American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 193 Bruce: There can't possibly be two teachers, can there?
The next two weeks
For Bruce Wayne, it was farm life.
Fourteen days of hell blurred by pain.

At times, he stood in a circle formed by jumping electric arcs, and he could feel his hair standing on end due to static electricity, with a slight tingling sensation spreading throughout his body.

But the teacher's words pierced through the buzzing of the electricity and crashed into his consciousness, which was almost crushed by invisible pressure: "Use your will to make the electricity fear you, Bruce."

At times like these, he would have to clench his teeth and let his gums taste blood.

He had to concentrate all his energy to push away the corrosive force that was trying to penetrate his mind and tempt him to give up.

At other times...
He also needs to confront the puppet made of clay.

Every single, unadorned head-on collision involved him using his pure flesh and blood to violently strike cold steel.

He was repeatedly and brutally knocked away, crashing to the ground, his vision going black.

But the teacher simply stood a short distance away, her voice completely still.
“Weakness. Bruce, the darkness you will face in the future will not be any gentler than this.”

But these are still considered good; on some days, things are even worse.

Blindfolding the eyes plunges the entire visual world into pure darkness.

Deprived of his sense of self, he had to rely on the subtle sensation of airflow on his skin, or the almost non-existent premonition of danger, to dodge the electric arcs his teacher casually flicked.

Failure is commonplace.

But each failure is accompanied by real pain.
And the teacher's ever-present, chilling pronouncement:
"Death will not give you a second chance, Bruce."

The teacher's words were extremely concise, yet always carried a hint of sarcasm and biting oppression.

The training methods are also brutal, direct, and ruthless.

For him, it was a double torment, both physically and mentally.

After each training session, he felt as if he had just escaped death. Although his physical injuries would often heal overnight, his spirit was repeatedly torn apart, bringing him to the brink of collapse.

It made him question the meaning of all this countless times when he collapsed in the mud or dust, utterly exhausted.

But whenever this thought arises, it's always interrupted by the teacher's words.
"Your revenge is nothing more than a child's wail?"

The question surfaced sharply in the depths of his consciousness, bringing with it a sharp sense of shame.

It became the twisted driving force that enabled him to get up and continue to face the next round of torment.

After all, there are always rewards.

As soon as afternoons arrive, he can enter another world.
A 'bonus level' that is the complete opposite of the brutal one in the morning.

The cold, aloof teacher from this morning has disappeared.

Instead, Locke would place his hand on his wound, using gentle warmth to dispel the pain and heal the wound.

We would stand in the sunshine together, repairing the farm fence damaged by the wind and rain, or casually scattering a bucket of grain among the clucking hens.
He would also sit on the woodpile by the barn and chat with him about recent events in the town, such as simple neighborhood disputes like whose cow wandered into whose vegetable garden.
It's very good.
But this dual torment of heaven and hell still left him completely baffled.

If the morning is for tempering one's character and will, then what is the purpose of the peaceful afternoon?

Is it just for relaxation?
"boom--!"

The afternoon sun illuminated the dust floating in the barn.

Bruce and Locke were stacking the dried firewood neatly, making a dull thud as the wood struck each other.

However, as Bruce lifted a bundle of firewood, he noticed a small ant nest at the bottom edge of the woodpile, where several ants were busily carrying grass clippings larger than themselves.

He paused subconsciously, carefully adjusting the angle and placement of the firewood, avoiding the vibrant corner, and placing it steadily in an empty spot a little further away.

"Teacher, there are ants here." He straightened up, pointed to the small mound of earth with his finger, which was covered with a few wood shavings, and casually reported.

"Hmm?" Locke was stacking firewood on the other side without looking up. "Then don't block it up, and don't get it wet. We'll need them to loosen the soil in the spring."

Don't block it.
Don't get it wet
They're used to loosen the soil in early spring...

But this simple, ordinary sentence, when it fell into Bruce's ears—who was at a heightened state of mind and accustomed to deep analysis of everything—stirred up layers of thought within him.

He unconsciously squatted down, staring at those seemingly tiny creatures that were busily and orderly carrying objects far heavier than themselves, and fell into deep thought.

Don't block it...

Is it telling me that I shouldn't just attack relentlessly in battle, but should leave room for maneuver and give my opponent some space to see the situation clearly?

Ants are afraid of water
Could this be an implication that everyone has weaknesses, and that we should be good at discovering and utilizing them?

Or rather, it's a reminder that even in the midst of brutal training, I must maintain a certain level of inner calm and rationality, and not be overwhelmed by my emotions.

"I understand!"

The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. His eyes gradually brightened, as if he had discovered the secret of some unparalleled martial arts technique. He nodded heavily and muttered to himself, "Teacher! So that's how it is!"

Just as Locke finished stacking the firewood, he straightened up and, hearing Bruce's nonsensical remark, glanced at him with a puzzled look, only to see Bruce's sudden realization.

"Bruce," he frowned slightly, a hint of helplessness in his voice, "have you been overthinking things lately, interpreting every word I say too much?"

Could it be that the hellish training was so terrible that it caused Batman to have a nervous breakdown and start having wild thoughts?

Forget it
Locke didn't bother to delve into what the kid was imagining this time. He dusted off the sawdust from his hands and changed the subject to something more practical:

"Bruce, the last snow of winter is just around the corner."

"We need to stock up on firewood. No food until we finish moving it today!"

Just a little firewood. Less intense than half a minute of what it was in the morning.
However, Bruce paused slightly as he held the few pieces of dry firewood in his arms.

He looked at Locke, his eyes filled with a questioning light:
"Teacher, did you... sense it with your power?" He lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard by someone who shouldn't hear it.

Locke didn't even bother to lift his eyelids, but bent down and deftly picked up a new bundle of firewood, his face seemingly even darker than before.

Too
How could someone like a teacher possibly stoop to using supernatural powers to predict a mere snowfall?

“Then…” Observing Locke’s reaction, Bruce hesitated before offering a more plausible guess, “You judged it from signs like clouds and wind direction based on your years of farming experience?”

"Boom--!"

Locke slammed the firewood down on the stack with a thud, then shook his head.

Could it be that? !

An even more incredible thought struck Bruce, causing his eyes to widen slightly.

But before the thought could fully take shape, Locke interrupted him impatiently, his voice clearly tinged with exasperation:
"What are you thinking about?" He pointed to the farmhouse. "You've been on the farm for two months, how come you haven't even checked the weather forecast?"

"..."

Bruce stood frozen in place, clutching the firewood.

He opened his mouth, his facial muscles twitched, and finally he could only manage an embarrassed expression, his voice lowering a few decibels, "I... there's no television in the little cabin I live in."

"."

Seeing his unusually smug expression, Locke couldn't help but chuckle, a smile curving his lips.

"Alright, once I'm done with this, I'll go to the warehouse and find an old one to install for you."

Hearing Locke's words, Bruce instinctively hugged the firewood in his arms tighter and whispered:

"Thank you, teacher."

The embarrassment I felt gradually dissipated, replaced by a sense of relief.

In the afternoon, the teacher would ask if he had a television at his place, and would help him with these trivial farm chores, always speaking in a gentle tone.

The afternoon teacher is better...

The thought popped into my head involuntarily.

The same one from this morning...

They were like two completely different people.

Two people?
The thought made Bruce's heart skip a beat, and his brows furrowed involuntarily. He stopped stacking firewood and secretly followed Locke's retreating figure with his eyes.

That's absolutely right.
The difference between the oppressive feeling of training that almost crushes you and the leisurely tranquility of the fields now is too great.

Big to…

Unlike something that can be possessed by one person at the same time.

Is it
"How can it be"

Bruce chuckled softly.

This thought only lasted for a moment.

With a teacher's level of expertise and ability, what is the need to create two different roles?
This must just be part of the training.

After extreme pressure and life-or-death tests, it provides just the right amount of breathing room.

It was so that, even amidst life-or-death struggles, he wouldn't forget the realities of life and wouldn't completely lose himself in the darkness.

He glanced at Locke gratefully.

Bruce looked up at the open Kansas sky.

The view was expansive, the blue expanse was clear and bright, and a few wisps of thin clouds drifted slowly by.

perhaps
The teacher was also using this "bitter before sweet" approach to teach him that sometimes, it's good to relax, look at the sky, and do some simple chores...

It is an indispensable part of spiritual practice.
-
at the same time.

Near another wooden cabin on the edge of the farm, Salafir was standing on tiptoe, trying to put a straw hat that was too big for him on Kayla's head.

Kayla lowered her head slightly in agreement, her long, silvery-white hair slipping from her shoulders. The straw hat was firmly on, though still a little crooked, which unexpectedly added a touch of pastoral softness to her originally cool and aloof face.

After the constraints that had haunted her for countless years in her dream were torn apart by Salafir, who somehow entered her dream, a certain heavy shackle she was born with seemed to disappear as well.

She can now switch between her white wolf and human forms very naturally, just like breathing.

Just as she was beginning to maintain a stable human form and was feeling somewhat lost about the future.
Mr. Locke also gave her a choice:

She agreed to stay on the farm and help out with odd jobs, hoping to support herself. She accepted the offer almost without hesitation.

Salafir's brothers were all very friendly, as were her uncles and aunts, who readily accepted the white wolf who could only take human form.

The clean and tidy shepherd's hut in front of us is the new home that everyone worked together to build for her.

Her daily work is also very simple:
Feeding the animals, cleaning the pens, occasionally helping with milking, and taking care of the small animals that have to live on the farm temporarily due to habitat loss.

These tasks, though simple, made her feel at ease.

She could even use the money she earned to buy simple clothes in town and slowly learn to recognize her neighbors' faces, although she was still hesitant to greet them.
This kind of life couldn't be better for her.

You could even say it's very good.

The warmth of the sunlight on my skin, the smell of food, and the chattering of Salafir beside me all felt much more real than the cold, oppressive cave I remembered.

A few days ago, she returned to the kryptonite mine with Locke and Salafir.

The main purpose is to thoroughly clean up any remaining kryptonite.

It was at that time, after Mr. Locke destroyed all the kryptonite, that she discovered something that could only be seen in human form, under the flat stone where her grandmother used to sit.

The above is my mother-in-law's familiar handwriting, very brief:
"When the stones are no longer silent, leave this place, Kayla."

"The farther the better. Don't look back. Go find your own life."

She clutched the parchment, standing for a long time in the darkening cave.

It turns out that the mother-in-law had foreseen everything.

Knowing that the monster would eventually awaken, knowing that the so-called 'protection' might be in vain.

His final instructions were to let her escape, to let her live.

Unfortunately, because she had been in her white wolf form for so long, she was unaware of these things.

She sighed softly, smashed the boulder to pieces with her fist, then bent down and walked out of the cave side by side with Salafir. The mine no longer emitted the eerie green light, and as she stepped out of the cave, she felt that she had left something behind in that darkness forever.

"Sister Kayla! Look, they're all here!"

Salafil's clear call was like a hook, rousing Kayla from her brief daze.

She blinked, refocusing her gaze.

Before him were no longer the dark cave and the cold green light, but Salafir's excited, flushed face, and behind him a group of... quite a spectacular array of 'animal friends'.

A chipmunk stood atop Salafir's head, its paws cradling a nut bigger than its head, its little eyes darting around.

A gray wolf, who didn't look very bright, tilted its large head, chewing on half a blade of grass. Behind it, a chubby brown bear was chewing on the other half of a blade of grass.

Even that fox that always liked to put on airs came, squatting on a wooden stake a little further away, impatiently tapping its tail tip, looking aloof.

What should we play today?

Salafir tilted her head back. "Is it to help Big Grey find its lost honey, or to hear Little Red tell the story of how it won its argument with the crow yesterday?"

What kind of nonsense is this?
Kayla cleared her throat impatiently, trying to appear serious, and then pointed to the giant nut in the chipmunk's arms:

"Did it...steal the walnuts Aunt Martha was saving for making pies?"

"squeak--!"

The chipmunk immediately let out a cry, hid the nut behind its back, and shook its little head like a rattle.

“No,” Salafil immediately stepped in as translator: “Miss Chipmunk said it found this ‘ownerless item’ in the warehouse by its own skill; it’s…it’s the fruit of its labor!”

He translated it very seriously.

"Oh?" Kayla raised an eyebrow, mimicking Locke's usual interrogative tone towards Salafir. "Does it know that when Mr. Locke was inventorying the warehouse yesterday, he said that three of the largest walnuts were missing?"

The chipmunk froze instantly, even its whiskers stopped twitching.

Salafir exclaimed "Oops!", scratched his head, and leaned closer to the chipmunk, whispering:
"See, I told you we'd get caught..."

Hearing this, even the aloof fox couldn't help but let out a casual cry, its voice filled with disdain.

I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Kayla reached out and gently lifted the nervous chipmunk off Salafir's head, placing it in his palm.

"never mind."

Her tone softened, and a helpless smile appeared at the corner of her eyes.

“This is a one-time exception. However, as compensation…” she glanced at the animals, “this afternoon, everyone will have to help clear the weeds from the area on the east side.”

The voice just fell
The usually hardworking brown bear beside Salafir was slowly trying to hide behind the gray wolf, seemingly trying to avoid something.

The gray wolf swallowed the grass stalks in its mouth and arched its body slightly.

Even the chipmunks darted up the nearest tree and disappeared into the leaves.

Seeing their panicked appearance, Kayla was secretly wondering if she had been too harsh in her tone.
Even Salafir, who was standing in front of her, suddenly fell silent.

She looked down and saw that the smile on the boy's face had disappeared, and his small mouth was pursed into a tight straight line.

Without hesitation, Salafir stepped forward, no longer the playful figure from before, but firmly spreading his arms, like a barrier in front of Kayla and the trembling animals, his gaze fixed on the direction of the woods at the edge of the farm.

Following Salafir's gaze, Kayla also turned her head.

The shadows at the edge of the wasteland seemed to thicken, and the light there was unnaturally distorted.

There was a different smell in the air, not of soil or grass, but a pungent, metallic odor, like rust mixed with something rotting.

A distorted figure slowly emerged from the depths of the wasteland.

Its outline was not yet fully clear in the interplay of light and shadow, but its unusually tall stature was already awe-inspiring.

Its hunched back made its posture look particularly strange, and its dark skin was covered with burn marks, faintly revealing a lava-like luster.

Wherever it treads, the withered grass spontaneously combusts without fire, leaving a charred trail.

Although the monster did not attack immediately, it merely wandered aimlessly a short distance in front of the two, its empty eyes seemingly oblivious to their presence.
But Kayla's shoulders remained slightly hunched as she gently patted the boy's back.

"It...can't see us?"

She lowered her voice, a hint of disbelief in it.

“It seems so,” Salafir nodded, but the tension on her little face hadn’t completely disappeared. She just whispered to herself, “God Capital, what’s going on?”

"Do I need to think about this?"

The god's voice, clearly impatient, immediately echoed in his mind: "Father has set up a barrier around the farm. Such lowly things can't even observe us."

"So it was Dad's barrier," Salafir exclaimed in realization, then asked, "What do we do now? Just watch?"

“3…” God gave a number without any context.

"3 what?" Salafir asked, puzzled.

"2..."

"...?"

"1"

"boom--!"

Just as the last number was dropped.

Without any warning, blinding platinum-gold lightning struck vertically from the clear sky!
It struck the head of the bewildered demon with perfect precision!
There was no scream, only a short, sharp explosion.

The blinding white light made Kayla and Salafir instinctively close their eyes.

When they opened their eyes again, all that remained were a few wisps of smoke rising from the spot and a small patch of scorched earth.

The demon vanished without a trace.

A tall figure appeared there at some unknown time, with tiny arcs of electricity swirling around him, and the ancient-looking longsword in his hand gleaming with an earthy yellow luster.

"dad……"

Salafir's face lit up with immense joy, and he took a step forward to pounce.

But he had only uttered one word when a faint flash of lightning appeared around the figure, and in the next instant, the person vanished into thin air, as if he had never been there at all.

Only the rustling of the wind through the grass and the newly cleansed land remain.

"That's great!" Kayla breathed a long sigh of relief, patted her chest, and showed an admiring expression on her face. "As expected of Mr. Locke, you're really amazing, aren't you, Salafir?"

"Sarafil?"

Not hearing a response, Kayla turned her head in confusion.

But Salafir remained frozen in place, still trying to charge forward.

The surprise on his face vanished as quickly as the tide receded, replaced by a look of dejection.

The small body swayed slightly.

"Sarafil?!" Kayla's heart tightened, and she quickly knelt down to support him. "What's wrong? Cheer up!"

She gently shook Salafir's shoulders.

no response
"Sarafil!" In a moment of panic, she grabbed Sarafil and shook her awake. "Wake up! Wake up!"

"Mr. Locke said that sleeping outdoors is prohibited!"

"Wait, wait, wait"

Salafir was jolted back to her senses by her movements; her eyes were practically spinning in circles.

It took him a long time to finally manage to utter a sentence.
"Sister Kayla...am I...am I...disliked by Dad?"

(End of this chapter)