Esoteric Buddhism: To live as king in America

Hey, pig.

A basin of cold water was poured on Olger's face, waking him from his slumber.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that the cowardly mortal who had once wet his pants in fear was now standing in front of him carrying a bucket of water. Behind him, the resurrected young "lackey" was sitting on a sofa chair reading a picture book, while the naked pervert sat next to the girl, scrutinizing Org with a critical eye.

I've been arrested?

The thought flashed through Olger's mind first, followed by the memory of that humiliating experience.

In that stairwell, facing that inexperienced "lackey," he launched a desperate attack, believing he could win.

Although the young girl was stronger and faster than him, Org could sense that, unlike the girl before him and the naked pervert, she was still within the realm of superhumans that Org could understand.

In this field, Olger is confident that he can crush any newcomer with his rich experience.

Just as his claws were about to touch her, and she instantly imitated and learned his movements, dismantling all his tricks, he realized that the seemingly innocent girl before him was the real monster on the path of the beast.

He had forgotten exactly how he lost consciousness, only remembering that it was an incredibly painful and humiliating experience.

In just one night, the confident "Grey Rat" was defeated twice. But that was the end of it. As a superhuman and as a "lackey," Org had his own dignity.

A wild beast may flee in disarray, but it is unlikely to wag its tail and fawn over its hunter after being captured.

There is absolutely no room for negotiation!

"ah!!!"

Org let out a scream and turned his head to see the tall old soldier he had stabbed and knocked unconscious standing behind him, holding an awl in his hand.

"Oh, good pig."

Sherry narrowed her eyes, a rare cruelty appearing on her face.

"You tormented me terribly before. If it weren't for my brothers, I'd be dead by now, or at least slaughtered by those guys in white coats. Tell me, how should I get my revenge?"

"You can't scare me, it's just a cone, it can't even pierce my skin... Ah—"

Org, who was trying to argue, let out another scream, as Sherry mercilessly plunged the awl into his shoulder, easily piercing his skin and leaving a mark on his bone.

"Just a friendly reminder, although that thing looks like an awl, it's actually a sword."

Mian, who had been silent until now, finally spoke with a smile.

He waved his fingers, gesturing the shape of a club, and said:

"If you summoned that monster, then you should remember, yes, that's right, the sword that can scratch the monster's skin."

A sword? Here we go again! What the hell are you anyway?

Looking at the cone on his shoulder that looked like it was made of inferior alloy, Org felt like crying. This was completely beyond his comprehension.

He felt the urge to run away again, but just as the thought crossed his mind, Ayn put down her sketchbook and stared at him with her seemingly innocent eyes, instantly dispelling his desire to escape.

"What's wrong? You seem to have completely given up on running away? Good dog."

Shirley grinned widely, causing her slightly reddish beard to bloom like a flower of Asura.

"I'm a nobody, I knew nothing about any supernatural or ghostly stuff before this. I wasted the first half of my life on the path of the army. Damn Oceania, they made us cross the fjord to a foreign land in Armadia. There I learned a skill from my devilish colleagues, the skill of torture."

Shirley pulled the awl out, then stabbed it into Org's joint, causing him to scream again.

Sherry twisted the awl and whispered in Orger's ear:

"I know the gangsters in Liberty City are no strangers to torture. But you city sluts would never imagine how my 'good comrades' treated those captured guerrillas."

He paused, a barely perceptible look of nausea flashing across his face, but this only made his next words seem even more sinister and terrifying.

"Those devils, they're experts on all sorts of Oceania specialties, Christmas roast suckling pig, onion rings, hamburgers... Of course you know what the ingredients are, one dish isn't enough, there's always a second. Ha, a bunch of lunatics, not even as good as that guerrilla fighter they tortured."

The genuine disgust on Shirley's face did not diminish her intimidation in the slightest; on the contrary, it was like ice coated with poison.

"That was a true tough guy; he never betrayed his countrymen, even in death. Just look at his face, and it's clear who was right and who was wrong. And what about you, Mr. Pig?"

Shirley's voice suddenly dropped to a low hue, like a viper striking, "Will you make me understand that I was wrong?"

The horrific description, coupled with the churning of the cone tip in his joints, caused Olger to tremble violently, as if he had fallen into an ice cave, with only a last shred of fragile dignity barely holding on.

Just then, he saw the cowardly mortal from before walk in carrying a huge pile of all sorts of awls and nails. And the freak who was now dressed up was now smiling and pointing at the pile of weapons, as if introducing some rare treasures.

"Yes, these are it... Hmm, they're all pretty good 'swords'..."

Orge's psychological defenses were completely broken down.

"I'll tell you everything."

Orge officially surrendered.

Mian stood up and gave Sherry a high five, celebrating their victory.

"Brother Mian, I did exactly as you said. Saying these things really disgusted me, but thankfully it worked."

Sherry gave Mian a bright smile.

Mian was also satisfied with his performance.

"Well done, Mr. Shirley. Also, how much of what you just said was true and how much was false?"

Shirley's smile froze, her eyes dimmed instantly, and her voice lowered: "Believe me, brother, you don't want to know the answer."

Mian understood and didn't press the matter further, only patting his shoulder firmly as a silent comfort. Then, his smile faded, and he turned to walk towards Org, who lay slumped on the ground, trembling. Mian could clearly feel that as he approached, the prisoner's body tensed even more, his fear almost tangible.

"Your... Your Excellency,"

Org's voice trembled uncontrollably.

"Who...who are you? Why are you...getting involved in this conflict?"

Mian looked down at him, her eyes cold, and spoke slowly in an unquestionable tone:

"Who I am is not something you should know. All you need to do is answer my questions."