American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 137 Divine Capital: Where's my strawberry cake? I'm asking.

Dior quietly parked the Harley in the shadows of the barn and glanced at his watch.

12:03 am.

He came home a little later than usual from his part-time job, but it wasn't too outrageous.

Standing beside the barn, waiting for the night breeze to slightly dispel the salty smell of the Gotham sea wind from my body, I took a few steps and very gently pushed open the familiar door to my home.

The door hinges made a barely audible creaking sound.

Only one wall lamp, emitting a faint, cool white light, illuminated the living room, dispelling a small patch of darkness.

The old television screen was lit up, playing a whimsical late-night talk show on a low note.

The host's exaggerated laughter sounded somewhat hollow in the quiet room.

His father sat motionless on the sofa, his back to him, his head tilted slightly to one side, as if he had fallen asleep.

Dio felt a sense of relief for no apparent reason.

Great, it saves me the trouble of being interrogated.

Then the rest is simple.

He held his breath, his mind subtly shifting.

"Om-!"

The strange buzzing sound that only he could perceive shook everything around him.

The colors of everything faded, covered by an eerie gray-white layer. All sounds ceased abruptly, even the host's agape mouth and spittle on the television screen froze in mid-air.

Time stopped flowing.

Dior planned to sneak upstairs quietly and return to his room.

But before he could take two more steps, he heard another buzzing sound in his ears.
He easily interfered with and covered up his time-stopping domain!

Then, he felt a steady, strong hand gently press on his shoulder, and the scene before his eyes rippled slightly like water before becoming clear again—

He was no longer on the stairs!

She was silently moved to the sofa and sat right next to Locke!

"."

Dio's heart skipped a beat, and a rare look of horror flashed in his eyes.

How did Father become even stronger again?! This absolute control over time and space...
He turned his head sharply and met Locke's eyes, which remained clear and calm even in the dim light.

Locke's face showed no signs of sleepiness, only a slight hint of confusion as he looked at him and asked in a casual tone, "Why are you back so late today?"

"Homecoming Day".

Forcibly suppressing the surging shock and assessment in his heart, Dio controlled his facial muscles perfectly, quickly reverting to his usual indifferent mask, and replied with a pre-prepared, seemingly reasonable explanation: "There are more couples on dates tonight, and we can't keep up with making bread and desserts, so I'm working overtime."

“I see.” Locke nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation, but his nose twitched slightly, and his brows furrowed: “But why do you smell of alcohol on your breath?”

Where did this kid go to celebrate tonight?

Locke was puzzled.

bad
It was that damn whiskey.

Dior cursed inwardly, but his face remained expressionless.

It even carried a hint of impatience at being disturbed:

"The new tiramisu uses rum-soaked ladyfingers. I've tried it many times, so it's normal for them to get the rum tasted on them."

"Oh~"

Locke nodded as if suddenly realizing something, his doubts disappearing and a knowing smile appearing on his face. "Using rum... that does have a strong flavor. You've been working so late, aren't you hungry? Want to eat something before you sleep?"

He pointed to the white plastic lunchbox on the coffee table, which was packed up after the family dinner that night and had the Chinese restaurant logo on it. Inside were some leftover fried noodles and spring rolls.

"Don't eat."

Looking at the lunchbox, Dior breathed a sigh of relief.

It seems they managed to fool them.

He stood up, his tone indifferent: "If you're sleepy, just go to sleep."

"……All right."

A hint of disappointment flickered across the old father's face, but he nodded gently and watched Dio turn and walk quickly up the stairs.

Locke only slowly withdrew his gaze and sighed softly with helplessness after the figure disappeared around the corner of the stairs.

"Father."

The air rippled slightly, and a small dragon soul shadow appeared, circling Locke's head once, transmitting its message in a demonic voice only he could hear:
"This guy is definitely hiding something from you! He doesn't smell like cake at all! It's like strong liquor! And his heart was beating way too fast just now!"

How could I not know that?
Locke stretched out his finger and poked the little head of "Divine Capital" that was leaning in, and said in an annoyed tone:
"Your brother was just busy today and didn't bring you a strawberry cream cake, is that all? Why are you making up stories about him like this? You're so young, you shouldn't talk bad about your brother."

"But Father!" The little dragon spirit defiantly flicked its tail in the air, scattering sparks of light. "His scent is clearly..."

“No buts,” Locke interrupted, saying helplessly, “Go to sleep.”

"If you keep talking nonsense, I'll confiscate your and Salafir's outdoor activity time tomorrow."

"."

"Shen Du" hummed twice in grievance, and finally could only dissipate into the air unwillingly.

Once again, only the boring laughter from the television and Locke alone remained in the living room.

He sat silently for a while, then turned his gaze back toward the stairs, his fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the sofa armrest.

In the end, he simply shook his head, turned off the TV, and got up to go to his room.

Night falls, and silence returns.
Is it quiet?

Locke frowned after walking only a few steps up the stairs.

There is something outside the manor.
It touched the magical barrier he had set up.

He narrowed his eyes, his body transformed into electricity, and he shot out swiftly through the crack in the window.
-
Meanwhile, at the edge of the fence of the Kent farm.

A burly man wearing sunglasses, with a build resembling a brown bear, was the first to clumsily climb over the fence, his feet just stepping onto Kent's lawn.

Behind him followed seven or eight professionals dressed in black combat uniforms, well-equipped, and exuding an air of competence and danger.

Once the burly man had steadied himself, he waved for the people behind him to follow.

Can.
“Sizzle——!!!”

A series of extremely piercing high-frequency electric arc explosions suddenly erupted around him without warning!

It sounded like thousands of birds singing!
"boom!"

They precisely entangled all the men in black who were trying to cross the fence, except for the burly man!
"Ugh!!"

"What the hell?!"

Before they could even let out a decent scream, those seemingly professional men in black were completely swallowed up by the high-voltage current in the blink of an eye!

Their bodies convulsed violently, wisps of smoke rose, and the air was instantly filled with the acrid smell of burning protein. Then, one by one, they fell straight to the ground like felled logs, completely losing consciousness, their bodies charred black.

The whole process happened too fast and too suddenly, completely beyond the scope of common sense!

"!!!"

The burly man wearing sunglasses was completely stunned, his mouth involuntarily agape, almost big enough to fit a whole apple.

His sunglasses slipped off his face in shock and fell onto the grass.

He stared in disbelief at the supernatural scene before him, a scene that resembled a painting of hell. His mind was so overwhelmed by the sheer mystery that it went completely blank, leaving him speechless.

This...this was also arranged by Mr. Lionel?!

Has that person already set a trap?

So, my mission this time wasn't about improvising, but rather about being bait to trigger a trap?!

And just as his mind was in complete turmoil, trying to find a reasonable explanation for this unbelievable scene—

Almost without warning, a steady and powerful hand silently pressed down on his muscular shoulder.

"!!!"

The burly man jumped, terrified out of his wits, and almost reflexively raised his hands high, shouting in a trembling voice:
"One of us! Don't do anything!"

"I am an undercover agent sent by Mr. Lionel Luther! I am an ally!"

"..."

However, what responded to his eager declaration was not words.

Instead, it was a gentle yet powerful electric current that could instantly paralyze a bull, which, along with the hand on his shoulder, "whooshed" precisely throughout his entire body!

"Ugh ugh ugh ugh—!"

The burly man trembled violently from the electric shock, his hair stood on end, his eyes rolled back, and his massive body swayed as if he were drunk before crashing heavily to the ground.

All four limbs were still twitching unconsciously.

Collapsed to the ground, the burly man looked at the tall figure that had appeared behind him at some unknown time, whose body still faintly emitted arcs of electricity. With a mournful face, he spoke with difficulty, his voice filled with grievance:
"I...I'm really one of us!"

Looking down at him, Locke's face remained expressionless; he simply nodded calmly.

"I know."

"???"

The burly man was stunned, and tears were almost streaming down his face.
"Then...why did you shock me...Mr. Lightning..."

His voice was muffled due to muscle paralysis.

Locke glanced at the charred bodies of the men in black on the ground and explained calmly:
"My barrier only protects against those with malicious intent."

是 的
The barrier's malice detection mechanism only attacks targets who harbor malicious intent.

Strong man: "..."

This philosophical answer doesn't fully explain why he was also punished as a side effect.

Or does this 'Mr. Thunder' think that a shock is more conducive to communication?!

Ignoring his inner grumbling, Locke simply bent down to pick up the sunglasses from the ground, weighed them in his hand, and then turned his gaze back to the burly man lying on the ground, looking utterly dejected.
"Now, tell me. What did Lionel want by sending you, this 'undercover agent,' to my farm in the middle of the night with so many people?"

"."

The burly man shakily stood up, leaning on the railing beside him.

My body was still trembling slightly from the lingering electric shock.

Looking at the man who could control lightning, his sense of luck and professional pride vanished, leaving only awe and... grievance.

"Just call me Tom, sir... thank you."

He instinctively used polite language, his voice still a little unsteady, and he even quickly added a sentence, afraid that the other person would think he was rude and give him another beating. Then he swallowed hard, struggling to organize his thoughts:

"I come from Gotham."

“About three days ago, the Falcone family contacted me and issued a commission through an intermediary. The goal was to eliminate Lex Luthor.”

"Cough cough."

"After all, in our line of work, we need to do research and target assessment. We can't just take on jobs blindly, right?"

"I did a little research and found that this Lex Luthor has an excellent reputation in Smallwell. He's a real philanthropist! He donates to schools, builds roads, and shuts down polluting factories."

"So I can't take this order! It's too unethical and could easily get me into trouble. I may not be a good person, but I still have basic professional ethics. I'm going to refuse this kind of thing that would obviously ruin my reputation and damage my reputation."

“However,” he paused, his expression turning sheepish, a mixture of lingering fear and a touch of awe at the power of money, “just as I was about to refuse the middleman, Mr. Lionel personally sent someone to find me!”

"He offered me a number I couldn't refuse, cough cough, only asking me to play along and pretend to accept the Falcone family's commission."

He pointed to the black-clad men still smoking on the ground, and to himself.

"Let me find another opportunity to take the operational funds and these people 'sponsored' by Falcone and 'clean them up'."

"And tonight, I felt it was the perfect opportunity. I originally planned to wait until I went a little deeper and found a more secluded place before taking action against them, but I never expected that you, sir, would be so incredibly resourceful and directly help me complete the most difficult step."

seriously.
Tom never dreamed that Lionel would hire such a master to protect that little bald guy.

"."

After listening quietly to Tom's rambling yet informative narration, Locke's face remained expressionless, but a hint of confusion flashed deep in his eyes.

That Lionel guy.
How did he end up clashing with Falcone of Gotham?
He glanced at the charred human figures on the ground, then at Tom, who looked terrified.

"Did I clean it fairly well for you?"

Locke said calmly.

Tom: "..."

This cleaning was incredibly thorough!
metropolis.

The top-floor office of the Luther Group.

Lionel Luther was nestled in a leather sofa large enough to accommodate several of him.

Several screens were flashing in front of him.

Stock market curves, merger and acquisition progress, confidential information, satellite surveillance footage, several silent video conference windows awaiting instructions, and several other conference calls online simultaneously.

And he
Thus, they issued orders to different lines that were capable of triggering a financial earthquake.

"Short selling in London can be leveraged even more; they're slow to react. As for the Tokyo acquisition, I don't care what means I use; I must see a signed contract by Friday. Tell the people in Brazil that I'm taking the mine; are the indigenous people protesting?"

"That's their problem to solve, not mine."

He speaks extremely fast and his thinking seamlessly switches between different business battlefields.

There was no emotion whatsoever, only absolute calculation.

It wasn't until this high-intensity, multi-threaded, ruthless command had continued for nearly half an hour that he rubbed his temples, looking slightly tired, and temporarily cut off most of the lines.

A brief silence fell over the office.

However, an encrypted line lit up again.

He pressed the answer button, his tone still icy: "Speak."

“Boss.” A slightly nervous voice came from the other end of the phone: “Gotham. Wayne Enterprises’ defenses are much stronger than we expected, and the rebound is very strong. There are top experts manipulating things.”

"Master?"

Lionel frowned slightly, his pupils unconsciously losing focus.

Is that the old butler named Alfred?

He vaguely remembered seeing him at a charity gala; he was Thomas's always polite and meticulous British butler.

did not expect.
They do have some skill.

The person who was able to secretly keep the group firmly in his hands after Thomas and his wife's deaths, and keep it as stable as Mount Tai for the past two years, could not be an ordinary person.
"Detailed description".

"Uh," the person on the other end of the phone hesitated for a moment, "Very precise, like a machine without a single mistake, and the timing of the entry has an old-fashioned cunning, like an extremely experienced trader, the BOSS. We can't find a pattern, it seems like he can predict our every move."

"It could be Alfred, the Wayne family's butler."

"We can't be completely sure, Boss, but based on the timing and operating style, it's highly likely."

"The other party is very experienced."

Lionel said calmly, "I can understand."

"but"

"This doesn't mean that you bunch of useless people with top salaries and the latest equipment are qualified to not even be able to handle an old man! Your efficiency makes me wonder if my investment has generated negative returns!"

His tone suddenly turned icy, filled with anger.

"I'm very sorry, Boss! We'll adjust our strategy immediately!"

A mournful cry also came from the other end of the phone, as someone trembled, preparing to face Lionel's thunderous wrath.

But the next moment, almost without any transition
The anger seemed to vanish in an instant, and Lionel's voice became absolutely calm, even somewhat hollow:

"In that case, let's postpone the direct offensive against Wayne Group and adopt Plan B for long-term infiltration. With our current resources, let's continue to concentrate our firepower and cut off Falcone's tail first."

"Yes, Boss! Execute immediately!"

The person on the other end of the phone respectfully complied, as if granted a pardon.

"beep--"

The call ended, but another internal line immediately rang.

A voice that had been altered reported:
"Sir, General Sam Lane has been waiting for you online for quite some time. He has shown great interest in the recent results of Project Dawn."

Lionel's eyes flashed with understanding. He straightened his expression and prepared to deal with the general who held half of the Ministry of Defense.

However.
Just as he was about to touch the answer button.

His personal cell phone, a number known to very few people, suddenly rang in the inside pocket of his suit.

Lionel paused for a moment.

He barely hesitated, signaling to the internal line to wait a moment, before answering the phone.

"Mr. Lionel."

Immediately, a voice came from the other side, carrying a sense of lingering fear and a desire for credit.

"As you instructed."

Lionel listened calmly, until he heard:
"—I successfully brought Falcone's men to the vicinity of Smallwell."

"."

A rare flash of surprise, anger, and clarity instantly broke through the icy facade on Lionel's face.

He practically roared into the phone, his voice filled with incredulous rage and a tremor of anger at the sheer stupidity of the act:
"Who told you to bring them there?! I told you to find a chance to get rid of them! Who told you to lead them to Smallwell?!"

Tom on the other end of the phone was clearly stunned by the sudden outburst of anger. He asked, puzzled:

"This...didn't you say you were looking for an 'opportunity'?"

"You self-righteous idiot! You..."

Lionel felt a sharp headache coming on, and his temples throbbed.

"How could you go?" His voice began to waver, even crack, as if two opposing consciousnesses were wrestling for control: "Bastard. Damn it."

But the man regained his composure in the next moment.

When he spoke again, all his emotional fluctuations were completely smoothed out; his tone became unusually calm, with a hint of eerie approval.

"You did a very good job."

"As long as... the target is completely eliminated, that's all that matters. The 'process'... is not important."

"???"

The mercenary on the other end of the phone was completely dumbfounded, utterly unable to keep up with his employer's rapidly changing emotions and instructions, and could only nod blankly: "Yes, yes... wiped them out. So, my money?"

"Wait until I come back from Africa."

It's unclear whether he knew Locke was right next to him, or if he was just casually replying to Tom.

Lionel didn't say anything more and hung up the call immediately.

He stood there, holding his phone, taking several deep breaths without moving, as if recalibrating some kind of inner balance, before turning around and walking straight out of the office, ignoring Sam Lane who was still waiting online, as if his earlier lapse in composure had never happened.
-
"Mr. Locke? Are you satisfied now?"

Tom forced a smile and said cautiously.

All he wanted at that moment was to leave this eerie farm and this terrifying man who could summon lightning as soon as possible.

Locke nodded expressionlessly and said in a flat tone, "You can go now."

Like being pardoned!

Tom was almost moved to tears. He scrambled to his feet, practically crawling on his hands and feet, ignoring his still-smoking 'former teammates' and the dropped equipment, and bowed repeatedly to Locke.

"Thank you! Thank you, Mr. Locke! Goodbye!"

After saying that, he turned around and ran towards the road outside the farm at the fastest speed he had ever run, his back view looking as if he were being chased by a vicious dog.

I didn't look at Tom's retreating figure again.

Turning around, Locke's gaze swept over the charred human figures on the grass.

He raised his hand slightly.

In an instant, it seemed as if an invisible force was being stirred in the night sky.

Several bolts of blazing white lightning, more concentrated than before and imbued with pure destructive power, suddenly descended from the sky! They struck each charred corpse with unparalleled precision!
There was no deafening explosion, only an extreme burst of energy.

After the blinding white light flashed, the charred marks on the grass, along with the soil beneath them, instantly vaporized and decomposed, turning into nothingness without leaving even a trace of ash.

Only a few slightly blackened patches of ground testify to what had just happened here.

After doing all this, the tiny arcs of electricity that had been dancing around Locke slowly disappeared.

He stood there, the evening breeze ruffling the hair on his forehead, his gaze once again fixed on the southeast, as if he could pierce through endless space and see the man who said he was far away on the African continent.

The author of this article
Locke frowned slightly, and that indescribable awkwardness welled up in his heart again.

From what I just heard, it seems that nothing has changed from before.

She still loves Lex.

But how can it be?
Why make things so...awkward?
If that guy hadn't said he was far away in Africa, he would have gone there right now, in the most direct way:
For example, beat him up first, or beat him up again.

Then ask him carefully what exactly he's thinking.

(End of this chapter)