Demigod Mage in America

David Martinson, a Norwegian, was 40 years old when his grandfather fled to America with his father and they have lived there ever since.

David, his face flushed, tried to kick the man who was grabbing his neck, but failed.

Because he never imagined that someone's arms would be longer than his legs!

After several failed attempts, David's fingertips glowed with a dark light as he reached out to grab the number one hand.

*Slap!* Another slap left him completely stunned.

"Believe me, sir. If you try again, you won't be greeted with such a simple greeting."

A greeting? Is this what you call a greeting?

David was furious, but the large hand held him down so he couldn't move.

A suffocating sensation began to spread through his head, gradually leading to exhaustion and the impending...death.

"I'll talk...cough cough cough...I'll talk! Stop...it!"

He coughed, signaling to Ryan to stop; he was willing to cooperate.

Having received his instructions, Number 1 released his grip and slowly walked to stand beside Ryan. He had already found a high chair to sit on.

He looked down at David and said, "Speak."

As soon as he finished speaking, Ryan saw David reach under his trouser leg and pull out another small weapon, a small and thin scalpel.

The blade is long and narrow, gleaming with a ghostly green light.

Although his movements were slowed down 100 times in Renn's eyes, and he could have walked over and kicked it away right now if he wanted to, he didn't.

On the contrary, he was curious about what this person wanted to do.

A last-ditch effort? Loyalty to the boss? Or something else entirely?

Number One was about to instinctively raise his foot to stomp the ant next to him, but was frozen in place by a look from Rein.

[Freezing Humans]

The scalpel pierced into the tendon of Number One with lightning speed—at least that's how David perceived it.

No matter how strong a person is, they are vulnerable once the attack penetrates their body.

Under Renn's watchful eye, the knife successfully slit through Number One's flesh.

He got up, went to the bar, poured himself another beer, and returned to his seat to closely observe the workings of the extraordinary power in this world.

A kind of magic was drawn to David's scalpel, not to himself.

That's it!

Ryan suddenly realized that David and the dead Bruce were more like magical items that could be created and activated when needed.

It's similar to the whistle he gave Lux that can put anyone within 5 meters to sleep and can only be activated once a week.

Instead of like him, who internalizes magic and uses it to resonate with the magic network, then draws upon the raging energy of the magic network to form spells.

Renn won't comment on whether this system is good or bad, because he was also a magic warrior for a period of time and felt that its potential was quite high.

He would not make any rash comments about who was stronger or weaker before he had seen the world's peak combat power.

David tried to cut a bigger gash with his hand, but failed, and the expected gushing blood did not appear.

Instead, he witnessed a scene he would never forget.

The shriveled, purple flesh and blood tissue, with blood vessels that still wriggle when cut open.

This isn't a person; it's clearly a walking corpse!

Just then, the magical effect on Number One ended.

Although it has no sense of pain, it has gained a trace of human consciousness after merging with Toby, and knows what shame and anger are.

It grabbed David with one hand, lifted him upside down like a duck, and slammed its fist, as big as a clay pot, into his abdomen.

If it weren't for the prohibition against killing, this punch wouldn't have simply made David vomit up what he ate that morning.

Instead, muscles and skin are torn apart, punched and dented into the abdominal cavity, internal organs burst simultaneously due to the enormous force, and the lumbar vertebrae are instantly shattered.

One punch would be enough to kill David hundreds of times over.

Although he felt he was almost there, after vomiting up stomach acid for the third time, David finally felt better.

He almost died, at the hands of that monster, with his scalpel stuck in his outer thigh, clamped tightly by the muscles.

Ryan crossed his legs, leaned back on the bar, and said sarcastically, "Can we talk now?"

A flicker of pity crossed David's eyes. This man was utterly oblivious to his own mortality; his bodyguards had been turned into zombies and he still didn't know.

"Bruce works for my boss. I don't know anything about their work, I'm serious!"

David looked at Ryan with pity; the man was dying too, and with regret.

He couldn't help but regret it; he should have known better than to let him in. Now he had really brought trouble upon himself.

"So what do they usually do?"

"I don't know, I really don't know."

"You work for your boss and you know nothing about it?"

"I...I..." David stammered for a long time.

"If you keep dragging this on, the girl in the basement might be nearing the end of her life."

Upon hearing this, David's initially panicked expression froze, and his eyes widened in shock.

"How...how did you know!"

"What, aren't you going to tell me?"

Faced with the interrogation, David's eyes revealed sorrow and despair; he knew he was finished.

The boss knew he would definitely be killed, but if he didn't speak up, he would die right now.

A sense of sorrow and helplessness spread through his heart.

Gaining supernatural powers seems like a good thing, but these powers never brought him any benefits; on the contrary, a host of troubles followed.

"They traffic drugs, sometimes sell organs, and occasionally take in homeless minors," David said with a sigh.

His expression darkened slightly when he said those words.

Ryan placed his glass on the bar, his gaze chilling: "Are you... telling the truth?"

Has this country really lost all sense of decency?

He couldn't help but recall what he had seen online yesterday, specifically on a domestic platform.

Occupying 4% of the global population, supplying 70% of the blood plasma, consuming 70% of the world's drugs, holding 25% of the world's prisoners, and exporting the world's largest number of human organs—this is the beacon of freedom in his mind—the United States.

Has this country fallen so low?

However, Renn did not say this aloud.

"Really, I have no reason to lie to you."

"What's the purpose?"

David stammered again. He could talk about ordinary things, but he couldn't talk nonsense about the mystical world.

Talking about the boss might offend one person at most, but talking about the mystical world would leave him with no way out, and not only that, his family would also suffer a terrible fate.

Raine didn't speak, but simply extended his index finger, a wisp of flame dancing at the tip of his finger.

Then came the second and third streaks, until all five fingers were ablaze.

"So you are too..." David exclaimed in surprise.

Seeing this tactic, David suddenly realized why the other party had a zombie as a bodyguard.

Why didn't you just say you were from the mystical world?