I'm a proper student; I only take nine kinds of potions every day.

Chapter 102 The power of the poisonous blood directly melted...

These bronze bodyguards' self-healing abilities certainly didn't come from nowhere.

Financiers and factory owners are both professions where extraordinary abilities are driven by money.

Money is their fuel! It's their ammunition!

This makes these two professions virtually omnipotent in terms of ability.

Healing, enhancement, control, summoning—you can buy anything if you can afford the price.

The price to pay is that you have to spend money on everything.

He just spent a hundred dollars of his salary to buy Ivan's arm.

He willingly made that fist a part of his body and spent another hundred dollars on a signing bonus.

Since the start of the battle, the five bronze figures have burned through eight hundred dollars in their continuous self-healing and physical recovery.

Adding to the previous two hundred.

He has already lost a thousand in tonight's battle.

"Damn it!"

The young man ran while gritting his teeth, the wind blowing into his mouth where half of his teeth had been knocked out, making a strange whistling sound.

"Wait for me to get back! I'll make sure Mr. Sap turns you into my puppet!"

His legs were desperately pushing against the ground, and the city lights were faintly visible on the other side of the hills.

"Once you're back in the city, you'll never touch my clothes again!"

Just as the thought crossed his mind, his right leg suddenly went weak.

"What's going on?"

The young man paused for a moment, then stumbled.

Then, as if drugged, his entire body collapsed onto the withered grass without warning.

His limbs began to tense uncontrollably backward, his spine arched into a strange curve, and the back of his head almost touched his heels.

Every muscle was spasming, his jaw was clenched so tightly that it made a grinding sound, and a hoarse groan that didn't sound human came from his throat.

Call ~

A night breeze blew from the top of the hill and brushed against his cheek.

The wind was light, even gentle.

But the young man reacted as if he had been poked with a red-hot iron rod.

His entire body shrank abruptly, his pupils dilated to their limit, and a heart-wrenching scream was forced out from deep within his throat.

Fear of wind!

One of the typical symptoms of rabies.

"Am I poisoned?"

The young man's brain was working frantically between the intense spasms, and his face, distorted by muscle spasms, was filled with disbelief.

"When? How did you get infected?"

At this moment, he couldn't think of anything else!

"Insurance! Insurance! Disinfect me! Treat my illness!"

The young man roared, and then the money began to run out.

—10.

—10.

—10.

Under the power of money, the invisible supernatural force slightly relieved the spasms caused by rabies.

Before his body could relax, large and small lumps suddenly appeared on his chest and abdomen.

Twisted and proliferating, colorful warts spurted out from under the skin, a truly disgusting and horrifying sight.

Concentrated syphilis!

—10, —10, —10————

Driven by money, the self-healing power operates wildly, pushing those warts back one by one and eliminating them.

Just after he finished cleaning, both sides of his neck suddenly swelled up.

The lymph nodes swelled at a rate that defied physiology, the skin became shiny from being stretched, and large patches of dark spots appeared on the surface.

plague!

—10, —10, —10————

The dark spots have faded, and the lymph nodes have shrunk back.

Then the skin began to ulcerate.

"Damn it—damn it—"

The young man's voice no longer sounded human.

The forced breaths from the spasmodic, locked throat sounded like a chicken being choked.

He was curled up on the withered grass, his limbs twisted at an ergonomically unnatural angle.

In less than two minutes, his skin was covered with cysts and ulcers of various colors.

Some were swollen like blisters about to burst, while others had rotted through the skin, revealing the grayish-white fascia underneath.

A dark purple swelling appeared around his eye socket, squeezing his eyes into two thin slits.

Several fist-sized lumps bulged in her abdomen, stretching the once-perfect velvet vest out of shape.

He had run out of cash to treat the constant stream of illnesses that had been developing.

The last few banknotes turned to ashes a dozen seconds ago, leaving only a dozen seconds of breathing space.

Then a new wave of lesions came back, more intense, faster, and more concentrated than the last.

Press one down, and another immediately pops up.

"Am I really going to die like this?"

The young man struggled to open his eyes, but his swollen eye sockets only allowed him to see a blurry sliver of moonlight.

Not reconciled!

He comes from a family of merchants.

I've never worn a shirt for less than five dollars since I can remember, never eaten a hot dog from a street vendor, and never sat on a hard bench on a public tram.

At the age of twenty-two, he gained the family's approval and was sent down the extraordinary path of factory owner.

He has now mastered two complete extraordinary abilities.

First: Money corrupts. As long as the price is right, any creature of lower rank than him can be recruited as his servant.

One hundred dollars buys the loyalty of an arm, five hundred dollars buys ownership of a complete body.

Second: Personal insurance. Treatment can be obtained with money, and it can be renewed if you have the funds!

His own wounds, the wounds of his servants—as long as he has a balance in his hands, death will obediently wait outside my manor!

Combined with the factory owner's talent: factory contracts.

Those contracted servants were like cogs in his assembly line, to be deployed and rewarded or punished at will, available at his beck and call.

He is only twenty-four years old this year.

A wealth of possibilities lay before them, and immortality was within their grasp.

There is still so much surplus value in the factory waiting for him to extract.

Countless minor celebrities dream of getting into his bed.

He didn't want to die!

He can't die in a place like this! He can't die at the hands of a poor bastard living in a run-down apartment on Guding Street!

"I can't die! I—I am Connor Elton! I am the heir to the family—"

But he could no longer lift his hand, let alone speak.

The four thousand US dollars I brought with me when I left home have all been burned.

He had no money left, and all his abilities were useless.

His consciousness gradually blurred in a state of chaos.

The last thoughts that lingered in his mind were the new contract he hadn't had time to sign yet, and the meeting at ten o'clock tomorrow morning that was supposed to earn him another three thousand dollars.

the other side.

when!

Ivan punched him, and the bronze man's head never grew back.

The shattered, bronze-colored skull lay scattered on the withered grass, but showed no signs of healing.

The other four were in the same condition.

Severed limbs lay scattered on the ground, some still twitching in their final moments, but their regenerative abilities had completely ceased.

"It seems there's a limit to how well these things can heal themselves." Ivan shook the liquid off his fist and glanced at the wreckage scattered on the ground.

Once it was confirmed that they would not tip off anyone, the Demon Hunter's Vision was activated immediately. The 3 points of Insight enhanced the perception range and accuracy of the Demon Hunter's Vision.

The extraordinary traces left by the young man when he fled were as clear in his vision as footprints in the snow.

Ivan strode after him.

He wasn't worried that the other party could escape.

The instant he realized his arm was being corrupted by money, he had already infused his fist with a large dose of concentrated plague clusters.

And the bronze fist that he deliberately left inside the other person's body was not a mistake.

With his current physique of 11.6, the young man had no chance of holding his hand; he could easily pull it away if he wanted to.

The reason for leaving that section is to provide a base for the continuous release of the plague, allowing it to continuously transmit the virus into the flesh and blood of the enemy from within.

"Even if he manages to cure the virus with his own money, there's still the risk of his own blood becoming infected."

As Evan hurried through the withered grass, he made plans in his mind.

"Now that you've seen my trump card and injured my senior brother, you must die here today."

"But I hope you can hold on a little longer and not give up."

He clicked his tongue: "I still have some questions to ask."

The effects of the Silver Key have not yet been tested.

In the demon hunter's vision, the trajectory of that extraordinary aura suddenly stopped a hundred meters away.

Ivan quickened his pace to the location, glanced around, but didn't see a single person.

The footprints on the withered grass had disappeared here, so the body should have been nearby.

However, the Demon Hunter's Vision did not detect any human-like figures.

After looking around without finding anything, Ivan lowered his head and searched carefully.

Then I noticed an oval-shaped shallow pit about two meters away from me.

There was no corpse, no bones, no flesh in the depression.

There was only a pool of black, viscous liquid slowly seeping into the soil.

The moment I saw this thing, I knew what it was just by smelling it.

The black trench coat is gone, the dark red velvet vest is gone, the calfskin shoes are gone, even the bones are gone —

Nothing was left behind!

In the end, everything turned into a pool of viscous substance similar to factory waste liquid.

After squatting silently by the pit for a few seconds, Evan couldn't help but start cursing.

"You think you can be a factory owner? You're a complete waste of space."

"You were putting on such a show just now, how come you died so quickly?"

He reached out and grabbed a handful of soil soaked in black slime.

This stuff is very sticky; as he stretches it with his fingers, he can pull out very long threads.

He sighed as he played with the slime.

"I deliberately thickened the copper-coated shell, just in case the poisonous blood seeped out and killed you prematurely."

"You're something else! The King of Hell wanted you to die at midnight, but to leave a good impression, you went to report for duty at 2 AM."

He could roughly deduce why this guy died so quickly.

The young man used his abilities to twist the bronze fist that remained inside his body and make it a part of himself.

However, during the twisting process, the copper-coated protective shell of the fist was damaged.

Once the shell breaks, the poisonous blood sealed inside gush out.

Blood filled with various toxins was poured directly into his body cavity, which was already riddled with holes from the plague.

That's not a problem that can be solved by treatment.

Ivan straightened up, his gaze turning cold.

"This guy's identity must be extraordinary; we can't leave any traces."

He looked around at the surrounding terrain, and on the other side of the hills, he could faintly hear the sound of waves crashing against the rocks.

The salty smell of the Atlantic Ocean drifted in on the night breeze.

"I can't let my hand be exposed."

He squatted down again and carefully felt the ground with his palm.

After the slime has completed its corrosive process, it has lost its toxicity and activity, becoming an inert organic residue that is being slowly absorbed by the soil.

It will not continue to spread, but if someone comes to do testing, anomalies can still be detected from the soil composition.

Ivan took off his old shirt and spread it on the ground.

Then he adjusted the shape of his hands, extending all ten fingers, making them flatter and wider, and after being copperized, they became two small shovels.

He started digging.

The contaminated soil was shoveled onto the shirt, and soon a large pile had accumulated.

After digging, he pocketed the four corners of his shirt, tied it tightly, and carried it on his shoulder.

Within two minutes, he had crossed the ridge of the hill.

The sea is right beneath your feet.

Moonlight shone on the dark sea, where waves crashed against the rocks, creating a layer of white foam.

Ivan divided the pile of contaminated soil into several clumps the size of a human head and threw them one by one toward the deep sea.

With a physique of 11.6 and a full-force throw, each ball of soil flew hundreds of meters away, tracing a famous arc before plunging into the dark seawater.

In his demon hunter's vision, he watched as those clumps of earth collapsed and sank rapidly after entering the water, carried by the ocean currents into the depths, and finally disappeared beyond the limits of his vision.

Ivan nodded in satisfaction: "I'm so smart!"

Then they turned back and made several more trips.

All the rocks, grass roots, and loose soil that had come into contact with the slime were cleaned up and sent into the belly of the Atlantic Ocean in the same way.

On his last trip, he also dismantled the remains of the five bronze figures.

Bronze-colored limbs, torso, and shattered head were carried to the beach piece by piece and tossed into the sea like trash.

It was already 10 p.m. when everything was cleaned up.

Ivan stood atop the hill, the sea breeze blowing his silver hair back.

Another victory!

"Wait! What about the extraordinary characteristics?" Evan suddenly remembered.

He immediately thought back carefully and was certain that there was absolutely nothing like a sweet potato in the soil just now.

After all, that thing is quite large.

First, we can rule out the possibility that he threw himself into the sea.

"It was dissolved by my poisonous blood? That shouldn't be possible, right?" Evan frowned slightly.

"However, we haven't actually tested the toxicity of the poisonous blood yet."

"The second possibility is that someone took it? But there are no other traces of anyone else or any supernatural remnants around."

"Forget it, I'll ask someone when I have time. The knowledge barriers in this extraordinary world are too severe."

"Perhaps this is simply a characteristic of the factory owner's profession?"

He then quickly returned to Guding Street.

At this time, the streets are almost deserted.

Ivan stood downstairs in his red-brick apartment building and looked up at the second floor.

His window was completely shattered, the frame hung crookedly on the wall, and the night wind blew in, making the curtains billow.

"I'm going to have to spend money again!" he sighed.

Repairing a pane of glass and the window frame will cost at least $1.50!

"But how did this kid find me? And how did he track down my senior brother's footsteps?"

He frowned, went over the question in his mind twice, but couldn't find a definite answer.

"Tsk." He clicked his tongue.

"Be more careful in the future. Sometimes it's not a good thing if the enemy dies too quickly."

If no one is captured alive, the intelligence will be cut off.

I need to control the intensity next time.

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