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

Chapter 103 The Core Flaw of Capitalists

As Evan walked down the corridor to get home, he found himself locked out.

Fortunately, the secondary brain that was left at home has reconnected.

Then I saw it nimbly climb onto the door panel and pry open the chain lock and door lock.

Ivan casually retracted it into his body and looked at his apartment, which was now a mess from the fight.

The wardrobe is broken, the sofa is broken, and I even stepped on a hole in the floor.

Ivan ignored all of that and his gaze fell on the few empty potion bottles in the corner.

Click—

He chewed the three glass bottles like peanuts, then swallowed the shards mixed with the remaining medicine.

His previous experience of swallowing a bottle told him that these glass shards wouldn't have any effect on his digestive tract.

Their superior physical abilities prevented the shards of glass from causing any serious damage.

Small cuts in the stomach and intestines also healed rapidly thanks to the powerful self-healing ability.

The only effect is that when you go to the toilet a couple of days later, you will find that your excrement contains a lot of sparkling, translucent fragments.

It felt like I had defecated on glass.

After dealing with all that, Evan temporarily patched up the broken window with old newspapers and planks, then lay down on the bed.

The trampoline groaned for the nth time tonight.

He stared at the ceiling, thinking about tomorrow's plans.

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"It's time to find the third extraordinary ability."

An expert position requires three characteristics.

Cain thirsts for blood, copper plague, only one more is needed!

"Also, we need to investigate the virus issue as soon as possible; we'll go tomorrow afternoon."

He organized the information from tonight's battle and what he had gathered beforehand.

The Healing Church's copper-based methods, the Red King's laboratory's virus series, and the shadow of the Sap Mining Group —

"From what I can see now, this line involves the extraordinary individuals of the Golden Path, and the interests behind it are more complex than I thought."

"As for the factory owner's death, who would have thought I was the one who killed him?"

"Running away now would only throw you into disarray; playing dumb is the best strategy."

"If they really won't listen to reason, then we'll play all our cards and see who falls first!"

"Moreover, Dr. Armitage said that the factory owner and the judge are at odds, so as long as there is no full-scale official suppression, there is no need to worry about so much."

Evan, in an exceptionally cheerful mood, showed no signs of the fear and anxiety that followed his attempt to destroy the evidence.

He turned over and his gaze fell on the drawer of the bedside table.

"Since the Witcher's identity is too conspicuous, investigating him head-on would easily alert him—"

He reached into the drawer, pulled out a business card.

McCree Detective Agency.

This was left behind by the private investigator that LeBon's father had sent to investigate him.

"In the morning, I'll go to the medical school to work on the drug with Dr. Forem. In the afternoon, I'll go to the police station to pick up my gun, and then I'll go to McCree's office."

He casually tucked the business card under his pillow.

"The fact that McCrae was able to get a job like LeBron's shows that he has a lot of connections in the upper and middle circles."

"There's no need to start investigating superhumans from the superhuman side; the secular side is also a viable entry point."

"After all, the extraordinary individuals in this world are too deeply intertwined with society."

"Factory owners mainly run factories, financiers do business, and judges hold court hearings. They cannot exist completely detached from their secular identities."

"Investigating their business relationships, fund flows, and personnel changes from a secular perspective might be easier than investigating from a supernatural perspective."

While Ivan was sleeping. —

Federal Avenue, three blocks south of Beacon Hill.

The top floor of a six-story apartment building has only one unit.

The bronze plaque is engraved with the words "Elton".

In the bedroom, the electric wall lamp was turned to its dimmest setting, its orange glow only enough to illuminate a small area near the bed.

On the silk sheets, a middle-aged man in his early forties is entwined with a blonde woman.

Suddenly, the middle-aged man stopped moving.

"What's wrong, darling?" The blonde woman looked up, her voice carrying a professional yet coquettish tone.

The middle-aged man didn't answer her; he suddenly jumped up from the bed, looking shocked.

"Connor's life insurance policy has lapsed."

"He's dead?"

The blonde woman wanted to say something, but the middle-aged man had completely ignored her presence.

He grabbed his clothes and hurriedly put them on as he walked out.

"How is this possible?"

He was buttoning his shirt while his mind raced with thoughts.

"Wasn't that guy going to Guding Street to investigate that injured Witcher?"

Even if we can't win, we can definitely escape.

"He brought five bronze-clad guards with him."

"Who in that area doesn't know he's from the Elton family? Who dares to touch him?"

"Normally, this kind of investigation mission wouldn't attract any powerful figures."

He quickly went down the stairs to the ground floor garage, where a black Cadillac sedan was parked quietly.

His goal: Lighthouse Hill!

As the highest block in Bolton, it is also the most expensive piece of land in the entire city.

Sap Estate is located in a very good location on Lighthouse Hill.

The main building has three floors and two wings, with a circular driveway in the front courtyard that can accommodate twelve carriages at the same time.

The granite exterior walls gleamed a cold, greyish-white under the moonlight, and the glass in each of the tall windows was high-end, imported from Britain.

Deep within the manor, in a windowless reception room.

The walls were covered with fluorescent green wallpaper, the color of a US dollar bill.

The ceiling was low, there was no electricity in the room, and only a cast iron candlestick hung from the ceiling.

At that moment, a high-backed leather chair was facing the door, and a person was sitting on it.

He was in his early sixties, thin, and had an ordinary appearance.

But anyone who walks into this room can feel an indescribable sense of oppression even before they can see his face clearly.

That's the weight of money!

When a person controls assets large enough to affect the lives of tens of thousands of people, their very existence generates an effect similar to a gravitational field.

Rhys Sapp, a mining tycoon in Bolton City, and the current head of the Sapp family.

Sitting opposite him was a middle-aged man in his early forties.

His brown hair was neatly combed, his jawline was strong, and his nose was high.

His eyes and nose are almost identical to Alcott's, and overall they are about four-tenths similar.

Jack Alcott.

Bot's father, one of the core leaders of the Theosophical Society, is now the man on the front page of newspapers, known as the cult leader.

It's been almost a week since the Alcott Manor was raided, and hundreds of people have been arrested inside, with the core members basically all taken down.

Only he and a few core members received advance notice and slipped out through the back door before the arrest warrant was issued.

Those key members have already dispersed to branches in other states for refuge.

Only Jack remained.

He wanted to retrieve the silver key and, incidentally, avenge his beloved son.

But now that he himself is on the judge's arrest warrant, it would be too risky for him to personally investigate.

So he has been staying at the Sap Manor for the past few days, trying to persuade the old man to use his own power to help him.

"Mr. Sap, you must help me."

Jack acted very humbly, like a small businessman asking for a loan.

"That one-ninth of the silver key must be retrieved! Otherwise, we will be unable to unlock the witch's secret of immortality, nor will we be able to grant you immortality."

eternal life----

The moment the word reached his ears, Sap, who had been keeping his eyes closed, opened them.

The whites of those eyes were cloudy and covered with the yellow spots typical of old age.

But beneath the murky surface lies a cold and uncompromising scrutiny.

He's angry!

The collaboration with the Theosophical Society has lasted for nearly ten years.

Ten years ago, he was fifty years old, full of energy, his hair was not yet completely white, and he could ride a horse around the estate twice every morning.

Ten years later, he is sixty years old.

Although he was in good health, he clearly felt that it was much slower to get out of bed every morning than before.

Wealth is growing exponentially, but the body is aging at a linear rate.

This disparity is more terrifying for a person with countless assets than the threat of any enemy.

Capitalist is a collective term for three professions on the golden road.

Financier, judge, factory owner.

Three paths, three capabilities, but all sharing the same fatal flaw.

No immortality!

All other professions, even the three masters of sewers, generally have a lifespan of around two hundred years after becoming experts.

After becoming a master, one can live for three hundred years.

But those who live on the Golden Road are all short-lived!

Money can buy everything. Health, strength, servants, power, beauty, intelligence —

The only thing you can't buy is lifespan!

This aging body is the only problem Rhys Sap has ever faced that money can't solve.

That's why, when the Theosophical Society presented him with the promise of immortality ten years ago, he took a bite almost without hesitation.

It was precisely because of his support that the Theosophical Society was able to establish itself in Bolton so quickly.

Then it spread out at an extremely rapid pace.

"Jack".

Sap's voice wasn't loud, but it was full of coldness and oppression.

"You've disappointed me so much."

"You know how valuable that thing is, so why did you let your son take it out?"

A bitter look appeared on Jack's face.

"My lord, as you know, this is the nature of our profession as monks. Desire drives everything. After learning of the existence of the Silver Key, Bot has been trying to obtain it by any means necessary."

His voice carried a hint of doting helplessness.

"He attacked me, threatened me with suicide, and used every means possible—stealing, robbing, and cheating—all for that key."

"You know how difficult it is to have children after reaching the extraordinary level, and he also has certain innate characteristics. I really can't bring myself to do it."

A doting father often spoils his son.

"It should have been safe. He's had the Silver Key for almost a year now, and he's been to New Haven several times without incident. I thought—"

"Mr. Alcott————"

Sap seemed to sense something and interrupted him directly.

"I'll call you when I need you. Go and rest first."

There was no room for negotiation in that tone.

Jack sensed the coldness and contempt in the voice, obediently bowed slightly, and slunk out of the reception room.

The sound of footsteps faded away down the corridor.

Less than thirty seconds after the door closed again, another series of hurried footsteps came from the other end of the corridor.

The middle-aged man who had sped all the way from Federal Avenue, Penco Elton, rushed into the reception room.

"What's wrong, Elton?" Sap asked, his tone puzzled.

His business partner has always been fairly steady.

Penco Elton, General Manager of Elton Canned Foods Group, and one of the business partners of Sapp Group.

He was also Connor Elton's uncle, who died tonight on the hills outside the city.

"Mr. Sapp, Connor is dead!"

He walked over quickly, his voice filled with panic.

"The death was very sudden; the life insurance coverage was immediately terminated."

Upon hearing this, Sap leaned forward slightly, and his previously cloudy eyes instantly sharpened.

"Wasn't he going to Guding Street today?"

Elton nodded, his hurried voice full of doubt.

"Yes! We went to investigate the lead on the injured witcher, but something unexpected happened."

"Mr. Sap, I have a feeling there's a conspiracy here."

"The judge's purge of the Theosophical Society was far too swift!"

"From the issuance of the arrest warrant to the sealing off of the Alcott estate, less than two hours elapsed. This efficiency doesn't seem like a spur-of-the-moment decision."

.

"And that scoundrel witcher had a conflict with that old bastard Pris before, and recently he suddenly started investigating the witch under your command and the mine."

He tentatively guessed, "Could he be on the judge's side?"

Sap didn't answer immediately, but closed his eyes and thought for a few seconds.

"Has someone been harassing us lately?"

"I'm sending someone to find the leader of the Gus gang and ask him what's going on."

"Then find Connor's body as soon as possible."

Elton nodded repeatedly, then tentatively asked.

"Mr. Nasap—Connor's position—"

Sap nodded and said, "Call your son over."

"I'll talk to your brother and let your son inherit the factory."

The factory owner's extraordinary core is not some condensate, potion, or ritual.

It's about asset ownership!

A factory, a production line, massive output and money —

These things are the extraordinary vessels of the factory owner.

Now that Connor is dead, ownership of his extraordinary factory is naturally vacant.

A new factory owner is about to be born.

The grief on Elton's face instantly turned into uncontrollable ecstasy.

"Thank you! Thank you, Mr. Sap!"

He bowed repeatedly, then left with light steps.

Guding Street late at night.

In a secluded underground room.

This is the core secret stronghold of the Gus gang, and no more than five people in the entire gang are allowed to enter this room.

The room was small with a low ceiling, and the air was filled with the special fragrance emitted by these specially made candles as they burned.

The four walls were covered with eye-shaped runes, and each eye rune had a thumb-sized citrine embedded in its pupil.

Dozens of mirrors of varying sizes hung on the walls, stood on the floor, and even stuck to the ceiling, reflecting the light from the few candles everywhere.

In the very center of the room was an old chair covered in black leather.

At this moment, a middle-aged man dressed in a black robe was sitting in the chair.

He sat cross-legged in a relaxed posture, his closed eyes seemingly looking at something.

Just then, a bird landed on his shoulder.

The bird wasn't alive; its body was made of three folded ten-dollar bills.

The messenger of money!

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