Demigod Mage in America

Renn took Number One out the door; he didn't use magic, but walked.

The weather in America is unpredictable. It was drizzling just before Christmas, even though it had been cloudy a moment ago.

Ryan hates rainy days because he has to use an umbrella.

Since I've decided to experience life, I might as well live like an ordinary person.

Number One's tall stature was already quite eye-catching, but this was amplified by his attire and the way he held the umbrella for Renn.

However, in the United States, any performance art can be understood as long as it is not illegal.

The armor of number one is waterproof; rainwater is absorbed by the fleece surface and does not splash everywhere.

The master and servant walked along the road, strolling through Manhattan in the rain.

Not long after he stepped outside, Ryan saw a black man snatch another black man's purse, and a police officer was standing nearby. A chase scene then unfolded before his eyes.

The farce ended with police officers emptying the magazine.

However, what he couldn't understand was why these Americans weren't using umbrellas. Didn't they feel uncomfortable?

This was especially true after I saw an office worker running past me with a newspaper on his head for the third time.

They even gave Renn strange looks, and some of them were even more direct.

"Hey buddy, don't you go to work?" asked one of the men, who was likely Asian or Southeast Asian.

Ryan was wearing a dark red plaid shirt and casual pants; with his face, he could easily pass for a student.

He was taken aback for a moment, then laughed and said, "I work for myself."

Upon hearing that Ryan was self-employed, the other person suddenly realized what was going on. Looking at his ordinary attire and the burly man holding an umbrella beside him, they immediately cast an envious glance at him.

It's impressive that someone so young can be self-employed and afford bodyguards.

After saying goodbye, Ryan continued walking along the street, directly through the park.

96th Street and the park have only pedestrian entrances; motor vehicles cannot pass through.

Homeless people come to Central Park at night, but the police always manage to chase them away before residents get up during the day.

As for why they didn't go to the shelters but instead ran on the streets, it's because shelters only provide short-term confinement and prohibit the use of illegal drugs. If you want to become a god, you can only go outside.

Central Park was still bustling after the rain. After refusing to give his contact information to the three women for the third time, Ryan left amidst their disappointed gazes.

He's very picky about things.

An average-looking face wouldn't catch his eye.

It wasn't that no one tried to confront him directly, but seeing Number One behind him, they silently kept quiet.

Although he was dressed strangely, this guy was obviously a bodyguard; bodyguards are all ruthless people.

After all, American bodyguards are not like domestic security personnel; they could genuinely face death threats at any time.

Ryan quickly crossed the park and arrived at the exit on 97th Street.

By this time, the sky had cleared up.

"Damn this weather."

Sometimes he even thinks about taking matters into his own hands and fixing the weather in Manhattan.

There isn't a significant difference between rich and poor on East 96th and 97th Streets; life remains largely the same.

Lexton Bar is located at the intersection of Second Avenue and East 97.

It's not hard to find in Raine; it's a wooden building with a retro Western style.

The gate was tightly shut, and it was pitch black inside.

Without his prompting, Number One, under his control, walked over and knocked on the door with a thought.

Ryan, with his hands in his pockets, watched as a woman on a motorcycle rear-ended a car.

"Oh, no!" A young blonde woman with blue eyes looked completely bewildered as she took off her helmet.

When she noticed Ryan's gaze, she blushed and turned away.

"Who are you?"

Ryan's attention shifted from the unrelated people; he turned to look at the man who opened the door.

His short gray hair was streaked with gray at the temples, and his brown eyes revealed a sense of vicissitude.

He was wearing bleached jeans and a loose short-sleeved shirt, somewhat similar to Ryan's attire, and work boots.

Most men gain weight to some extent as they reach middle age, but this man did not.

He either works in physically demanding jobs or he has a habit of exercising.

"My name is Ryan, and I'm here to see the owner of this bar."

Number One stepped aside, revealing Renn behind him.

Judging from his appearance, he looks like a young man who has just graduated from school, highlighting his naivety and lack of worldly experience.

The man clearly thought so too; he gestured for them to leave as if shooing away flies.

Then you need to close the door.

Thud! A muffled sound, and a hand gripped the door frame tightly, pinning it down.

Clang! Clang!

No matter how hard the man tried, he couldn't close the glass door frame; their struggle even shook the dust off the door.

"Don't be nervous, I mean no harm." Ryan stepped forward and waved his hand gently. Number One released his grip and stepped aside.

This scene caused the man's expression to change again, and he became even more wary.

"Would it be convenient for me to come in and talk?"

Ryan smiled and stepped forward. The man hesitated for a moment, but then made way for him.

"Come in, but I'm warning you, don't get any funny ideas, or I won't be polite."

Ryan nodded, smiled, and went inside, ignoring the man's warning.

"By the way, are you Mr. Murphy?"

"No, I'm just an employee. If you want to talk to my boss, you should come at the end of the month."

Raine didn't answer, but instead looked around.

The overall structure is made of dark wood, and there are deer antlers and bear heads hanging on the wall, but they are obviously fake.

Behind the bar, there was a wooden bulletin board with several yellowed wanted posters nailed to it.

"The atmosphere is well done," Ryan commented, noticing that the man's hand remained behind his waist.

The man quietly approached the side of Renn, the spot leading to the escape route. "Thank you for the compliment, but may I tell you why I'm here?"

"Do you know someone named Bruce Allen?" Ryan pulled out a nameplate, a relic he had salvaged from the dueling arena.

It has been restored to its current brand-new appearance through restoration techniques, and the words "Liketon Bar" are engraved on it.

Upon hearing the name, the man's expression changed. He quickly gripped the hilt of his knife behind his back, drew it, and thrust the tactical dagger towards Renn.

With a soft thud, Number One's palm blocked the dagger. Rein had instructed it not to kill, so it chose to use its body to block the attack.

With a crisp sound, the tactical dagger was snapped in two by Number One's rapidly recovering muscles.

As mentioned before, Death Warriors learn on their own, including recording their pain.

They know to toughen up after being hit, and they know how to heal themselves after being injured, etc.

Bang! The man was grabbed by Number One's steel-like hand and lifted up.

Two slaps landed on his face, turning his originally fair complexion instantly red.

Ryan sometimes found that these white people were more likely to become famous than he thought; in fact, they should be called "celebrity people."

Even the thirteen-time world champions didn't become famous as easily as them.

Ryan stood behind the bar and made himself a drink.

Hmm, it tastes awful.

He calmly put down his glass and poured himself another beer.

Raine scanned the basement and found that the girl was not in any life-threatening danger.

He downed the beer in one gulp before turning around to ask.

"Is it convenient for you to tell me now?"