American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 170 Solomon Grandi, a man who will stay with his cause for life!
Locke eventually found Martha and Jonathan in the hospital's coffee shop.

The two were leisurely drinking coffee.

Upon seeing him approach, the two immediately turned to him with concern.

"How was it? The doctor asked you to stay behind alone. What did he say?"

Martha put down her cup and asked softly.

Locke chuckled easily, pulled out a chair and sat down. He picked up the untouched glass of cold water in front of Jonathan, tilted his head back and took a big gulp, letting the icy liquid slide down his throat.

"It's nothing, just some routine precautions."

He casually brushed aside the conversation that had just taken place.

"Are you kidding me?" Jonathan chuckled, patting his chest. "Is it the problem here?"

"More or less," Locke replied vaguely.

“That’s alright then. I think this issue should be completely resolved with our generation.” Jonathan smiled easily, leaning back in his chair. “After all, neither you nor I have…”

"Wait! Locke!" Jonathan slapped his thigh suddenly, as if he had remembered something extremely important, interrupting Locke's impending complaint, "Oh no! I was so busy checking that I almost forgot!"

"The chickens on the farm haven't been fed yet! Those guys are so hungry they might tear the coop down! We need to hurry back!"

Amused and exasperated by this sudden outburst, Locke shook his head helplessly and stood up: "Alright, alright, I'll go back and feed your precious rooster."

The three paid the bill and left the hospital.

I got into that old pickup truck.

The familiar roar of the engine carried them away from the hospital, which reeked of disinfectant, and onto the main road.

On the way, Jonathan watched the city scenery rushing past the window.

Suddenly, she seemed to remember something and turned to look at Locke:

"By the way, Lex, how long has it been since he came back to the farm? Wasn't the last time I saw him? What has he been up to lately?"

"Heavy snow has come, and we're short of manpower to clear the snow."

“He called me in a hurry last time, saying that there was an urgent matter at the company and he had to go on a business trip with no return date in sight.” Locke shrugged, one hand on the steering wheel. “He didn’t say exactly where he was going, but from what he said… was it Asia? Or Europe? Anyway, it’s quite far, and the signal isn’t very stable.”

Anyway, judging from Lex's confident tone, there was no sense of danger.

"I see," Jonathan nodded with some regret. "I hope everything goes well for him. After all, Lionel was still too harsh on him."

"Unlike us, after all."

Jonathan seemed to have thought of something. He paused, then changed the subject, a gossipy look on his face. "That kid Dior keeps going to Gotham, all mysterious."

"I remember you mentioned him to me last time, that he's over there...?"

“I advise you not to bring this up in front of Dio, especially not to delve into it.” Locke chuckled strangely, a hint of mockery in his voice. “But to be honest… I’m also a little…”

"Cough cough."

Martha, sitting in the back seat, suddenly cleared her throat and interrupted the two men's conversation in an annoyed manner.

"The children know what they're doing. As long as they're safe, healthy, and don't do anything wrong, you two grown men shouldn't gossip about it, okay?"

“Especially you, Jonathan, Dio and Clark are all grown up, give them some space.”

“Honey, what are you saying?” Jonathan turned his head awkwardly to look out the window and muttered softly, “I was just concerned…after all, we’ve watched our child grow up…”

Locke chuckled and drove the car onto Interstate 70, leaving the hustle and bustle of the metropolis and its neon lights behind.

Martha is right.

As children grow up, they need some private space.

Besides, Dior is only 15 years old. What great things can he do besides dating his young girlfriend?
-
Iceberg Club, rooftop terrace.

As the sun slowly sank behind Gotham City's jagged skyline, it painted the sky a magnificent yet decadent purplish-red.

The evening breeze, carrying the hustle and bustle of Gotham and a faint salty smell, blew across the terrace.

The blond youth leaned lazily against a luxurious chaise lounge, his fingers gently swirling the purplish-red liquid in his glass.

His wine-red pupils looked down indifferently at the city below, which was gradually lighting up, like a behemoth awakening.

And next to him was Oswald Copport.

The Gotham Penguin was currently adjusting his chubby body in the chair with some effort, causing the expensive vintage whiskey in his hand to make a crisp sound as the ice cubes collided with his movements.

"The sunset is beautiful."

After adjusting his position, Mr. Penguin took a sip of his drink and broke the silence, his tone tinged with emotion: "It always reminds me of... the glory days of this city."

"You hate the aristocracy, yet your tone unconsciously mimics the affected mannerisms typical of Gotham's old-school aristocrats." Dio took a sip of pure grape juice, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Copperpot, you really are a contradictory penguin."

"."

Cope's eye twitched almost imperceptibly.

Talking to this guy is exhausting.

"After all, true brilliance is hidden in the shadows."

“And the brilliance in the shadows holds its value better, Mr. Dior.” Coppert changed the subject, not continuing on his own topic, but getting to the heart of the matter: “I’ve looked at the club’s accounts, and last month’s profits increased by another fifteen percent. It seems that your suggestion to ‘expand services’ to the dock area has been very effective.”

"Is that so?" Dio's tone was flat, revealing neither joy nor anger. "That wouldn't have been possible without your meticulous planning and intelligence support behind the scenes, Mr. Copperpott."

“Of course.” The penguin puffed out his chest smugly, but then seemed to shrink back a little as if weighed down by his own weight, though his tone still carried a hint of self-satisfaction. “However, Maroni’s men have caused us no shortage of trouble. It’s thanks to your ‘decisive’ intervention that things have gone smoothly.”

"And Falcone is happy to see us like this."

"As for the Wayne Group, it remains as aloof as ever."

Um.
Penguin's words were clearly a test, obviously wanting to see how interested Dior was in getting involved in the conflict.

"It's just clearing roadblocks, nothing to brag about."

But Dio spoke casually, as if he had just crushed an insect, “I’m concerned with efficiency. The potential of the dock area is not limited to this; there is a lot of room for operation in the warehouses, logistics, and so on.”

"So you have to make sure that the eyes and ears of customs and GCPD are our own people."

"Otherwise, your little toys won't be able to circulate properly."

“Even so, it would be difficult for me to get things done without money. The expansion of the iceberg would require a lot of money, Mr. Coppert.”

"."

Why is this guy always thinking about his money? Is he terrified of being poor?!

Cobbler gritted his teeth inwardly, but outwardly he had to rub his hands together and put on a businessman's smile, "I'm working on it, my dear boy, I'm working on it."

“This takes time, and… enough ‘sincerity.’ After all, not everyone has the ‘vision’ of us.”

He swirled his glass meaningfully, implying a need for more force or special intelligence support from Falcone.

Dior's red eyes narrowed slightly, a cold glint flashing in them: "'Sincerity' is acceptable, but I want to see corresponding 'efficiency.' At the next monthly meeting, I expect to see the accounts doubled, Mr. Copperfield."

"I'm handing this over to you not because I expect you to work hard only sporadically."

"?"

I was thinking, isn't the entire iceberg mine?!

The fat on the penguin's face twitched almost imperceptibly.

But he ultimately didn't dare say it aloud, and instead gave a dry laugh to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere:

"Of course, of course! We're the best partners!"

"By the way, speaking of the GCPD, that new director, Gordon, seems to be paying special attention to nighttime entertainment venues like ours. What do you think?"

"pretty good."

Dior's face remained expressionless, his tone even carrying a hint of admiration:
"Trying to accumulate political capital by cracking down on 'crime'? Good idea, and even smarter approach. I'm really looking forward to seeing if he can actually establish and maintain a legitimate order in this quagmire."

clever.

The penguin secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

On this point, he and Dior were in rare agreement.

For their business, which was deeply rooted in the shadows, the presence of that Director Gordon was far more beneficial than harmful.

He was genuinely afraid that Dior might impulsively get rid of the new director, which would truly backfire.

“Speaking of which,” the Penguin said with a gossipy smile, “what happened between you and Mario Falcone a few days ago was quite a big deal… I’m curious, how exactly did you ‘convince’ that proud young master Falcone to agree to those almost harsh conditions?”

He looked at Dio cautiously, trying to glean some information from that handsome yet aloof face.

“Mr. Cobblestone,” Dio paused slightly, glancing at him with icy eyes. “Mr. Cobblestone, excessive curiosity isn’t a good habit in Gotham. The less you know, the more peacefully you sleep.”

"."

"OK OK."

The penguin immediately and wisely raised its hands in a gesture of surrender:

"Never mind! Let's drink! Let's enjoy the beautiful Gotham night view!"

"Whoever can't hold on any longer tonight, they can sleep on the balcony, okay?"

He tried to ease the tension caused by his loose tongue with a clumsy joke.

But I was drinking grape juice.

Dior's lips curled into a slight smile.

Seeing that Dior didn't speak, the Penguin realized it was boring and gave up the idea of ​​a drinking contest.

The terrace fell silent once more.

The two sipped their drinks, watching night fall completely, transforming Gotham into a vast labyrinth of neon lights and desire. Until...
"Jingle Bell--!"

A sudden, urgent ringing of an old-fashioned telephone shattered the false tranquility.

The sound came from the antique telephone that the penguin had placed on the small round table next to him.

Penguin frowned, annoyed that the phone call had interrupted his enjoyment.

However, he still slowly picked up the receiver:

"It's me. Can't we talk about this later..."

His tone was very impatient, but…

After listening to the report on the other end of the phone, his obese body, which had been casually leaning back in his chair, gradually sat up straight. A hint of surprise flashed in his small eyes, which was then replaced by an undisguised light that mixed shock and schadenfreude.

"What?! Say that again?! Falcone Manor... has been invaded by something?! A... monster?!"

His voice rose involuntarily, filled with disbelief, but the corners of his mouth began to uncontrollably turn upward, revealing a greedy smile:

"Hahaha... Hahaha! Old Carmine's finally met his match! What are the details? What were the losses? Is that old guy still alive?"

He pressed for more questions over the phone, his eyes growing brighter.

Even after hanging up the phone, a flush of excitement lingered on her face. She then turned to look at Dior, who remained expressionless, as if it were none of her business.

"Dior boy! Did you hear that?"

The penguin rubbed his hands excitedly, his small eyes gleaming with calculating cunning. "Something terrible has happened to the Falcone family! A monster that appeared out of nowhere has attacked their lair! This is a golden opportunity! We can seize it now and strike hard..."

He had already begun plotting how to seize the territory and businesses left behind by the Falcone family.

However, before he could finish speaking...
Dior's cell phone in his breast pocket also emitted a low, distinctive vibration, and the screen lit up, displaying an unmarked number.

At this time, with this number...

If nothing else happens...

Dior didn't even look at the Penguin's face, which seemed to say, "Please, take us to take over the territory." Instead, he stood up, casually placed the remaining grape juice in his glass on the railing, and turned to walk towards the terrace exit. His movements were swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.

"Hey? Dior? Where are you going?"

The penguin was taken aback by his sudden action and hurriedly shouted, "We haven't discussed the next step yet..."

He opened his mouth, but ultimately swallowed the rest of his words.

The excitement on his face gradually faded.

Instead, he wore an expression that was a mixture of fear and understanding.

Slowly sitting back in his chair, Copport picked up his whiskey glass and gently swirled it.

"Be careful, Your Majesty... lest you become someone else's meal before you can swallow your prey."

“This city…” He took a sip of whiskey and murmured, gazing into the distance, “is like this drink: it looks fancy, it tastes spicy, and the aftertaste… is deadly.”

"But there are always people eager to try it."

"Because it deserves a more powerful master."

Stopping in his tracks, Dio looked down at the land where darkness and light intertwined, his voice calm:
"Chaos is merely the growing pains before a new order is born."

With a step forward, Dio waved casually to Copport with his back turned, as if to say goodbye.

The figure quickly disappeared through the doorway leading into the room.

As he watched his figure disappear through the doorway, the penguin's small eyes gleamed, eventually turning into a low, enigmatic laugh before he downed the last drop of wine in his glass.

“Powerful master… Hmph, I hope you don’t play with fire and get burned, my ‘king’.”
-
"Solomon Grundy~"

Born on a Monday~

"Christened on Tuesday~"

"."

"This is the end Of Solomon Grundy~"

A low, mournful nursery rhyme was coming out intermittently from an old-fashioned gramophone that had been overturned on the floor…

until
"boom--!!!"

A loud bang!
The phonograph, along with the eerie nursery rhyme it was playing, was suddenly slapped away by a gray hand covered in lividity and sutures, shattering into pieces in mid-air.

Let the parts and record fragments rain down.

The Falcone Estate has now become a showcase of hell.
The mansion, once a symbol of power and luxury, is now nothing but ruins.

Exquisite marble columns snapped in half, walls adorned with portraits of generations of family members were ripped open with massive holes, and crystal chandeliers crashed to the ground, their fragments tangled with expensive carpets.

Everything was stained a dark red.
Liquid that has not yet dried.

And what caused all of this
That is the giant who emerged from the nightmare.

He was nearly four meters tall, with a large and bulky body.

The skin was a deathly grayish-white, covered with ugly stitches and deep purple lividity.

His facial features were distorted, and his eyes were empty.

"Grandi!"

But this living dead-like being could roar as it took steps, even causing the ground to tremble.

"boom!"

With each swing of his arm, he could easily pulverize the surrounding sculptures, or crush a Falcone family gunman who couldn't escape in time into a mangled mess of flesh and blood, along with his weapon.

"Protect the Boss!"

Several firm shouts rang out at the end of the corridor.

Carmine Falcone…
The Godfather, who had ruled Gotham's underworld for decades, no longer had his usual composure and sinister expression on his face.

He resembled an aged lion driven to the brink of despair, his eyes a mixture of shock and anger, along with a hint of barely concealed fear.

Her hair was disheveled, and her expensive silk robe was covered in dust and splattered with blood.

With a sorrowful expression, he staggered towards the back door, surrounded by his loyal bodyguards.

"Stop it! At all costs!"

The captain of the guard shielded Carmine with his body while shouting orders into the walkie-talkie.

However.
All that came through the walkie-talkie were more screams.

"Grandi!"

"boom!"

Accompanied by an unintelligible roar.

The giant suddenly appeared behind the group, grabbed a heavy bronze statue, and hurled it like a stone at the area where the gunmen were most concentrated.

"boom!!"

The statue was smashed.

The gunman, unable to dodge in time, was instantly smashed into a bloody pulp, with severed limbs and debris flying everywhere.

The smell of blood was so strong it was nauseating.

"Go! Go quickly! Master!"

The captain of the guard, his eyes blazing with fury, pushed Carmine forward with all his might.

"Go quickly!"

He even shoved a young gunman away, causing him to panic and run in the opposite direction while firing, thus attracting Grandi's attention.

This resulted in it being pinned to the wall by a giant hand, turning into a distorted mural.

But taking advantage of this brief respite bought with their lives, the guards finally escorted Carmine to the heavy iron gate leading to the secret passage at the back of the manor.

"Open the door! Open the door quickly!"

The secret passage slowly opened a crack, revealing the tense face of another guard.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and immediately escorted Carmine into the safe passage.

"boom!"

Let the final explosion completely collapse the passage.

It isolates the killing and wailing from the outside world.

This ensured the safety of the Romans.

嗏

This also caused the giant to lose its clear objective.
He cast those empty, lifeless eyes into the deeper parts of the mansion.

He could sense it.
There
There are many more lives waiting for him to end.

"Grandi!"

he growled.

"Go all the way!"

"This is the end of Solomon Grundy!"

(End of this chapter)