foundation in the Old Town was vandalized by unidentified individuals. According to police investigations, the suspects allegedly used a large lightning rod and homemade devices to structurally damage the building's roof, causing water leakage in the archives and damage to some old documents. Fortunately, there were no injuries. Police do not rule out the possibility that this was a malicious act against Wayne Enterprises or related to the recent activity of environmental extremists."

"The main suspect suffered mental health issues due to being struck by lightning and has been transferred to Arkham for treatment."

"The investigation is still ongoing..."

Irrelevant stock market information and weather forecasts scroll across the bottom of the screen.

Then the scene changed, and the exterior of the building appeared—

The most devastating ruins were cleverly avoided; only minor water stains on the side of the building and a damaged area covered by a canvas were displayed.

Several figures in police uniforms were busy setting up a cordon in the background.

The report was understated and calm in tone.

After all, this was just a trivial, minor malicious incident that occasionally happens in the city of Gotham.

There is no mention of "owl" or "caged bird".
There was no terrifying thunderstorm that enveloped the entire city, as if the end of the world had arrived, nor the corpses imprisoned by steel bars afterward.

“Drip, drip, drip.”

Rainwater washed over the square's stone bricks, and pedestrians hurried past with umbrellas.

Some people glanced up at the news, their gaze indifferent, before rejoining the crowd.

Um.
Gotham is still the same Gotham.

Just like...
In a library on the other side of the city, an elderly man stands in front of a bookshelf.

He gently stroked the ancient book in his hand, brushing away a thin layer of dust.

"Click..."

A barely audible sound.

The towering oak bookshelves behind him slowly slid to one side.

Revealing a deep, cold stone staircase passage hidden behind it.

An old man carrying a book entered, his figure disappearing into the darkness. The bookshelf closed silently behind him, cutting off all outside light.

The passageway was pitch black on one side.

Only footsteps echoed softly on the stone wall.

Only after a moment did the old man slowly emerge from the shadows at the other end of the passage…

He had changed out of his previous casual clothes and into a well-tailored dark robe at some point.

Her hem swayed slightly with each step, like the wings of an owl on its night journey.

A pure white owl mask was also attached to his face, with two bottomless holes in the eye sockets.

The old man walked to the only main seat in the center of the circular chamber and sat down quietly.

Before them were twelve black candles burning silently on bronze candlesticks, their flames stagnant. Yet, the shadows they cast distorted and warped on the stone wall, making the enormous owl relief on the wall appear particularly eerie in the interplay of light and shadow.

"boom--!"

soon
Several other figures also quietly emerged from different hidden doors.

They all wore owl masks of different designs and similar robes, sitting silently on the stone chairs around the perimeter.

"."

The air seemed to be gripped tightly by an invisible hand, and a suffocating silence descended.

Until the old man in the main seat spoke, his voice, which sounded unusually flat through his magic mask:
"That fool who acted on his own... offended someone he shouldn't have. He's dead."

"..."

A dead silence.

But beneath the mask, their gazes met like unseen currents.

“I have never approved of him so hastily reaching out to the international and metropolitan areas.”

Finally, a figure sitting on the left spoke, his voice also processed, carrying a metallic tremor: "Even coveting the Luther family's possessions... is far too reckless."

"..."

The other person paused for a moment, then added two words:

"Shameful."

A third voice rang out, carrying a hint of weariness:
"We have lost at least ten valuable Claws. A single loss...unprecedented."

“Yes,” the fourth voice added grimly, dropping an even more startling bombshell, “and those claws…”

"The activity of amber gold in their bodies has been completely lost, and it cannot even be recycled."

The locked room fell into an even deeper silence.

For them, the death of Claw was the first such death since the founding of Gotham in the seventeenth century.
A concept that has never existed before.

"..."

After a moment of contemplation, the old man on the main seat slowly said:

"He is, after all, one of the owls. The dignity of the court... cannot be challenged."

"You're joking. You can't even find out who your opponent is or where they are... how can you talk about revenge?" Someone immediately scoffed and retorted, their tone laced with sarcasm. "The scene was handled 'cleanly,' as if no one had ever been there."

"Even our surveillance magic, which is spread throughout Gotham, cannot record what exactly happened back then."

"Then let's do a divination first."

The old man said calmly.

"..."

"...Agreed."

"Agree."

"...Agreed."

After a brief hesitation, voices of agreement began to emerge.

After all, we need to know at least what happened.
Right?

"Snapped!"

The old man clapped his hands.

The hidden door on one side of the secret room slid open.

A hidden door slid open, and a diviner shrouded in a deep purple hooded robe silently entered, bowing slightly to the crowd.

The old man nodded.

The diviner didn't say much, but walked straight to the open space in the center of the secret room and knelt down.

Then he took out a smooth obsidian crystal ball from his sleeve and placed it on the ground in front of him.

He hovered his hands above the crystal ball and began chanting obscure incantations.

A murky mist began to rise from inside the crystal ball, with a faint glimmer of light...

then…

"boom!!!"

A deafening explosion, seemingly emanating from the depths of nothingness, rang out!

There was no shockwave, no flash.
but.
The fortune teller was struck as if by an invisible blow, and he fell backward violently!

The hood was shaken off, revealing a distorted, horrified face.

Black smoke billowed from his seven orifices, his body convulsed violently twice, and then he fell straight down.

"."

The room was deathly silent.

The candlelight flickered in alarm.

The old man in the main seat clapped his hands again.

Several faceless servants quickly entered, dragged away the body, and wiped the ground.

His movements were as practiced as if he were handling routine chores.

Just a moment.

Then another fortune teller entered, bowed silently, and took out a crystal ball.

"Change your target."

The old man in the main seat spoke again, his voice still flat, but with a hint of solemnity, "This time... we will divine the destination of the last claw he sent out."

"?"

The second fortune teller looked puzzled, but still nodded and did as instructed.

He repeated the previous process, his hands hovering above the crystal ball, and began chanting again.

The crystal ball shone brightly once more, its internal mist churning, gradually revealing a blurry image…

farmland…

Golden corn…

The fortune teller's voice became erratic, like a dream:
"In the Midwest..."

"In...Kansas..."

"In...a...small..."

"Boom!!!"

Another resounding boom originating from nothingness!

The second fortune teller met the exact same fate as the first!

He fell to the ground, charred black, silent, and utterly still.

The sealed room fell into a deathly silence.

Then came the third, the fourth…

They tried various indirect and direct methods of divination—

The origin of the claws, information about the transport vehicles, and even the vague characteristics of the target…

But without exception!
Whenever divination attempts to approach that core 'location' or 'existence'
An incomprehensible, irresistible, and extremely violent force will travel back along the threads of fate, utterly annihilating the diviner along with his sorcerers!
Ultimately, after the sacrifice of five precious court diviners...

The sixth remaining diviner, in extreme fear, almost cried out, uttering the broadest and most useless answer.
But it was also the only piece of information that wasn't blocked by that force:

"It's...it's connected to Luther in Metropolis! The clues point there! We can only...we can only see this!"

After saying that, he collapsed to the ground, on the verge of a mental breakdown.

The room remained silent.

How many people are associated with Lionel Luther's Enterprises?

Leaving aside external factors, how many of these people present have had any connection with that massive multinational corporation, its various foundations, research institutes, or even its shady projects?
This message is almost entirely ineffective.

The old man in the main seat slowly leaned back in his stone chair. His white owl mask reflected the cold light of the candle, and no one could see what expression he was wearing.

but.
The flames of revenge, before they could even be ignited, seemed to have been mercilessly extinguished by an absolute force.

"what should we do?"

One of the members sitting furthest away spoke first, his voice younger but tinged with barely perceptible anxiety, "Should we continue sending people to investigate?"

"Do not."

The voice from the head of the table was resolute: "We will wait."

"."

Everyone was speechless.

The implication is clearly:

Let's be patient for now.

"wait?"

The young voice couldn't help but rise, "Just like that, a coward."

"This is the owl."

The old man interrupted him, his voice revealing authority for the first time:

“We wait and observe. The Court of Owls has existed for centuries, not through recklessness.”

He leaned forward slightly, the candlelight flickering on his mask. "If it really is Lionel Luther..."

He will give himself away. He will.

“But if it’s not Luther…” the man on the left continued softly, tapping his fingertips lightly on the armrest of the stone chair, “then we are facing a completely unknown being who can easily erase claws and divination magic.”

Silence fell again in the sealed room, heavier than before.

“Then we should wait even longer,” the old man finally said. “First, we need to figure out what we're facing. Until then—”

His gaze swept over every mask present. "All operations against Metropolis are suspended. All projects you have involving Lionel Corporation...reassess the risks."

There were no dissenting voices.

There was only a suppressed, acquiescing silence.

"Meeting dismissed."

With a wave of his hand, the old man extinguished the candle flames.

The figures rose silently, like owls disappearing into the shadows, one after another vanishing behind the hidden door.
-
Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the clouds, and the air was filled with the freshness of rain and the fragrance of earth.

Locke and Zatanna stood side by side beside the barn.

Together they gazed at the azure magical barrier that enveloped the entire Kent Farmhouse and its surrounding area, almost transparent yet subtly perceptible.

"Gurgle—chirp!"

A bird flew in from afar and approached without any suspicion.

However, just as it was about to touch the edge of the barrier, it was gently lifted up by an invisible, soft energy.

The bird's feather left a tiny ripple on the surface of the barrier, and the barrier lit up with a faint light, like water ruffled by the wind.
The birds' tracks were not disturbed.

It paused for a moment, then continued to flap its wings and fly high, as if it had just skimmed over a particularly clear patch of air.

是 的
This barrier also carries a sense of malice.

The reason why the divination of the Court of Owls repeatedly failed was naturally because the protection of this barrier blocked all targeted prying and curses.

"Magic is really useful."

Locke's tone was filled with pure admiration.

"Is not it?"

Zatanna chuckled softly, like a silver bell tinkling in the wind.

She had a new hairstyle today; her black and purple pigtails swayed gently with her movements, the ends of her hair flowing like the most mysterious wisp of cloud cast by the morning sun.

She turned her head to look at Locke.

His eyes were filled with amazement and disbelief.

Yes
The one who set up this powerful and ingenious 'hidden barrier' was none other than Locke Kent, who, apart from being exceptionally handsome, looked exactly like a simple farmer!

She never expected that her opponent was not only inhumanly strong in combat.
His magical talent is ridiculously high!

To know.
This kind of protective barrier, which requires extremely high magical power and rune construction, belongs to a very profound arcane art.

But even so
Locke managed to master and successfully set it up in just one night, and the effect looked incredibly stable!

Zatanna couldn't help but stand on tiptoe, pat Locke on the shoulder, and exclaim in exaggerated admiration:
"Mr. Locke, I never imagined you had such amazing magical talent! It took my father several months to learn this!"

"..."

Turning his head to look at her, Locke's eyes held a hint of mockery:
"What? Now you don't see me as some reclusive master from the Merlin School, the Mystic School, or any other strange and unusual school?"

He remembered that when they first met, Zatanna made all sorts of outrageous guesses about his strength.

It's truly shameful.
He was practically acting like Merlin reincarnated, bragging about it.

Zatanna's face suddenly darkened, as if she were a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

The dark history of that year resurfaced in my mind.
"Hey!" Zatanna's face darkened, and she punched Locke's arm in annoyance. "That's all because you wouldn't tell me no matter how I asked! You were so mysterious!"

"Who would have thought that a man with such powerful magic would actually be a superhuman?"

"Sorry sorry."

Seeing that Zatanna, who had been pretending to be mature, still showed that familiar expression, Locke couldn't help but chuckle.

After laughing, he shrugged, his tone relaxed and matter-of-fact:

“No matter what, I am Salafir’s father. I can’t just not even protect my home.”

Although it can't compare to the custom rules of those two little guys, Salafir and "Divine Capital".

But no matter what, he is still the owner of the two energies of 'Gen Mountain' and 'Zhen Thunder'.

The sheer volume of magical energy alone was enough to sustain his violence…

Ahem, we've safely set up and maintained this barrier.

Moreover, even in the construction and outlining of runes, he still has the "Platinum Star".
That rascal.
He had only glanced at the runes Zatanna was demonstrating.

It has achieved the ability to print barrier runes one-to-one based on memory.

Even manipulating barriers—

Locke slightly raised his hand, a thought forming in his mind.

The purple figure, invisible to others, moved its finger and pointed at the barrier.

"Wow~"

Runes crackling with electric arcs lit up, covering the entire surface of the barrier with dancing silver snakes.

It dimmed after a moment. "Your standard for 'defending the base' is a bit too high. With such a full-force attack, an ordinary mage probably wouldn't last a second."

Seeing Locke manipulate the barrier with the ease and naturalness of breathing, Zatanna couldn't help but shake her head slightly: "If those ancient schools of mages saw this, they would definitely drag you back and worship you as their patriarch!"

"As long as it works, that's fine."

Locke said casually, "There's enough magic power; it can be broken."

"Smash?"

The magician burst out laughing: "Do you think this is like wielding a hoe to turn the soil?"

"Pretty much. I have plenty of strength, hmm."

The farmer stroked his chin. "Perhaps it should be said that it possesses a kind of magic?"

"You guy."

Zatanna was both amused and annoyed, but she still straightened up slightly, put away her joking thoughts, and began to explain seriously:

"Mr. Locke, please don't be careless."

"Although this barrier is powerful, its principle is to 'hide' the protected location rather than 'erasure' it, so it will be deeply connected with you as the core setter."

"This means that any powerful curse or tracking targeting this place will have a backlash and stress that will directly affect you... which is actually very dangerous."

"Is that so?"

Locke smiled casually, as if he were talking about something trivial: "It's not a big deal. When I set up the barrier, I already swatted a few 'little flies' that were crawling over along the strange connection."

He had experienced that kind of touch several times before.

Perhaps it's a curse? Or perhaps it's tracking?
Who knows
In any case, to him, these were just withered leaves that would occasionally brush against his skin in the night breeze.

He casually brushed it away and then sent a bolt of lightning to turn it to ashes.

It was so easy, as easy as brushing dust off your shoulders.

"..."

Seeing Locke's relaxed expression, Zatanna was speechless and completely lost her temper.

He could only deliberately put on a stern face and poke the farmer's chest with his fingertip:

"Please be very careful! Who knows what else might be even stranger!"

"Okay, I understand. Miss Magician."

"Anyway, thank you for today." Locke nodded, his tone sincere. "If you need any help next time, just let me know."

"Why don't you speak up? Well~"

Upon hearing this, Zatanna was taken aback at first, and then a sly smile flashed across her face.

She suddenly tiptoed closer without warning, her bewitching eyes fixed on him, a playful smile playing on her lips:
"What if I don't need help? Does that mean I can't come?"

She stood very close, the faint scent of violets lingering in her hair.

"of course can."

Looking at the magician so close, so beautiful and alluring.

Locke did not back down at all, but met her gaze with a calm smile: "Welcome, you can come anytime."

"The gates of Kent Farm are always open to you; you can consider this your second home."

"?!"

Such a direct and sincere response surprised Zatanna, who had taken the initiative to flirt with him.

A blush quickly crept onto her cheeks, as if burned by those words. The magician turned away in a fluster, her fingers unconsciously twirling a strand of hair.

"I'm leaving now!"

Her voice was a little louder than before.

It seems he was trying to use the magician's nonchalance to cover up his sudden embarrassment.

"So fast?"

Locke was somewhat surprised. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to Salafir and Dio?"

When Dior was mentioned, Zatanna's expression stiffened slightly, but she quickly shook her head, forcing herself to remain calm and raising her chin.

"Saying goodbye...that's so uncool."

talking.

Without waiting for Locke's response, she swiftly drew a flowing purple rune in the air with her magic wand.

"Snapped!"

With a soft sound, purple smoke rose up, like the mist rising when the stage curtain falls.

When the smoke cleared, Zatanna had vanished without a trace, leaving only lingering magical echoes and a sentence drifting in the wind—

"Goodbye, Mr. Locke."

Locke stood alone, staring at the empty space where she had disappeared.

What happened to our promise not to say goodbye?
He shook his head and chuckled, his gaze returning to the barrier.

A layer of almost transparent, deep blue light flowed quietly in his eyes.

The sunlight shines through it, becoming soft and clear, as if it had been washed by water.

Although she looks frail, she can protect herself from everything.

Um.
After all, the magic of this magical barrier originated from the infinite divine power within him, enough to split mountains and summon thunder.

It is naturally flawless.

Apart from
"The backlash and stress will directly affect you."

Zatanna's reminder still echoed in my ears.

but.
so what?

Locke looked up at the fields stretching beyond the barrier.

Where the horizon meets the sky, the clouds hang low, and rays of light stream through the sky.

This is Smallwell, this is his home.

this.
It's never a price to pay.

It was a choice he made willingly.

Locke took a deep breath of the earthy, stubble-scented air and completely relaxed.

The ideas can be described as quite clear.
Even the lingering resentment from last night's killings and the gloom of Gotham dissipated.

After all, to be honest
Gotham is truly a land of outstanding people and resources; even after he went there, he seemed to lose control of his emotions.

Yesterday, he was indeed somewhat blinded by anger and worry.
It would be too deliberate to release a thunderstorm and blow up a building.

We should find out more first and blow up a few more of the owls' secret buildings so that it doesn't seem too deliberate.

It's more like a coincidence.

He was just an ordinary homeless man from Gotham who happened to be caught in the crossfire of the courts of owls during the retaliation against Gotham.

He sighed regretfully, took out his phone, and dialed the number again.

This time…

After ringing a few times, the call was finally answered.

There was silence on the other end, broken only by extremely faint breathing, as if waiting for him to speak.

"it's me."

Locke broke the silence first.

"Ah."

A cold, calm voice came from the other end of the phone, devoid of any emotion.

"What? Did that kid Lex get you into trouble again?"

He seemed to tacitly agree that Locke's call must be related to his son.

"You guy..."

Locke was somewhat exasperated by his attitude, but suppressed his anger and said, "Lionel, someone is trying to assassinate Lex! Right here in Smallwell!"

At this point, he naturally recounted the information he had extracted from that man the previous night—

of course
Details about Gotham and his own actions were omitted.

It was only mentioned that they had discovered through certain special channels who was behind the Luther family, and several key names were mentioned:

Some members of the Metropolitan Congress, as well as corrupt high-ranking parasites within the Luther Group.

"..."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, so long that Locke almost thought the signal had been lost.

After a long pause, Lionel's voice rang out again, still eerily calm, even carrying a hint of...

Understand?

"I know."

"what do you know?!"

Locke seemed amused by this nonchalant remark, and his voice unconsciously rose.

“Mr. Lionel! If I hadn’t been here last night! If Lex hadn’t happened to be here with me! He would definitely have…”

"Locke."

Lionel interrupted him, "Lex is very smart."

He paused, then said almost coldly:

"It's his decision, so let him bear all the possibilities himself."

"Whether you throw him out or leave him is up to you, Locke."

Having said that, he didn't give Locke any chance to refute, question, or curse; the crisp, clean reply came through the receiver.

"Beep...beep...beep..."

busy tone.

Lionel Luther unilaterally hung up the phone.

Locke stood there, holding his phone, looking at the peaceful fields in the distance, unsure of how to react.

He could even picture what the other person looked like right now—

He must be sitting behind that excessively large mahogany desk, which resembles a throne.

His face showed no extraneous expression, only an almost cold calm.

It was as if what they had just discussed was not the life or death of his only son, but merely a business risk with a profit or loss that was still acceptable.

"It's his decision, so let him bear all the possibilities himself."

That sentence was uttered lightly.

The author of this article
When exactly did it become like this?

Locke could shield his friend from a direct attack, but he couldn't easily understand this kind of...
"He's always like this, isn't he?"

A voice, filled with complex emotions, suddenly rang out behind Locke.

Locke turned around and saw that Luther had quietly come to the corridor at some point.

He changed into comfortable casual clothes, but the perfect smile he usually maintained was gone from his face.

His gaze wasn't on Locke, but rather fixed on the distant place Locke had been staring at, as if he could see through space to the Luther Tower, a building made of glass and steel, standing tall in the heart of the metropolis.

The man who coldly hung up the phone.

"Don't you think so, Uncle Locke?"

The bald young man's voice was soft, yet carried a heavy tone.

He didn't wait for Locke's answer, or rather, he didn't need Locke's answer at all.
Once pent-up emotions find an outlet, they can begin to pour out:

“He’s always like this… taking matters into his own hands, always excluding me from his plans, always thinking I can’t understand his ‘grand scheme’!”

Luther's tone became agitated:
"He never asks me if I'm willing or not!"

"That's still the case now!"

The voice carried a clear hint of sarcasm:
"We knew perfectly well that someone was targeting us, and we knew perfectly well that the group was rotten to the core."

"His own actions brought trouble upon himself and dragged me down with him..."

"But he just casually says, 'You know what to do,' or like just now, he simply dumps me on you as a troublesome burden!"

"Does he think that as long as he hides me in your secluded farm, under your...your protection, he can go ahead with his crazy business wars without any worries?! And he's too lazy to even come up with a decent excuse to appease us!"

His chest rose and fell slightly, clearly indicating that he had been holding these words in for a long time.

"."

"Lex, stop pretending."

Locke smiled.

His tone carried a hint of helplessness.

"?!"

The anger and sarcasm receded quickly like the tide, and Lex's face returned to absolute calm.

He tilted his head slightly, revealing a perfectly timed look of confusion: "Uncle? I don't understand what you mean."

"You really are an extremely eccentric child."

Locke sighed. "You are Lex, the child I watched grow up."

"The son of Lionel, one of the few friends I, Locke Kent, can call myself. He is a friend that Dio and Clark acknowledge, though they don't say it, and he is Salafir's third brother."

He turned his head, his gaze gentle, and said:

"How could I abandon you just because of a little possible trouble? Your probing... is making your uncle a little sad."

Lex remained silent and offered no further explanation.

He simply lowered his head slightly, concealing his true emotions.

Locke continued, his tone becoming more somber:
"As for your father... Lionel, is he really as indifferent as you say?"

No.

Almost immediately after considering this idea, Locke dismissed it as a simplistic and emotional one.

If Lionel truly doesn't care about Lex's life or death, given his ruthless, efficiency-first style...
He wouldn't answer the call from 'Smolwell Farmers' at all, and he certainly wouldn't have the patience to listen to their long warnings about assassination and internal corruption.

He will most likely have another secretary block it, or end the conversation in a more efficient and indifferent way.

But that brief silence…

That meaningful "I know"...

Locke understood Lionel, just as Lionel understood him to some extent.

There was an unspoken, unsettling understanding between them.

Although I can't completely agree with the other person's approach in this matter, but...

That man was definitely not indifferent.

Thinking of this, Locke's displeasure dissipated considerably.

He looked at Lex again, his tone regaining its usual composure:
"In short, leave these things to us adults to handle."

"You can stay on the farm these days and relax, Lex."

After saying that, he didn't say anything more. He patted Luther on the shoulder and turned to walk straight towards the tool shed deep inside the farm.

Luther was left standing alone in the same spot.

He looked at the slowly rising sun in the distance and couldn't help but sigh.
"Uncle Locke, it really is true."

However.
Before he could finish his exclamation, Locke returned.

He came out of the tool shed, carrying two old-looking wooden-handled hoes.

With a flick of his arm, he sent the heavy hoe flying in an arc, precisely towards Luther!

"?"

He instinctively caught the flying hoe.

The cold wooden handle and the heavy iron hoe made Luther's wrist feel slightly heavy.

He looked up, his face filled with utter bewilderment.

His Uncle Locke was standing not far away, carrying another hoe.

A mocking smile played on his lips, as if he were watching something amusing:
"What? You want to eat and stay here for free?"

Luther: "???"

Are you kidding me?
"What do you say?"

As if reading Luther's mind, Locke raised his chin, pointed to the distant patch of land that needed tilling after the harvest, and said in a relaxed yet unyielding tone:
"If you don't want to stay for free, then come and work in the fields with me. Kent Farm doesn't keep idlers, young master."

''? ? ? ! ''

Lex was completely stunned; he even wondered if he was hallucinating.

Go to the ground…

Work?

Farming?!
I?
Lex Luthor?
He looked down at the hoe in his hand, covered in dried mud, then looked up at the vast, hard-working land in the distance, and then compared it to his expensive custom-made shirt...

Seeing the child's shocked expression, Locke couldn't help but burst into laughter. He turned and picked up another hoe, walking towards the edge of the field, leaving behind only the words:
"What are you waiting for? It won't do you any harm. It might even help your overly clever brain relax."

"."

Stand still.

Holding the hoe that seemed so out of place with him, he watched Locke's departing figure.
For the second time in his life, Luther felt a sense of helplessness and bewilderment.

the first time?
The first time was in a cornfield, where Dior was disgusted that he didn't recognize corn.

(End of this chapter)