American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 255 Bruce, wake up, it's me.
While Clark was battling the storm.

the other side…

A strong gust of air swept past my ears.

Beneath him, a robust griffin spread its broad wings and soared steadily above the clouds, as if it were born to be the master of this sea of ​​clouds.

Locke looked down at what lay beneath him.

My gaze swept across the indistinct outline of the land in the night, dotted with scattered lights.

His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.

He suddenly turned his head and looked at Ron Jones, who was sitting on the back of a griffin behind him.

"Rong En."

Locke's voice cut through the wind, "Where are we now?"

Rong En hesitated for a moment before speaking in a calm, even tone: "Based on the course and speed, we should currently be..."

"...It's over France, right?"

Locke's lips twitched involuntarily as his gaze locked onto Ron's hand, which rested naturally on his knee.
Or rather, it's locked onto the packaging bag he's holding.

Bathed in the faint moonlight and the city glow reflected from the clouds, the packaging clearly displays cursive French script and the Oreo logo.

With his eyes fixed intently on the French Oreo, Locke's voice held a strange, resentful undertone, "When...where did you buy this?"

They rushed off Paradise Island and traversed the European continent without stopping, yet this guy still had the time and inclination to scour for a bag of snacks from a specific country.

He put the bag of cookies back into the inner pocket of his uniform.

Rong Encai answered in a statement of fact:
"...This is a secret."

He paused, as if the previous conversation had been a minor interlude, before continuing his interrupted location report in his flat voice: "...Also, Locke, I must correct you. We are actually currently over Ireland."

"By the way, the French version of Oreo seems to have a much higher concentration of cocoa powder than the regular version. If the one we usually eat has 6%, this version should have around 15%."

"Want a piece?"

Locke: "…………"

A long silence stretched between the two griffins, with only the howling wind breaking through the silence.

Locke expressionlessly withdrew his gaze, ignoring his Martian friend beside him whose behavior was becoming increasingly unpredictable.

He slapped the griffin's muscles hard, causing it to let out a low cry.

Its massive body drew a graceful arc in the air, deviating from its original course without hesitation and accelerating towards a specific direction.

Rong En tilted his head slightly, seemingly puzzled.

He looked at Locke, who had suddenly changed direction, and calmly reminded him:

“Locke, if our destination is Smallwell, this direction, this course will take us deep into the North Atlantic.”

Locke didn't turn around, the wind whipping his hair, his voice resolute: "It's a secret."

Um.
He felt the call.

It was the 'thunder energy' within someone's body that sensed his arrival at this moment and was calling for his help.
Then the question comes
Who would be in Europe?

The answer is obvious.
There's no one else but a certain bald guy or a certain bat kid.

"."

As Ron watched Locke's resolute back, a slight twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth on his usually expressionless face.

Petty.
He silently grumbled to himself.

And so it went, with two griffins carrying riddle-solving men, each with their own thoughts.

Sweeping across the quiet Irish night sky, I left my planned route home behind.

In April, the weather in Ireland was already quite hot and humid.

The air in the forest was stagnant and heavy.

It was mixed with the smell of soil, decaying leaves, and a faint, almost imperceptible stench of blood.

Passing through the intertwined ivy, a dimly lit cave is hidden by ferns and moss.

Only a few rays of sunlight struggled to penetrate the gaps in the vines, casting dappled light and shadow.

A young man, shirtless, is kneeling on one knee.

His muscles are smooth and firm, not burly and imposing, but rather possess the explosive power and resilience of a cheetah.

Ahead of him, leaning against the cold rock wall, was a blonde woman.

She looked utterly disheveled.

His once neat clothes were now tattered, torn in many places, and covered in mud.

Even his blond hair lost its smooth luster, now resembling dry grass that had turned white from the sun.

A few strands of sweat clung to his forehead and cheeks.

The woman's face wasn't exceptionally beautiful, but it had the sharp edges of someone who had weathered many storms, mixed with a sense of detachment and indifference towards the world.

Lucy Chesen.

The rising star thief of France – 'Grey Shadow'.

She is the phantom thief mentor whom the young man unexpectedly met, and also the ill-fated couple who are now forced to flee with him.

Focusing intently on tearing his cotton T-shirt, whose original color was no longer discernible, into strips of varying widths, the young man carefully lifted Lucy's injured arm, on which lay a not-too-deep but tearing cut.

His brow furrowed involuntarily, but the young man still deftly wrapped the cloth around his neck.

"Well"

A suppressed moan escaped the woman's throat, her body tensing slightly from the pain.

It was clear that his method of bandaging with the cloth strips was somewhat rough.

"Does it hurt?" the young man sighed. "I'm sorry, Lucy."

“Kid.” Lucy’s voice was hoarse from the pain. She looked at the young man’s focused profile and gave a slightly self-deprecating smile. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

"."

The man did not answer, nor did he stop what he was doing.

He didn't even raise his head; he merely twitched the corners of his mouth upward, forming a gentlemanly smile with a reassuring tone.

Bruce.

This man appeared out of nowhere two or three months ago and somehow found out everything about me.

He got straight to the point, saying he wanted to learn her 'skill,' and then, as if by magic, produced a huge sum of money that would allow her to retire from her life of crime.

result…

God's will plays tricks on people.

I had only been training him for two months, and the first time I took him out to test his skills, he ran into a brick wall.

Sunrise Oil Company.

A renowned energy giant in France.

To tell the truth
Everything went very smoothly at first.

Their infiltration of the heavily guarded, tastelessly elegant estate of the company's CEO, Hubert Groene, went more smoothly than expected.

Under his own training, Bruce's skills were impeccable.

The problem arose from the vault hidden behind the target painting, which triggered an unexpected infrasound alarm.

Holy shit
These days, even the most old-fashioned things are using high technology.
It's all that damned Lexcorp's fault.
Even this old-fashioned, pretentious connoisseur has started using military-grade high technology because of the emergence of that rising star company…

"Hiss—be gentle, kid..."

Lucy's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sharp pain in her arm. She gasped and glared at Bruce reproachfully, her pale face flushed with an unnatural redness from the pain.

She smirked, a hint of mockery in her voice, "What's wrong, young master? Never learned how to serve others? Or... do you just want to hear me moan a couple of times?"

Bruce felt a slight heat in his ears.

He didn't reply, but simply pursed his lips and lightened the pressure on his hands.

He never imagined that his first attempt at "robbing the rich to help the poor" would lead to a life on the run.
The CEO of that Sunrise Oil Company
Hubert Glover.

This is an evil conglomerate with a long history of misdeeds and exploitation of workers.

Hidden beneath the surface lies an even more terrifying serial killer, feared throughout the entire French underworld.
Code name: Abandoned Baby.

He originally just wanted to follow Lucy and learn some skills for operating in the dark, but he never expected to get involved in the dark core that was far more bloody than a business theft.

During the breakout, Lucy shielded him from a fatal slash, paying the price with this wound on her arm.
And the relentless pursuit that followed.

From the French estate to these Irish mountains, they shook off three groups of men, but Groene's hyenas were still trailing behind.

They were chased all the way here.

Looking at Lucy's pale face from blood loss, her eyes, which usually sparkled with cunning and cynicism, were now half-closed with exhaustion.

Like a gem covered in dust.

A feeling that transcends gratitude and guilt quietly sprouted and grew wildly during these days of being together, especially after she took that knife for me.

“Lucy…”

Bruce's voice was lower and husky than usual, carrying a tenderness he himself was unaware of, "I..."

He seemed to notice the oddity in Bruce's tone.

Lucy raised her eyes and met the young man's gaze.

There was worry, determination, and a burning passion that she both knew and deliberately avoided.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively tried to distance herself with her usual teasing, but then she saw Bruce suddenly lean in close.

A shadow descended.

Bruce braced himself against the rock face beside her ear with one hand, carefully avoiding her wound with the other, and supported her shoulder. He lowered his head and kissed her lips, which parted slightly in surprise.

The kiss was completely unskilled, even somewhat rough.

The coldness of the rock wall contrasted sharply with the burning heat of his lips.

Lucy's mind would go blank for a moment.

She could only feel his slightly trembling body and the heat that seemed to engulf her.

Instantly separate.

Bruce quickly stepped back, his breathing rapid, a belated panic churning in his blue eyes. He stared intently at her, as if awaiting judgment.

Lucy's heart pounded like a drum in her chest.

She had to admit it.
At one moment, she was moved.

The feeling came abruptly, yet it was like a seed that had been planted long ago, sprouting untimely under the nourishment of blood and death.

But she was, after all, Lucy Chesen, a shadowy figure lurking in the shadows.

She looked at Bruce's young and handsome face, his eyes still holding lingering idealism and a world she couldn't reach.

He deserves better.
Instead of being tied to that precarious thief and sinking into the shadows.

"Is this... repaying a life-saving debt? That technique is far too clumsy." She shook her head slightly, her eyes filled with distance. "Don't be like that... you're still too young, we... are not on the same path."

Bruce's lips twitched, and the light in his eyes dimmed slightly. He was about to speak in rebuttal or say something.
"Drip drip..."

A sudden electronic sound shattered the enchanting yet tense atmosphere inside the cave.

Lucy's expression changed drastically, and the last bit of color drained from her face.

She sat up abruptly, ignoring the tearing pain from the wound on her arm, and listened intently.

The sound came from a miniature tracking device hidden in her underwear, one of her last means of survival.

"They're catching up..."

She whispered, unsure whether it was because of the pursuers or because of the kiss just now, "It was much faster than I expected."

The confusion and emotions in his eyes froze instantly.

Instead, vigilance and decisiveness prevailed.

Bruce stood up almost without hesitation, blocking Lucy from the cave entrance, his tall figure casting a shadow in the dim light.

"you go first."

His voice was firm and resolute: “Going down that stream we’ve already identified will get us out of the way of the hounds. I’ll stay behind and hold them off.”

Lucy was silent for a moment, then looked up at his young yet unusually determined profile.

She wanted to say something—perhaps a rebuttal, perhaps a dissuasion, or perhaps…

Something else.

But in the end, all the words turned into a barely audible sigh.

She didn't look at Bruce again, but just as he brushed past her, preparing to rush out of the cave to meet the enemy, she quickly said in a voice barely audible to the two of them:
"Kid...survive."

Bruce paused, not turning around, but a defiant smile played on his lips, somewhat indistinct in the shadows.

"rest assured."

His voice carried a deliberately relaxed tone, as if this were just a routine training assessment. "I'm your best apprentice, aren't I?"

Lucy's lips moved silently.

“Perhaps…” her voice drifted in the damp air, “and it will be the last one.”

Before the words were even finished, the golden figure resolutely turned around and swiftly disappeared into the dark green jungle outside the cave, rapidly stealthily heading towards the only path to survival.

The barking of dogs grew clearer as it approached.

There was also the rustling sound of branches and leaves being roughly parted and the low hum of some kind of electronic device scanning.

They all came from all directions, forming a tight encirclement.

Bruce clenched his fists
There's nothing to be afraid of.
I'm the kind of person who managed to escape from Kent Farm!

Even the tractor and that monster made of mud couldn't crush me, so how could I possibly fall before these hyenas...

tired…

So tired…

Bruce fell down.

The heavy darkness pressed down.

He lay helplessly on the cold, damp earth, beneath him rotting leaves and sharp pebbles.

Every breath aggravated the large and small wounds all over my body, causing them to burn with pain.

Not to mention the gunshot wounds that were still slowly bleeding, the warm liquid gradually taking away his last bit of strength and body heat.

Consciousness transforms into a flickering candle in the wind, its light uncertain.

The excruciating pain in his body gradually turned into numbness, and a cold sensation spread from his limbs to his bones, as if to freeze him in this desolate wilderness of a foreign land.

But he could only lie there in vain, feeling his life slowly slip away with his blood.

Darkness was no longer just a lack of light; it had weight, like a felt blanket soaked with winter rain, enveloping him completely.

They squeezed out every last bit of strength he had left to struggle.

He loosened his fist, and his bloodied hand fell limply to his side.

In the end, all he could do was cover his face.

Is this the end?
A calm and undisturbed thought surfaced in his mind.

All we can do is wait quietly.

What's next?
The hounds excitedly tore at his already tattered clothes and flesh.
He also hoped it would be a swift and cold bullet from a pursuer.

After all, who knows, that serial killer known as the 'abandoned baby' might, with that twisted sense of humor, inflict final torture on him?

Bruce's thoughts lost their anchor.

Like wisps of smoke about to dissipate, they swirled in the cold air.

until
"Zizzi——!"

A strange crackling sound suddenly pierced through his gradually fading hearing.

Is it a stun gun?
The word lazily rolled over in his almost completely shut-down mind.

That's fine...

At least it's more dignified than being bitten to death by a dog...

He even felt the corners of his mouth twitch slightly upwards, which could perhaps be considered a smile.

Those who are eager to pry his mouth open are likely to be disappointed.

With this body that's been through so much, it probably wouldn't last even a moment...

However, what he heard next was not the scolding or attack he had expected.

It was a calm, almost rigid voice, as if speaking to someone else:

"Does this count as interfering with his 'self-chosen' path of growth? Isn't that a bad idea?"

What are you babbling about?
A huge question mark popped into Bruce's muddled mind.

Before he could figure it out, another familiar voice suddenly rang out, tinged with amusement.

"Don't talk about this like humans can't interfere with nature, okay, Ron?"

"People who don't know better might think we're filming an animal documentary," the man grumbled, his voice booming as if it could dispel the thick night fog. "It's better if I don't know. If I do know and don't care, then what's the point of me knowing?"

Hahaha.
Smallwell's teachers have all come to Ireland.
I'm hopeless.
But then a third voice slowly joined in: "Sir, you're right. I think Alfred will have a lot in common with you."

Alfred? Alfred?

Why would they mention Afu?
Teacher and Afu... what is all this about?

Bruce felt like he was about to split apart; his shattered consciousness and chaotic information were a jumbled mess that he couldn't make sense of.

But amidst this extreme chaos and disbelief, he sensed someone approaching him.

That familiar voice rang out again, right beside his ear, crystal clear.

Then came an incredibly warm current.

It flowed in from the point of contact with his body, dispelling the chilling cold that lingered in his limbs.

Where the heat flowed, torn muscles writhed and broken bones healed.

His abundant life force, both brutal and gentle, repaired his broken body.

He heard that voice, the voice he had heard countless days and nights at Smallwell Farm, a voice always tinged with a mixture of helplessness and concern.

"Bruce, wake up."

"it's me."

These two sentences, unlike a thunderclap, were more like a key, precisely inserted into the lock of Bruce's chaotic mind, and gently turned.

In an instant, all the noise, fog, illusions, and pain vanished.

A starkly clear fact has surfaced.

It's him!

It's the Smallwell Pumpkin King!

finished...

I'm going to get hit by a tractor again...

(End of this chapter)