American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 195 Bruce: This is my escape route!

"What? You're saying there are two Locke's?"

Salafir grabbed Clark's sleeve, and the two jogged across the yard, finding Jonathan repairing the fence behind the tool shed.

Martha sat on a nearby wooden post, a basket of peas waiting to be picked resting on her lap, her fingertips deftly peeling open the pods.

"Uncle! Aunt!"

Salafir spoke first, her little face flushed with excitement, "Daddy...he seems a little strange!"

“We just saw Uncle Locke training Bruce behind the barn, very…strictly,” Clark added, his tone more composed than his brother’s, but his furrowed brow betrayed his inner confusion. “But less than three minutes ago, Uncle asked me to help lift the tractor out of the mud. He said he was going to check the land in the wasteland. You know, Uncle’s land-checking often lasts for hours.”

Do you think there might be two uncles on the farm?

"."

"How can it be…"

Upon hearing this, Martha stopped eating the green beans in her hand.

She looked up at the two earnest children and a helpless smile appeared on her lips.

“You two are getting more and more imaginative ideas.” Her voice was as gentle as if she were soothing a frightened hare. “There have been a lot of chores on the farm lately, and we also have to take care of those… special ‘little guys.’ Locke probably just glanced at the wasteland and came right back, right?”

"I think they've been reading too many comics lately."

Jonathan put down the hammer, wiped the sweat from his brow, and let out a hearty laugh.

"If Locke could create shadow clones, he wouldn't be working non-stop in the countryside 24 hours a day."

"Just imagine. If our farm had ten Locke's, how efficient would it be?"

"."

Salafir tilted his head and began to think seriously.

Uncle Jonathan seems to be right. If they were ten dads as efficient, they could probably plant corn all over Smallwell.

No, maybe the whole of Kansas?
How much roasted corn will we be able to eat then...?

"dad."

Clark sighed and took a small step forward, his blue eyes filled with certainty. "I saw it with my own eyes! One uncle was over there in the wilderness, wearing work clothes covered in mud, and the other was in the barn, their demeanor was completely different! I'm sure I didn't see it wrong!"

Snapping out of her reverie about the corn kingdom, Salafir nodded vigorously and muttered under her breath:

"The dad in the morning and the dad now feel like two different people. One is tense like he's been struck by lightning, and the other seems like he hasn't woken up yet."

Listening to the two children's eager description, Jonathan stroked the short stubble on his chin, as if recalling something.

"Now that you've put it that way..."

He spoke thoughtfully, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "It seems... a little strange."

“A couple of days ago, I helped him lift the main shaft of that old harvester. It was a heavy thing, but it wasn’t a problem for Locke and me. But this time, I seemed to have lost a lot of strength, and I almost strained my back.”

"."

Is it really that you've lost a lot of strength?
Salafir and Clark rolled their eyes in unison.

However, Jonathan continued, as if searching through his mind for more details:
"And have you noticed? Lately, he seems to be spending more and more evenings sitting in that old rocking chair in the living room, holding Virgil or Dante, chatting with Martha and me about this and that? Before, at this time, he would most likely still be patrolling outside the farm."

"Jonathan!" Martha lightly patted his arm, speechless. "Why are you joining the kids in their commotion?"

"Cough cough."

"Don't overthink it. You two, maybe... maybe 'Platinum Star' has evolved?" Jonathan tried to explain in a lighthearted tone, "Maybe now you can sit comfortably at home, drinking coffee, remotely controlling your 'stand-in' to plow the fields and train Bruce!"

Salafir and Clark exchanged a glance, then turned and left.

"Hey!"

“You must have seen it wrong,” Jonathan shouted from behind them. “Or maybe Locke was so busy he rushed back from the fields to give Bruce some pointers.”

"Don't overthink it, kids. There's nothing so mystical about this world."

However, even he himself felt guilty about this explanation, and his voice grew softer and softer as he spoke.

In today's Kent farms
It doesn't seem so unlikely, does it?
Jonathan's increasingly evasive explanation made the two even more uneasy. After hesitating for a while, they finally decided to go find the man who might know something, although he was probably not a very easy person to talk to.

They found him in the nursery.

Dior was leaning back on the old sofa by the window, the morning light dancing on his golden hair and casting a soft glow on his handsome face.

At that moment, he was casually flipping through a thick book with one hand, while the other hand...

Or
It was the tall and mighty Stand "The World" that was pushing the baby cradle next to it with extremely precise and gentle force.

Dante and Virgil were fast asleep in their cradle.

Seeing this, Clark cleared his throat and spoke somewhat awkwardly:
“Dio, we…we think Uncle Locke has been acting a little strange lately.”

“Yes, Brother Dior,” Salafir whispered from behind Clark, “It seems like Dad has become two.”

"."

Dior stopped turning the pages of the book.

He didn't look up immediately, but let out a contemptuous sneer.

He slowly closed the book and raised his eyelids.

There was no warmth in those scarlet eyes, only naked mockery.

"madness."

He uttered two words, his voice low but extremely piercing.

He stood up, his tall figure casting a shadow in the sunlight that completely enveloped Clark and Salafir.

The "world" stopped rocking the cradle and stood silently behind him as the most loyal guardian, exerting an invisible but heavy sense of oppression.

"Holding doubts in your hearts, whispering and speculating like rats in a sewer—is that the best method you can think of?" Dio took a step forward, looking down at them, the sarcasm in his voice almost tangible. "Want to know the answer? It's actually quite simple."

"Now, immediately, go find your father, stand before him, and ask clearly and loudly: 'Father, are you hiding something from us? Why are you able to appear in two places at the same time?'"

He crossed his arms, his face displaying undisguised mockery:

"What's the point of hiding and spreading ridiculous conjectures to each other, other than proving your incompetence and ignorance?"

"."

Salafell shrank back, stung by the barrage of sharp questions, and instinctively gripped Clark's clothes tightly, her face turning pale.

It seems that Dior's brother is really angry.

Clark's throat bobbed as well.

He could already imagine how Dio had been tormented by Dante last night.
The two brothers looked at each other, both seeing the same hesitation in each other's eyes.

However, the path Dior offered does make a lot of sense.
-
In the open space behind the barn, the air vibrated and hummed due to the collision of forces.

Bruce Wayne, the rich kid who was easily knocked down in the mud just two weeks ago.

At this moment, it resembles a wild beast driven into a corner.

His bare upper body was covered in sweat and freshly congealed scabs.

Beneath those bulging muscles, tiny arcs of electricity could be faintly seen pulsating within his blood vessels, as if they were alive. This was the lightning demonic energy Locke had left in his body, constantly stimulating and tempering his form.

However, Bruce was unaware of the truth. At that moment, he only believed that the intense pain was fueling him to perform actions beyond his limits.

Instead of retreating, it advanced towards the powerful punches of the clay figurine, which were strong enough to shatter rocks.

Bruce turned to the side, twisted his waist, and his right arm muscles bulged!

It parried the heavy mud and rock arm by the slightest margin, producing a dull thud.

"Wow——!"

With mud flying everywhere, he used the momentum to spin around and deliver a sharp elbow strike to the clay figure's ribs.

"boom!"

The hard mud shell cracked open, sending debris flying everywhere.

"Roar--!"

The clay figure roared, and its other fist swept across with a fierce wind.

Bruce's pupils contracted sharply, and his body leaned back, almost parallel to the ground, as the huge fist grazed the tip of his nose.

Then, supporting himself with one hand, he used his waist and abdomen to twist his legs towards the joint of the clay puppet's supporting leg.

This is a move he figured out on his own through countless knockdowns and the pain of his bones nearly breaking.

It can perfectly target the weak points of this hard puppet.

For the first time, the clay figure's massive body staggered noticeably.

Locke stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, watching expressionlessly. Claydot's attacks suddenly accelerated under his will, the wind from his punches whistling, almost completely sealing off Bruce's space to dodge.

Bruce was breathing heavily, bringing all the instincts he had honed in battle to their fullest potential.

Block, dodge, and occasionally seize an opening to counterattack!

Although each collision left his arm numb, it also made him more precise in his use of strength and timing of attacks.

"boom!"

Until a head-on punch.

Bruce was ultimately no match for the overwhelming power of the clay doll, and was sent flying backward by the shock.

His back slammed heavily against the mottled wooden wall of the barn with a dull thud.

The clay figure, without stopping, strode after them, its heavy footsteps causing the ground to tremble slightly.

It picked up Bruce with one hand and lifted him high above its head!

It looks like they're about to launch an extremely dangerous attack under some unknown malice!

Locke frowned slightly, a thought flickering within him, and he was about to release the clay puppet.
But Bruce, who was being lifted up and seemed powerless to resist, suddenly curled his lips into a smile that was a mixture of pain and extreme excitement.

His eyes flashed with the gleam of a hunter finally seeing his prey step into the trap, and he hissed:
"Hahaha! You didn't expect that, did you! Teacher, this is actually my escape route!"

"?"

Locke was stunned.

"Boom—!!" The loud noise didn't come from Bruce on the clay doll's head, but from beneath its feet!

The violent explosion occurred without warning, and the scorching blast wave, carrying mud and rubble, swept in all directions, shattering the clay figurine's legs below the knees.

The massive upper body lost its support and immediately fell forward due to inertia.

Amidst the billowing smoke and dust, Bruce executed a nimble backflip, landing gracefully on the ground.

He coughed, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at the clay figure that was only half a body and was still trying to crawl on its arms.

His voice was slightly hoarse with excitement, but it carried an undisguised sense of pride:
"It's explosives! I used explosives!"

"Hahahaha! It's perfectly reasonable for a farmer's disciple like me to use some explosives, isn't it?!"

He pointed to where the clay figure had originally stood, where there was a shallow pit that had been cleverly covered up. "Teacher! I won this time!"

Won!

He, Bruce Wayne, with his pure flesh and blood, defeated this monster constructed of supernatural power, the monster that had crushed him into the mud countless times!

There is no supernatural power whatsoever!
All that remains is the will forged through countless brushes with the brink of collapse!

Skills honed through repeated pain and broken bones.

as well as……

That burning brightly even in dire circumstances—the wisdom of humanity, as the teacher described it!
This is my hymn to courage!

He shouted silently in his heart, and the pent-up emotions of humiliation, anger and resentment were released with the victory.

It was worth it for him to drag his exhausted body through the inhuman training every day, and then, like a real farmer, rummage through every corner of the barn, enduring cobwebs and years of dust!
Finally, in the corner of the attic on the roof, covered with rat bite marks, they found the forgotten box of old explosives!

His secret study of those brittle fuses, his careful calculation of the weight, and his repeated planting of explosives in the dead of night when no one was watching, all paid off!

And now.
All the forbearance and all the planning paid off at this moment!

He looked at Locke, who stood tall and straight at the edge of the smoke and dust, and tried to suppress the roar that was about to burst out of his throat. But the corners of his mouth still stretched upwards uncontrollably, almost reaching his ears.

Even my nose felt a little sore from excitement, so I took a deep sniff.

Looking calmly at the clay figure, now only half-dead and still crawling in vain, Locke snapped his fingers to release it. His gaze swept over Bruce's face, which was covered in blood, sweat, and extreme excitement, and he nodded slightly.

"Progress."

Just three words, without any exaggerated praise, but they were like a warm current that instantly struck Bruce's heart, making him feel that all the suffering before was worth it!

He straightened his still trembling back, waiting for perhaps more affirmation, or instructions for the next stage.

Um.
Locke's next move immediately dampened his spirits.

“But explosives are prohibited on the farm. Safety rules,” Locke said in a flat, emotionless tone, “copy them ten times.”

After saying that, he didn't look at Bruce again, turned around, and walked steadily toward the wasteland, leaving the mess and the dumbfounded Bruce behind.

No. Isn't it?

Farm safety guidelines?!
Copy it ten times?!

Bruce's smug expression froze instantly, his lips trembling in mid-air.

Our farm... has this?!

He's been here for almost three months, and he's searched every nook and cranny of the barn with his teacher, but he's never seen any safety rules.
Does this thing really exist?!

"Existent..."

A faint voice sounded from behind.

"?"

Bruce turned his head sharply and saw Clark standing behind him, his face bearing an almost solemn expression, as if proclaiming some ancient truth.

"The farm safety code exists." Clark put his hands in his pockets, his eyes gleaming with an indescribable light, his tone heavy and resolute.

He stepped forward, meeting Bruce's gaze, a mixture of astonishment and 'what the hell are you doing now?', pointed to the vast farm, and said in a deep voice:

"Want the farm's safety rules? You can have them all if you want, go find them! I left everything from the farm there!"

"Where did you come from, the King of Farms?" Bruce's lips twitched as he looked at the Kryptonian who had suddenly become such a drama queen, and sighed, "Read less comics, Clark."

“Saraphiel.” He decided to give up on communicating with this eccentric guy and turned to Saraphiel, who seemed a little more reliable, behind Clark. “Where exactly is this rule?”

"At this."

Salafir responded, casually waving her small hand in the air, and a spatial rift quietly appeared.

He skillfully pulled out a thin booklet with the words "Kent Farm Safety Guidelines (Internal Trial Version)" printed on its cover.

He handed it to Bruce, grinning, and said, "I carry it with me all the time."

"..."

Looking at the booklet that seemed to have been pulled out of an otherworldly pocket, Bruce glanced at Salafir, who looked completely unconcerned, and silently accepted it.

He then casually pulled a neatly folded Franklin from his pocket, and without even looking at it, stuffed it into Salafir's hand, the movement as fluid as an invisible transaction.

Salafir took the banknotes, her small face expressionless, and silently put the money away.

Bruce took a deep breath and opened the mysterious booklet.

The paper is somewhat yellowed, suggesting it's been around for a while.

Just
The terms and conditions that caught his eye immediately made his eyes twitch:
Kent Farm Safety Standards (Internal Trial Version)

Rule 1: No eating steak after midnight, especially from the refrigerator!

Article 2: Any whispers or sounds of grinding flour coming from the windmill should be taken as the sound of the wind, and no further investigation or response is required.

Article 3: During the harvest season, if you see wolverines in the wheat fields, this is normal. Please remain calm and continue your work.

Article 14: It is strictly forbidden to use, bury, or detonate any explosive device of any type on the farm premises without the written approval of Mr. Locke Kent. (Including but not limited to: explosives, detonators, military grenades, magical explosive scrolls, etc.)

Article 15: If you encounter situations such as inexplicable spatial distortion, time loops, dimensional rifts, or the appearance of people claiming to be from the future, please remain still and loudly call out Mr. Locke Kent's full name until the phenomenon disappears or Mr. Kent himself appears.
-
Article 139: It is forbidden to use eyes to start a fire!

Article 140: It is prohibited to inject any animal on the farm (including but not limited to dogs, cats, chickens, sheep, and occasionally visiting brown bears and gray wolves) with magic without permission.

Article 141: If kitchen knives hum and point in a specific direction when no one is using them, check if Dior is practicing his "Imperial Arts".

Article 142: It is forbidden to draw or activate any form of magic circle, transmutation circle or summoning circle on the farm premises without authorization, regardless of which ancient book you read about it.

To be continued.

"."

Looking at the newly added text, and the rule in Article Fourteen that explosives may not be used.

Bruce's face darkened.

"Why didn't you give me this sooner?"

He could almost see himself spending the next few days copying down these outrageous clauses while listening to the words "progress" echoing in his ears—a truly miserable scene.

"That's a long story, you can figure it out slowly." Clark shrugged indifferently, clearly not wanting to dwell on the matter. He quickly changed the subject and lowered his voice, "Let's not talk about that now."

"Bruce, have you... seen two Uncle Locke in different places recently?"

Salafir moved closer, her little face full of nervousness.

"?"

Bruce was wiping the sweat, a mixture of dirt and smoke from the explosion, from his face with his sleeve when he heard this, he paused.

He recalled the days spent oscillating between hellish training and peaceful labor, the stark contrast between his teacher, who was sometimes like a thunderbolt and at other times like an ordinary farmer…

He frowned, carefully choosing his words:

"The teacher... he can be incredibly cruel at times, and at other times... so gentle it's unbelievable. But a clone?" He shook his head, finding the idea too absurd. "Isn't that unlikely? Maybe the teacher moves too fast, or maybe our sense of time is off..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

Because Clark and Salafir exchanged a glance, and their eyes clearly said:
See? Even Bruce sensed it!

It was this brief exchange of glances, and Bruce's hesitant attitude, that conveyed his unspoken message.

It was more like the last tiny gust of air that finally tipped the scales.

The doubts between the two had accumulated to a critical point, and impulse overcame their unease.

"go!"

"Let's just go and ask!"

The two spoke almost simultaneously, their eyes filled with a resolute determination.

They ignored Bruce, who was still agonizing over the 'clone' issue, and turned to head in the direction where they had sensed Locke's presence earlier.

He ran towards the boundary between the wasteland and the farm.

Sunlight, dappled through the sparse trees, fell on the withered grass.

They quickly found the figure.

Locke stood on an open slope, his back to them, gazing at the rolling hills in the distance.

Salafil mustered his courage, ran a few steps to Locke, looked up, and, still breathing heavily from running and nervousness, blurted out, "Dad!"

"you"

"Have you... become two?"

Clark, standing behind him, also held his breath, his eyes fixed on Locke, waiting for that crucial answer.

Locke slowly turned around, his expression calm, neither laughing at the absurdity of the question nor getting angry at being spied on.

After a few suffocating seconds of silence, he nodded slightly.

No further explanation is needed.

He simply waved, signaling the two to follow.

Then he turned around and walked steadily back to the farm.

Clark and Salafir exchanged another glance, both seeing in each other's eyes an excitement that bordered on the truth.

Without hesitation, they took their steps and followed the silent figure walking forward.
-
P.S.: There will be another chapter in the morning.

(End of this chapter)