American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 229 Locke: Keep the music playing, keep the dancing going! I've farmed my whole life! Can't I enjoy myself a little?!
The streetscape of Athens unfolds slowly in the morning light.

Golden sunlight slanted across the stone building, casting dappled shadows, while the air was filled with the fresh scent of sea breeze and olive trees.

Ali skillfully maneuvered the steering wheel while enthusiastically taking on the role of tour guide.

"Welcome to the cradle of Western civilization, friends!"

Ali's booming voice echoed in the carriage, and the tassels of his golden fleece cloak swayed gently as the vehicle turned.

"Look to the left, that's Hadrian's Arch, and further ahead are the ruins of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia."

"But now we can only see a few pillars," he added with a hint of regret.

Locke smiled knowingly, but his gaze involuntarily swept across the rearview mirror.

Then they saw a convoy of vehicles following behind the off-road vehicles, providing them with protection.

They truly live up to their Olympian reputation.
It has a strong resemblance to ancient Greece, carrying the grandeur and flamboyance of ancient Greek heroes.

“Mr. Ali,” Locke cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back on track, “about the main purpose of our trip, such as the arrangements for going to Paradise Island…”

"Haha, my friend!"

But then Ali burst into hearty laughter, one hand still firmly gripping the steering wheel, while the other patted Locke's shoulder warmly, saying, "The road to the mysterious land requires patience and time!"

"Before that, why not enjoy these 'earthly' treasures to the fullest? Let me, as your host, show you around Athens, how about it?"

"Trust me, this will not let you down."

To tell the truth
The enthusiasm in those words was truly irresistible.

They upheld the spirit of "since we're already here."
Constitution Square.

Looking at the guards on the steps, dressed in traditional attire and moving with exaggerated, puppet-like steps, Ali crossed his arms and said to Locke with considerable pride, "Look at those steps, isn't our Athenian sense of ceremony quite impressive?"

"But seriously, Locke..."

He turned his gaze to Locke, his admiration undisguised. "With your physique and hidden strength, if you wore this outfit, you would definitely look more like a guardian statue from the mythical age than they do."

Locke was both amused and exasperated upon hearing this.
“Mr. Ali, I am just an ordinary farmer. Even Hercules has to feed his cattle first.”

"Haha, then you must own a kingdom in America, and your cattle herds are probably stronger than Spartan warriors," Ali said cheerfully. "Interested in forming an alliance with Greece, Locke?"

"?"

Locke was speechless for a moment.

A farm and a country form an alliance?
The absurd suggestion made him chuckle, but Ali's serious attitude didn't seem fake.
He opened his mouth, but didn't know how to respond.

“This unique gait,” Ron said, speaking in a steady tone to help Locke out of the predicament, “is it to simulate some non-human creature in the ritual, to express reverence for supernatural forces?”

"It reminds me of some gestures from ancient Martian rituals."

Ali paused for a moment.

Locke cleared his throat and explained, “Ron, it’s a tradition that stems from strict military discipline, mainly to demonstrate discipline and a sense of ceremony.”

"Actually, it's purely to allow tourists to capture the most dramatic moments when taking photos," Ali shrugged and admitted frankly. "But to call it supernatural wouldn't be wrong, after all, being able to stand still for two hours does require the perseverance forged by Hephaestus."

“As expected.” Rong En nodded thoughtfully: “This is a kind of performance art that transforms practicality into symbolism.”

"I rarely promote this approach internally."

Ron turned to Ali, trying to demonstrate his understanding, “It reminds me of ancient legends, of guardians entrusted with special missions who often demonstrate their transcendence through extraordinary behavior.”

"I've always thought this would..."

"Alright, Martian philosopher, shut up."

Locke quickly interrupted him, fearing he would veer into more complex Martian mythology, "Let's go see the next attraction."

Ali scratched the horn on his head, unable to suppress a smile, and quickly beckoned them to head to the next location.

In the following period of time
The convoy then wound its way through the streets of Athens, allowing them to gaze at the colossal columns of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia and stroll among the ancient ruins of the Agora Market.

Ali recounted the stories behind each stone pillar and each piece of ruin with great familiarity.

Throughout this process, he never forgot to praise Locke.

For example, in the old town of Plaka.
Locke was merely helping a shopkeeper lift a heavy parasol, and Ali would exclaim in amazement, "Look! The strength and elegance in his every move!"

"Locke! Even Hercules himself wouldn't be this good!"

However, such praise over a long period of time
This made Locke go from feeling awkward at first to getting used to it, and he could only respond with a helpless smile.

But Rong En actually said...
"This is the first time I've seen Ali praise someone's physique so directly."

"Locke, you."

These words gave Locke goosebumps, and he was almost electrocuted by a jolt of electricity that silenced Ron.

evening.

Ali then led his large group to an open-air restaurant overlooking the Acropolis.

While waiting for the food.

Rong En remained silent, his gaze fixed on the interwoven warp and weft of the tablecloth.

Locke stared at the olive trees on the street, wondering if he could bring the thing back to Kansas.

Only Ali, gazing at the Acropolis as its lights gradually illuminated the twilight, spoke with a tone that shifted from cheerful to somber.

“Look there, the Parthenon.” He took a sip of ice water. “Athens, the city founded by the hero Theseus, is the beacon of Western civilization. But beneath its glorious history lie many unknown wounds and cracks.”

"How about we go check it out together later, my friends?"

Ron and Locke exchanged a glance, and were about to speak—

"With the wisdom of Athena!"

An aged exclamation cut them off.

A silver-haired waiter stood by the table, holding a ceramic wine jar. His gaze was fixed on the shimmering golden fleece cloak draped over Ali's shoulders. "You...you're from Olympia? Our distinguished guest tonight is indeed..."

Ali calmly raised his glass, the bronze horn ornaments gleaming warmly in the candlelight: "It seems the ancient memories haven't completely faded, old man."

The old waiter took a deep breath, and his cloudy eyes suddenly shone with a youthful brilliance.

He began to recount the legends his grandfather had told him during his childhood.
The story of the Olympians.

"."

Ali listened with a smile throughout, occasionally raising his glass to the old man in greeting.

Seeing this, Locke was somewhat puzzled. He looked at Ron and used his demonic energy to activate the team voice chat:

"Isn't he supposed to be a modern hero? How come the old man's grandfather was already telling his story?"

Ron nodded, communicating telepathically: "The Golden Fleece's legacy is much older than we imagined. Each successor is called an Olympian."

The meal was over.
The setting sun began to paint the sky a golden-red hue.

The three of them also climbed to the top of the Acropolis and stood amidst the ruins of the Parthenon.

The massive Doric columns, having withstood 2,500 years of wind and rain, cast long shadows in the setting sun, exuding an eternal sense of sorrow.

“It’s spectacular, isn’t it?” Ali said to the two of them, his golden fleece cloak fluttering slightly in the evening breeze. He looked around at the ruins, his voice much lower than usual. “It is said that under every stone here, there may be a forgotten legend buried.”

"It is said that a fierce war broke out here with the Amazons because Hercules and Theseus stole the golden belt of Hippolyta, the queen of the Amazons."

"Hippoluthe's sister, Theseus's wife, Antiope, died in that battle."

Ali paused, his gaze fixed on the setting sun sinking into the sea in the distance.

"This led to the division among the Amazons of Paradise Island."

He added that the sound almost blended into the wind.

"Split?"

Locke keenly grasped the meaning of that word.

However, the one who answered him was Rong En, who had remained silent beside him.

"According to records, after Paradise Island suffered heavy losses in its early days, a group of Amazons led by Antiope chose to break away from tradition."

"They no longer worship the Olympian gods and have vowed revenge against the men who deceived and enslaved them. This group is known as the 'Barna Amazons.' They are currently not under the jurisdiction of the DEO."

Ali nodded, agreeing with Rong En's addition, but he didn't continue the topic. He simply took a deep look at the ancient ruins and softly concluded:
“Ancient wounds are sometimes deeper and last longer than we imagine.”

He raised his hand and stroked the mottled marble surface beside him.
"But who made me shoulder the responsibility for this city?"

The soft sigh dissipated in the rising night breeze.

"Damn it, I've wanted to quit being an Olympian for ages!"

As night deepened, a private courtyard at the foot of the Acropolis was brightly lit, with olive tree branches casting swaying shadows in the lamplight.

Ali kept his promise and took Locke and Ron to experience what Athens was like.

The long table was laden with roasted lamb chops, olive oil-soaked octopus, piles of cheese, and fresh figs.
The golden wine glass was filled with amber-colored aged wine.

just
At the heart of the banquet, the hero draped in the Golden Fleece, the hero who was so dashing in the daytime, was now a completely different person.

Ali, having removed his Golden Fleece cloak, slammed his wine glass heavily on the table, the splashed wine leaving small stains on the linen tablecloth.

His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes, though hazy and burning with intoxication, remained oblivious to the bronze helmet hanging askew in his hair.

“Wearing this costume every day, bearing the name of my ancestors… I’m like an exhibit in a museum! Tourists treat me like a tourist attraction, and the elderly treat me like an artifact! But do you know what I really want to do?” He leaned close to Locke, loudly complaining with a strong smell of alcohol, “Actually, I just want to open a restaurant! Sell the most ordinary kebab rolls!”

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"

talking
The Greek hero began to wail, his tears falling into his wine cup, which he then drank down in one gulp along with the rich mead.

Locke, who didn't use any of his internal energy to sober up in order to have a more immersive experience of the journey, was taken aback when he saw him like this, and then burst into hearty laughter.

Those grand historical narratives and heroic legends of the daytime.
Clearly, this has been wonderfully deconstructed in the drunken ramblings filled with the warmth of everyday life.

He looked around and saw that the burly men in black suits had long since removed their solemn masks. They were arm in arm, patting each other's shoulders vigorously.

With their rough yet vibrant voices, they sang in unison an ancient ballad that had been passed down for countless generations:

"oops!

It was not a gift from the gods of Mount Olympus.

It was not a gift from Hades in the underworld.

It's the salty wind from the Aegean Sea.

It's made our faces black! Ouch!

Our spoils are not gold and ivory.
It is the shadow of an olive branch in the sunlight.

It was under the grapevines.
Sweet juice on the girl's lips!

Let's raise our glasses, friends!

For today's sunshine and sea breeze!

So that we can still wake up tomorrow—

In this world!

The singing was rough and disorganized.

Yet it is filled with the most primal passion of the land and the sea.

Even the usually composed and steady Locke shed all his constraints while singing.

He laughed heartily, his eyes glazed with drunkenness, and pulled Ali onto the shoulder, joining the off-key yet vibrant chorus.

Seeing this, Ali was even more excited and patted Locke on the back, shouting that he wanted to become sworn brothers with this kindred spirit on the spot.

“Locke! My brother! Let us swear an oath before Mount Olympus!” Ali drunkenly raised his glass, his reddened eyes still streaked with tears.

“No need for oaths, Ali.” Locke laughed, but shook his head. He raised his full glass, his voice sincere: “We only need to toast to your world!”

After saying that, he tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the liquid that was a mixture of historical dust and the passion of life.

And that wasn't all; Locke kept drinking one glass after another.
As the alcohol took effect, his usually hidden wildness and untamed spirit were revealed. He patted Ali's shoulder forcefully, with the characteristic swagger of a rancher:

"Ali! If you ever get tired of being a hero, come to my place! Do you know how big my farm is? Ten thousand acres!"

He spread his arms to gesture his enormous silhouette, his laughter echoing in the night wind:

"That's equivalent to one and a half cities of Athens! Hahahaha!"

He got more and more excited as he spoke, with a hint of pride: "Come to my place and do some farm work!"

"Let me tell you, I've already nurtured two students who have grasped the true meaning of life! Sweating on the land is much more satisfying than being some kind of god or hero! Hahahaha!"

Upon hearing this, Ali looked at the impressively charismatic farmer before him and felt as if he had met a kindred spirit. He was so excited that he wanted to prostrate himself on the spot, repeatedly saying, "Definitely! I will definitely find time to go!"

"Come on! Everyone, sing along!" he said, pointing to the drunken crowd beside him. "Can't you see my brother still wants to drink? Keep the music playing and keep singing!"

“That’s right!” Locke laughed heartily. “Keep the music playing and keep dancing! I’ve been farming all my life! Can’t I enjoy myself a little?! Everyone, get dancing!”

The drunken group exchanged bewildered glances, but were intimidated by the man and the imposing presence emanating from their leader.
They gritted their teeth and chose to hold hands, then started singing and dancing.
"oops!

It was not a gift from the gods of Mount Olympus.

It was not a gift from Hades in the underworld.

The singing began, as noisy and fiery as a summer storm in the Aegean Sea.

It was right next to this scene.

Rong En, however, sat quietly in the corner, slowly eating a sweet chocolate pie.

He stared at the wildness before him, which was completely beyond his comprehension of Locke.
Silently, he took out his phone and snapped two photos of Locke and Ali, who were arm in arm, singing loudly.

His gaze then fell on the almost untouched glass of wine in front of him, the clear liquid gleaming red under the lamplight.

He pondered for a moment, then calmly picked up the glass, but instead of drinking, he tilted his wrist slightly and slowly poured the wine onto the ground beside him.

I don't know if it's because they dare not drink it.
He was still paying the highest respect he could understand to this grand and ancient human celebration.

Locke was pulled out of his dream by a dull, oppressive feeling.

Consciousness is like something sinking to the bottom of a murky mead, struggling with all its might to rise to the surface.

头…

It hurt like I'd been hit by a battering ram.

My chest felt incredibly tight, as if something heavy was pressing down on it.

He struggled to open his sore eyes, and in his blurred vision, all he could see was the gray-blue sky and the deepest light before dawn.

He shifted instinctively, only then realizing the source of the tightness in his chest.
Ali's heavy arm was draped boldly over his chest.

The hero himself lay sprawled out beside him, snoring loudly, muttering incoherently, "Roast meat roll... roast meat roll... extra sauce..."

Fragments of memory flowed back in an instant.
Last night's commotion, the singing, and those seemingly endless jugs of liquor...

That Greek mead is incredibly strong.
Moreover, the intoxication that seems to strike at the soul is not merely physiological.
In addition, he deliberately suppressed the lightning energy within his body.
Locke sat up, rubbing his forehead. The pent-up energy within him, suppressed by alcohol and pleasure all night, seemed to finally find an outlet, bursting out silently through his limbs and bones.

The electric arc flickered and flowed slightly, quickly dissolving and dispelling the intoxication that touched the soul.

The heaviness receded like the tide, replaced by a familiar clarity and sense of strength.

Just then, a bottle of mineral water with the cap unscrewed was handed to him.

"Thanks, Rong En."

Locke took it, tilted his head back and gulped down several mouthfuls, letting the cool liquid moisten his parched throat.

He wiped his mouth casually, then looked at the Martian Manhunter beside him with some surprise, who looked meticulous from head to toe. "How come you... are completely unharmed?"

Rong En looked at him calmly and nodded:

"I didn't drink."

Locke: “…”

"hiss--!"

He gasped and sat up, rubbing his temples.

Unlike Locke, however, he seemed more accustomed to this hangover. He simply shook his head vigorously, and his iconic ram's horn helmet was already on properly.

Then stretch out both hands forward.
"Wow——!"

The shimmering golden fleece cloak seemed to fly in from some corner of the courtyard, landing precisely on his shoulders and transforming him back into the majestic Olympian.

He cleared his throat, his voice regaining its booming quality, as if the man who had been clamoring to switch careers and sell kebabs last night was merely a hallucination: "Ah! Friends, a new day! The sunshine and the sea breeze are calling us, it's time to set off!"

His eyes were piercing, and he deliberately avoided eye contact with the two of them.

They refused to mention any details of last night.

Locke nodded knowingly, stood up cooperatively, and patted his pants, which were covered in grass clippings: "Let's go. How about we fly there directly? That'll be faster."

"Of course! My friend!"

Ali immediately agreed, and with a bold wave of his arm, declared, "Let the wind be our steed!"

However, he then touched his stomach.
"But before we conquer the sky, let's conquer hunger first! Breakfast is the source of energy for the day!"

Three figures soared into the air, skimming over the red rooftops of Athens in the early morning, and flew towards the Aegean Sea.

Ali, clad in the Golden Fleece, led the way, followed closely by Locke, whose body was wreathed in electric arcs, while Ron followed closely behind.

What's quite interesting is that each of the three of them has a hot, fragrant roasted meat roll wrapped in oil paper.

"Try it! I made it myself!"

Ali turned his head in mid-air and shouted triumphantly, his voice swaying in the wind, "Exclusive secret recipe! If we had this back then, the three goddesses would each have a kebab roll, and who would want to eat the golden apple?"

Locke couldn't help but chuckle.

It must be said that Ali's sense of humor far surpasses that of Ron.

And
Locke took a bite, and the charred aroma of the roasted meat, the sweet and sour taste of the tomato, and the refreshing flavor of some unknown sauce blended perfectly in his mouth.

This made him give Ali a thumbs up.

This is truly Olympic-level culinary skill.

The three of them ate breakfast in the morning breeze.

Skimming over the azure Aegean Sea, it finally landed in a secluded bay.

On the shore, an old wooden boat that looked quite old swayed gently with the waves.

An old fisherman dressed simply was already waiting by the boat. When he saw Ali, he simply bowed silently and then stepped aside.

Looking at the small boat that seemed to come from the last century, Locke was puzzled and whispered to Ron beside him, "Is there some kind of special magical restriction on the Aegean Sea? Is it only possible to use this kind of wooden boat? Like the one Charon used to cross the River Styx in legend..."

Rong En's gaze swept over the wooden boat and the confident Ali, and he turned on the team voice chat: "If I'm not mistaken, Ali probably wants to show off his 'Olympic' level rowing skills."

"."

Locke's eyes twitched slightly, but he still followed Ali onto the creaking deck.

Ali tossed his golden cloak back, rolled up his sleeves with a flourish, revealing his muscular, bronze arms, and firmly gripped the ordinary wooden oars with both hands.

"Hold on tight, friends! I'm going to show you what the speed of an Argonaut is all about!" he laughed.

next moment.
Locke and Ron then understood what the 'Olympics' meant.

Instead of rowing like a normal boatman, Ali raised both oars high as if wielding a heavy sword, and then slammed them against the water behind him with tremendous force!
"boom--!!!"

A dull, loud bang, like a cannonball exploding!

The enormous impact on the sea surface stirred up towering waves, making the small wooden boat feel as if it had been pushed forward by an invisible giant hand. The bow of the boat suddenly rose up, and then, like a shot from a bow, it broke through the water and shot out at an almost absurd speed!

A strong push pressed Locke and Ron against the deck, and a gust of wind blew in their faces, making it hard to open their eyes.

Amidst the howling wind, Locke silently gazed ahead.

Ali looked just like an ancient champion driving a chariot.
Each stroke of the oars against the water was accompanied by a loud bang and a violent acceleration of the boat, leaving a trail of churning white foam on the sea.

original…

Is this what you call Olympic-level rowing technique?!

Locke faced the wind and glanced expressionlessly at Ron, who was also strapped to his seat and expressionless.

Rong En felt his gaze, looked back, and the telepathic connection sounded again. His tone remained calm: "Since you're already here..."

Ok
Locke decided to close his eyes.

If he ever had the chance to ride Charon's ferry across the River Styx, he would definitely sit there steadily for three days and three nights.

(End of this chapter)