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Professor Gemma Benitez, renowned for her academic prowess, had only 17 students in her class. A few of them were likely unlucky students who hadn't managed to secure their desired courses and were ruthlessly "assigned" to this position by the system. This drastic reduction in numbers had an unexpected effect—Professor Benitez even had the time to focus on each person's research interests. Her strictness remained unwavering, like a hammer forging steel, but those who persevered in this furnace were nothing short of exceptionally refined. For an entire month, not a single assignment was marked "unsatisfactory."
Professor Hall White's class presented a completely different picture. Kane didn't count, but it must have been around thirty students. How many were genuinely eager to learn, and how many were opportunists trying to slack off in the relaxed atmosphere, was unknown. Classroom discipline was relatively stable, and no one dared to truly misbehave. However, the facade of "strangers" that Kane and Christensen had carefully maintained began to crumble during their first collaborative project.
At that time, Christensen seemed to be facing isolation. Although, given her status, ordinary students might not dare to refuse if she forcefully intervened in a group, Kane remembered their agreement. Thus, the two universally acknowledged "oddballs" in the corner of the classroom formed a partnership. Their assignments, with their undeniable quality and depth, became the benchmark for the entire class. Those classmates who had secretly sneered had to admit: beneath the exterior of these oddballs lay a remarkable core of genius.
As for the two elective courses, they present a bizarre and outlandish ecosystem.
The "Film Appreciation and Production" course, renowned as a "paradise for slacking off," attracted over two hundred students, filling an entire lecture hall. The lecturer, Professor Lucia Mills, was a young Phyllis woman. Beneath her flowing, shoulder-length emerald-green hair was a delicate face perpetually adorned with a mysterious smile, paired with sophisticated attire that exuded mature charm. Kane had witnessed her being stopped by bold suitors more than once—the suitors ranging from young professors and students to even outsiders.
Kane judged that the professor's mind was far from as gentle as it appeared. To be able to gather over two hundred restless minds in the lecture hall, without the coercive pressure of Benitez, maintaining a delicate balance solely through verbal suggestion, provocation, and sowing—such methods were truly art. Her cinematic expertise was naturally profound. She had worked in Lancaster and held the copyrights to three films. Curious students later discovered that these three works were not commercial blockbusters, but rather profound works poured the hearts and souls of a small team, exploring the subtleties of human nature. According to Professor Mills's understated remark, they were merely "the musings of her adolescence."
Given her talent even in her student days, Kane speculated that she was more likely now active as a script doctor or lead screenwriter than a set director. However, Kane's focus wasn't on that—he and Muirsey tacitly occupied the edge of the classroom, quietly attending the lesson. The only "trouble" was that the course had no regular assignments, but the final requirement was a hard requirement: to shoot a short film on the theme of "youth and student life."
"Human Biology," due to its demanding professional requirements, had a similar number of students as required courses. The instructor, Professor Letty Jefferson, was an elderly woman named Liberi. Her background was equally impressive—she came from the prominent Jefferson family of Columbia. In class, Kane astutely noticed that several students were clearly not focused on the complex diagrams, but rather on how to use the elderly professor's "hobbies" to strike up a conversation.
Perhaps it's due to her age, or perhaps it's the influence of her profession, but Professor Jefferson possesses an almost obsessive passion for health and wellness. Fortunately, her professional expertise is enough to discern pseudoscience, preventing her from being misled by inferior health products. However, she tirelessly reiterates: early to bed and early to rise, basking in the morning sunlight, moderate exercise… Furthermore, she has a particular fondness for Columbia Modern Era clothing. Perhaps in her distant childhood memories, the sight of her parents dressed in such elegant attire subtly planted the seeds of her aesthetic sensibilities.
"Training is over for today." Saria's voice remained steady, filled with a reassuring quality.
"Thank you for your hard work," Kane replied succinctly.
The two walked side by side to the equipment area, skillfully removing their boxing gloves and protective gear. The power of habit is truly astonishing. Kane, who was a complete novice just a month ago, now moved with a fluidity born of training.
After washing away the sweat and fatigue in the shower, Kane began his journey home. He didn't choose the convenient city rail, deciding instead to walk. It wasn't far from Central Avenue, where he often had dinner, and if he came across a restaurant with unique flavors, he'd recommend it to Muirsey. Unfortunately, Miss Elf was currently engrossed in building a complex miniature ecological model, and had even stopped updating her blog for a week.
"Hmm... Come to think of it, it's not far from here."
"Hmm...it's not far from that shop." Kane's mind raced. He remembered the unique flavors of the Neapolitan pizzeria. He hadn't been there for a month; it would be a good time to try some other flavors.
He maintained his jogging pace, his figure weaving through the city's main thoroughfares and narrowing alleyways. Familiarity with the interior of Trimont Polytechnic University was just the beginning; Kane consciously expanded his "cognitive map." While much of Trimont's landscape remains shrouded in mystery in his database, the areas he frequently frequents are now clearly illuminated.
Drip, drip—sparse raindrops fell from the sky, quickly turning into a fairly heavy downpour.
Kane calmly pulled a folding umbrella from his backpack and opened it—being prepared for any eventuality was a fundamental quality of his. The slippery road forced him to switch from jogging to walking.
As he turned into the backstreet area where the Naples shop was located, the Rupert's keen sense of smell detected something unusual—a sweet, metallic scent mixed with the damp air.
It's the smell of blood.
Kane followed the scent to its source. Thin streaks of diluted crimson, washed away by the relentless rain, were carried into the dark sewer grate beside the road. Under the cover of the downpour, these traces vanished in an instant. The fact that Kane could detect them meant they were fresh, almost steaming hot.
"It seems that even though Tremont has a good security situation, it's impossible to get the crime rate to zero."
Chapter 25 One Against Three
Kane slowed his pace, disappearing silently into the shadows of the rainy night, making his way deeper into the alley. Turning a corner, the scene of the crime came into view.
Three imposters surrounded the victim—one in overalls, one in a delivery uniform, and the other dressed as a white-collar worker. In the Colombian crowds, concealing themselves was incredibly easy. The only thing they had in common? All three were Lupo. As for the victim…
It was her?
The victim sitting on the ground leaning against the wall was Rupert, the daughter of the manager of the Naples pizzeria—the girl who had once slipped Kane her contact information. At this moment, she was in a terrible state, her clothes were soaked and stained, and her clothes around her abdomen were stained with blood, clearly indicating that she had suffered serious injuries.
"Kid. Blame your father, Polk, for being so ungrateful!" The leader of the "deliverymen" spoke coldly, pulling a gleaming dagger from his pocket. He aimed the blade at the shop assistant's heart and plunged it down! If this stab landed, her life would be over instantly!
Whoosh—smack!
In the nick of time, an empty bottle ripped through the rain and smashed precisely into the "deliveryman's" temple! A dull thud followed, and the glass shattered! The deadly thrust was aborted, and the attacker groaned and staggered backward. This sudden turn of events instantly drew the attention of the other two men!
"Who?!" The angry roar echoed in the rainy alley.
Kane remained in the motion of throwing the glass bottle, his eyes full of defiance; whether it was his actions or the fact that the murder had been witnessed—in any case, the three gang members were not going to let him leave here alive.
"*Syracist profanity*!"
The two uninjured Ruperts, enraged like wolves smelling blood, pounced on Kane in an instant! The cold glint of daggers and the metallic edges of brass knuckles traced dangerous paths in the rain. The ferocity and killing intent of a street fight were palpable! An ordinary student facing this scene would probably have been terrified.
But in Kane's eyes, there was only an almost experimental eagerness. Saria's teaching was indeed strict, but it was ultimately sparring with restraint. He needed a real yardstick to measure the results of this month of training—a real combat assessment without protective gear, a matter of life and death.
"go to hell!"
A dagger pierced the ribs, a brass knuckles aimed straight for the face! In Kane's view, however, the two men's movements seemed slowed down by the rain, riddled with openings. The habits ingrained from street brawls made them go all out with every strike, leaving no room for retreat—which, in the eyes of true fighters, was tantamount to suicide.
Kane shifted his feet slightly, his body sliding sideways like a fish, the dagger grazing the hem of his clothes and missing its mark! At the same time, his right fist, imbued with the power of his waist and abdomen, slammed into the "white-collar worker's" liver area like a cannonball!
"Ugh!" The sharp, dull pain caused the attacker to arch his back instantly—an extremely dangerous stance in the boxing ring! Without hesitation, Kane's left fist, which had been poised for a punch, came from below, delivering a textbook uppercut that landed precisely on the opponent's jaw! If he hadn't clenched his teeth while taking the punch, he might have bitten off his tongue.
Crack! The sickening sound of bones breaking was drowned out by the sound of rain. The "white-collar worker" didn't even have time to let out a final scream before collapsing limply to the ground.
"Tsk!" The last remaining "worker" narrowed his eyes, but instead of backing down, a fierce excitement flashed in his eyes.
"Kid, don't think you're the only one who's trained! I've shed blood and sweat in the gym too!" His footwork suddenly became sharper, his punches faster and heavier! His fists, clad in brass knuckles, moved in afterimages, each strike carrying the threat of tearing flesh. This was a true thug who had learned killing techniques!
Kane calmly retreated, the narrow alleyway quickly compressing his space to dodge. Soon, the cold wall pressed against his back.
Success! The "worker's" eyes gleamed with ferocity as he thrust his brass knuckles, aiming straight for Kane's face! He could already picture the man's bloodied and battered state.
During the fight, observe the opponent's habits and weaknesses, and seize the opportunity the moment the opponent makes a mistake to deliver a fatal blow.
Saria's cold voice echoed in Kane's mind, but his heart remained calm.
His dominant hand is his left, so he always hesitates when he throws a right punch. Now that I'm cornered, he'll definitely be eager to deliver the final blow.
Just as Kane had expected, he had anticipated the other party's actions perfectly.
In a flash, Kane's right hand shot out like an iron clamp, precisely grabbing the opponent's outstretched right wrist! The spikes of the brass knuckles were only an inch away from his nose! With a burst of immense force, Kane yanked backward, disrupting his opponent's balance, while his left fist, infused with all his strength, slammed into the outside of his opponent's exposed elbow joint like a heavy hammer!
Snap!
The chilling sound of bones cracking was clearly audible! The arm was twisted in the opposite direction at an angle that was absolutely contrary to human physiology!
"Aaaaaahh ...
"!"
Kane looked up abruptly, a flash of cold golden light disappearing from his eyes.
At the same time—BOOM!
A deafening explosion rang out in the alley! The "deliveryman" leader, who had just struggled to his feet and whose face was covered in blood, was now staring in horror at his mangled, smoking right hand—and the charred fragments of his prized Lateran pistol scattered all over the ground!
"No...impossible! What did you do?!" The leader's voice was hoarse and strained, contorted with excruciating pain and extreme fear.
Just moments ago, the leader, still dazed from being hit by the bottle, recovered and was horrified to find that two of his trusted henchmen had been killed in an instant. The shadow of death loomed over him! Without hesitation, he pulled out his trump card—an old but incredibly powerful Lateran pistol.
Guns – one of the representatives of Laterano. Their style and killing method are no different from "firearms", but their principle is very different from gunpowder guns. Their core concept is more like a staff. Each shot is a spell to "launch" a spell unit. Therefore, its power depends not only on its own design, but also on the user's magical talent. If the talent is not good, even a fully automatic gun can be fired as a bolt-action gun.
Lateran has very strict restrictions on firearms; if anyone smuggles them, Lateran's arrest warrants will track you to the ends of the earth. Of course, Syracuse, Blacksteel International, and Lateran have reached an agreement that allows for the opening of channels for handguns and some high-end firearms.
This petty boss's ability to use this as a trump card clearly demonstrates his talent—this unexpected pistol has helped him defeat powerful enemies countless times, and it has helped him turn the tide of battle countless times; it will surely do so again this time!
However, the moment the cold muzzle was aimed at Kane, the intricate Originium etching circuitry inside the gun seemed to be under an invisible royal decree, instantly going out of control! The expensive etched bullet failed to fire, instead bursting forth violently from within the sealed barrel!
The first rule of survival on Terra: Never, ever use an Originium weapon against someone with Originium Level 1 privileges. That would be tantamount to holding a blade to your own throat.
Chapter 26 The Key to Syracuse (4k)
The stench of blood in the alley had not yet been completely washed away by the rain when a more urgent, panicked sound of rummaging through drawers and a hoarse shout erupted from the back door of the neighboring Naples store!
"Maria! My Mary! Where are you?!"
"Bang!" The back door was violently flung open! John Polk, the old shopkeeper, burst out, soaking wet. Rain streamed down his face, mingling with sweat, but most shocking was his face, contorted with extreme terror. His existing scars were twisted together in fear, enough to make any timid child scream instantly.
“Maria!” John’s bloodshot eyes scanned the rainy alley frantically, instantly locking onto the figure in the corner. He saw Kane, and the three attackers writhing and screaming on the ground, but all of that was blurred like background noise. His world consisted only of his daughter lying in the muddy pool of blood. He staggered forward, his rough hands trembling as he tried to touch her, yet afraid of aggravating her injuries.
Kane's tense nerves relaxed slightly. He had expected this pain-stricken Rupert man to attack indiscriminately like a wounded beast, but clearly, his overwhelming concern for his daughter's safety had temporarily suppressed his vengeful rage.
"She suffered a penetrating wound to the abdomen and has lost a lot of blood." Kane's voice was like a lifeline, falling into the man's chaotic mind.
"If you want to save her, immediately carry her to a clean place. I can provide emergency treatment."
Kane walked up behind the anxious old shopkeeper, and his words immediately won the old shopkeeper's agreement. This seasoned veteran, who had escaped the bloodshed of Syracuse unscathed, pieced together seven-tenths of the truth based solely on the scene and Kane's demeanor. A debt of gratitude is greater than anything!
“Okay!” John growled, but his movements were unusually careful and gentle as he picked up his unconscious daughter, who was his whole world. He didn’t look at the three bastards on the ground who were destined for a miserable end, and carried Maria back into the shop, heading straight for the living room on the second floor, where he carefully placed his daughter on a clean bed.
"Wait a moment, let me take emergency measures first."
Kane's fingers flew swiftly, precisely prying off several key Originium components from the surrounding objects. He knelt on one knee beside the bed, lifting Maria's blood-soaked clothes to reveal the gruesome, still-bleeding gash in her abdomen. Kane's hand hovered over it, a faint glow emanating from his palm. He drew upon a spell he had recorded from his spellbook, using the freshly removed Originium components as the activation medium.
A gentle yet powerful life force instantly flowed into the wound! The deep wound contracted and stopped bleeding at a visible speed, the severed muscle fibers and damaged blood vessels being meticulously stitched together as if by invisible, skillful hands! The miracle of Originium Arts in the medical field was displayed at this moment—it could forcefully snatch a sliver of life from the Grim Reaper's scythe. Skilled medical sorcerers are forever among the most revered and sought-after beings on the continent of Terra.
"Alright, the emergency treatment is complete. Next, we just need to take her to the hospital. After all, the internal injuries require more professional assessment and treatment."
Seeing a faint trace of color return to his daughter's previously deathly pale face, and her breathing becoming steady, John Polk's heart, which had been pounding in his chest, finally settled back into place. He took a deep breath, and the composure and orderliness characteristic of an old-school "family" member instantly returned.
“John Polk. I owe you my life! The Polk family will never forget this debt!” He straightened his back, his gaze as sharp as a hawk as he looked at Kane, each word carrying the heavy promise of Syracuse.
“I’ve already notified my two sons to come immediately, and they will handle those three bastards properly. Now, I must get Maria to the hospital right away. If you need anything, please just tell my two sons.” With that, he picked up his daughter again and rushed down the stairs like a whirlwind, heading towards the nearest hospital.
Kane sat alone at a clean table in the shop, which reeked of flour and a faint smell of blood. The shop was closed for the day; it seemed John had received a tip and gone beforehand, but Maria had unfortunately been caught.
The roar of an engine soon broke the silence of the rain. A heavily modified, ruggedly painted land motorcycle screeched to a halt in front of the shop. Two young Rupo men, whom John's sons had seen in the shop before, burst in. They were soaked to the bone, rain streaming down their muscular vests, their eyes burning with lingering anger and worry for their sister. But when they saw Kane sitting unharmed in the shop, their anger instantly transformed into deep gratitude.
Without any hesitation, the two strode up to Kane and knelt down on one knee in perfect unison! Their heads were bowed deeply, their posture like knights swearing allegiance to their family's benefactor.
"Sir!" The older brother, who was in the lead, spoke in a hoarse but sincere voice.
"Thank you for saving our sister's life! The Polk family will forever remember this kindness!"
"The blood of Polk will always remember the help of their friends!" the younger brother added in a deep voice.
Kane nodded slightly, acknowledging the heavy gratitude, but immediately turned the topic back to reality: "I dragged those three people in. They're in the corner of the kitchen." He spoke as casually as if he were talking about a few bags of flour.
“Don’t worry,” the older brother said, raising his head with a hint of coldness that belonged to the underworld.
“We will make them pay the price in our own way. And please… do not alarm the Colombian police and judges for the time being. The Polk family assures you that they will not allow any trouble to affect you!” The implication in his words was clear—the gang had its own rules of operation and methods of punishment, they did not want official intervention, and promised to bear all subsequent risks.
Wow, it seems there is order in the underworld after all. Kane isn't worried about retaliation, otherwise he wouldn't have gotten involved in this in the first place. His initial goal was to use "good Samaritan" as a pretext to justify violence—because his aim was to test his close-combat skills.
But after discovering the family's attitude and influence, Kane realized that they had some connections within the mafia—this was an opportunity to get into the mafia market; it was well known that Colombian law was only used to restrict ordinary people, because the upper class had various channels and methods to circumvent the law.
This makes it extremely difficult for Kane, an ordinary citizen, to obtain contraband in Colombia.
If he could obtain contraband through the gang's black market and smuggling routes, it would benefit his subsequent plans.
"Well then, I'll head back now. I sincerely wish that lively young lady a speedy recovery. I'll come back to savor the aroma of Naples again when it's fragrant once more."
He pushed open the door and stepped back into the continuous rain, leaving the Polk brothers in the shop. He watched his benefactor leave with complicated expressions, then turned around and walked towards the kitchen with icy anger.
One week later, on Saturday.
Kane timed it perfectly, stepping into the Neapolitan pizzeria again during lunchtime. The familiar aroma of the oven filled the air, and John's two sons were busily preparing ingredients. As soon as they saw Kane, they acted as if receiving a top-down order, with one of them quickly hanging a "Closed" sign outside the door.
"Respected sir!" The older brother quickly stepped forward, his posture respectful yet not servile, carrying the unique reverence of a gangster family for their benefactor.
"Your father is on his way. Please have a seat for a moment."
"Is the fire already lit?" Kane naturally walked to the spot where he had sat last time.
"I came here for lunch anyway. Would you mind treating me first?"
“It’s our honor!” the younger brother replied immediately, quickly serving up chilled sparkling water and several delicate appetizers—the portions were so generous they were almost exaggerated, clearly wanting to express his gratitude through food first.
The two pizza chefs, who were usually so skilled and efficient in the kitchen, now resembled trembling apprentices in a restaurant. They kneaded the dough with extreme care, selected toppings with the discerning eye of appraising jewels, and placed the pizzas into the oven with utmost focus, as if they were not food but offerings to a benefactor.
Just as the aroma of the first batch of pizzas was about to fill the air, the shop door was suddenly pushed open. John Polk strode in, now dressed in a well-tailored, neatly pressed dark suit. Although the old scars on his face were still menacing, his eyes had regained their former sharpness and depth, though a trace of weariness lingered between his brows. Clearly, he had also been through a lot these past few days.
He walked toward Kane with a clear purpose, extended his calloused but unusually strong hands, and gripped Kane's hand tightly, shaking it vigorously.
“Friend, benefactor—Polk will forever remember your help.” John’s voice was deep and full of emotion, his Colombian, Syracuse accent brimming with gratitude.
The fire roared in the open kitchen, releasing the distinctive aroma of burning oak and the tantalizing scent of toasted bread. John's two sons busied themselves intently by the fire, their movements as fluid as ever, but their eyes occasionally drifted to the corner table with a hint of awe. At that table, Kane and John Polk sat facing each other, the atmosphere solemn.
“First, I need to understand the whole story. I know your background, and you've promised not to involve me. But my principles require me to be in control of the situation—please tell me the whole story.” Kane got straight to the point, his voice calm and composed.
John's calloused fingers gently caressed the glass, the sparkling water inside hissing softly. He paused for a moment, his weathered eyes meeting Kane's directly: "Mr. Kane, these things... shouldn't be easily discussed with outsiders. But the Polk family cannot refuse your request."
He paused, then asked, "But before that, I'd like to know, how much do you... know about Syracuse?"
Kane responded frankly, "My father was an immigrant from Syracuse, but I personally... know very little about him." Anyway, that so-called "father" is dead, and even if he was a gangster in the past, it has no bearing on Kane now.
John had no choice but to take a sip of sparkling water and then begin to recount his story slowly, his eyes filled with memories, as if he were standing once again on that land that was always shrouded in rain.
“Syracuse… its order is known to all.” John’s voice was deep, with the rhythmic quality characteristic of the Syracuse accent.
"Twelve families, like twelve pillars, support that land and divide the power of twenty-two cities. And standing above the clouds, maintaining the fragile balance, is the Madame Sicily and the Grey Hall she built—she is the rule itself, the arbitrator, and also... the final judgment."
“But the plate was only so big, and the meat had long been devoured by the twelve mouths.” John’s tone carried a hint of bitterness.
"Families eager to grow stronger, if they did not want to suffocate in the cracks or be crushed, had no choice but to go far away to other places—Colombia, Lungmen, and even war-torn Bolivar became new nests for exiles. The Polk family was one of them."
“Of course, I’m just a member of a collateral branch of the family, an old guy trying to establish himself in Tremont after retirement.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly, his scars twitching.
"But not long ago, the Texas family in the Columbia region was embroiled in internal strife. The old patriarch was assassinated, and the new patriarch rebelled against the Grey Hall. Such actions naturally provoked the wrath of Madame Sicily—she assembled a force to purge the Texas family. The Polk and Texas families are old friends—this friendship is a bond in times of peace, but now... I have an old grudge from my youth in Syracuse, and someone took this opportunity... to approach my Maria."
Kane listened quietly, his fingertips tapping lightly on the table, like a metronome in thought. He raised his eyes, his gaze calm yet carrying an undeniable weight: "John, what I need... is simple in that it's within reach; yet difficult in that it lies beyond the boundaries of the rules."
“I will give everything I have, as long as it is within my power!” John’s response was resolute, carrying the weight of a Syracusan promise.