Chapter 2741 - Ch: 38-42

Chapter 38 Dealing with Viggo

In the top-floor VIP ward of the private hospital, the smell of disinfectant mixed with the choking odor of cigars, making it hard to breathe.

Viggo Tarasov stood by the hospital bed, a few strands of his usually meticulously groomed silver hair out of place, his suit tie crooked, and the flesh on his face trembling slightly from fury.

Lying on the bed was his only son Joseph, his head wrapped like a mummy, his face swollen beyond recognition, and tubes stuck all over his body, with only the beeping sound of the monitor proving that the person was still alive.

"Doctor," Viggo spoke, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper grinding against iron sheet, "say it again, how is he?"

The attending Doctor standing in the corner had trembling calves, adjusted his glasses, and said with a shaking voice, "Mr. Tarasov, your son has suffered severe skull damage and intracranial hemorrhage... We have done our best, his life is saved, but... in the future, there is a high probability he will be in a vegetative state. Whether he can wake up depends entirely on heaven's will."

"Heaven's will?" Viggo suddenly turned around and slapped the subordinate next to him hard across the face, drawing blood from the man's mouth instantly. "What the hell do I pay you bunch of trash for?! My son was beaten like this on his own turf, and you still don't know who did it?!"

The subordinate covered his face, not daring to dodge, and hastily handed over the folder in his hands. "Found, found it! Sir, the incident happened right next door to John Wick's house. The person who did it is called Logan Howlett, the one in the newspaper recently, a partner of StarkBiomedical. He used to be Tony Stark's bodyguard, and his combat skills are very impressive."

"Logan Howlett?" Viggo snatched the folder and quickly scanned the information inside.

The man in the photo had a cigar in his mouth, with defiant brows and eyes, looking unruly. The dossier stated he was a veteran, joined Stark Industries three years ago, and worked his way up from a bodyguard to a partner. His background was overly clean—so clean it looked intentionally fabricated.

"And that John Wick..." the subordinate added cautiously, "he's the one from before... the 'Baba Yaga'. He's been retired for several years, and supposedly married an ordinary woman to live a quiet life."

Hearing the four words "Baba Yaga", the corner of Viggo's eye twitched.

Having spent so many years in the New York underworld, how could he have never heard of this name? That was a living Yama, who back then single-handedly wiped out a dozen of his rivals' strongholds, and the blood on his hands could water flowers.

He originally didn't want to provoke such a fiend, but his son was beaten into a vegetative state. If he swallowed this insult, how could the Tarasov Family establish a foothold in New York in the future?

"A retired assassin and Stark's bodyguard." Viggoslammed the folder fiercely onto the ground, his gaze so gloomy water could drip from it. "Just the two of them, and they dare to touch my Viggo's son?"

He took a deep breath and gave an order to the subordinate, his voice full of killing intent: "Gather all elites and strike tonight. Two people, divided into two teams. Leave John Wick alive; I want him to watch his wife die and torture him slowly. That Logan Howlett... kill him, and bring his head back."

The subordinate nodded hurriedly: "Yes! I'll arrange it right away!"

The ward quieted down again. Viggo walked to the window, watching the bustling traffic downstairs, his fists clenching with a cracking sound.

Having dominated the New York underworld for so many years, he had never suffered such a huge loss before.

No matter what background the other party had, daring to move his son meant paying a price.

Yet he didn't know that the people he ordered to kill were by no means ordinary bodyguards and retired assassins.

This night raid was destined to be a delivery of heads.

At dusk, John returned home.

The broken glass in the yard hadn't been cleaned up yet, and most of the blood stains on the carpet had been wiped away, but dark brown marks still remained.

He stood in the center of the living room, the wound on his back still aching faintly, but his gaze was several degrees colder than usual.

After a few minutes of silence, he walked to the study, lifted the carpet, and smashed open the cement layer under the floor with a crowbar.

A black metal box was revealed, its surface covered in a thin layer of dust, yet it remained sturdy.

He squatted down, his fingers brushing across the box lid, and gently opened it.

Inside, a set of black bulletproof suits was neatly arranged, folded meticulously; two customized HKP30L pistols with gleaming bodies, loaded magazines pressed beside them; several gold coins, which were the currency chips of the Continental Hotel, and a sharp tactical dagger.

These were all things he sealed away when he retired, thinking he would never open them again in this lifetime.

John picked up a pistol and weighed it in his hand. The familiar touch came over him, and his fingers naturally rested on the trigger, the movement as skillfully executed as instinct.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, the gentleness in the depths of his eyes had completely faded, leaving only the chill of an assassin.

Helen was still lying in the hospital and hadn't woken up yet.

Since that bunch could show up at his doorstep once, there would be a second time.

He couldn't hide, nor did he want to.

After a few years of retirement, he had almost forgotten how he crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.

"It seems... I can't rest anymore," he said in a low voice, very softly, yet carrying a heavy determination.

He changed into the bulletproof suit, tucked the gun behind his waist, stuffed the magazines into his pockets, and shoved the gold coins into his inner pocket.

He closed the box and pushed it back under the floor, but didn't seal it up again—maybe he would need it again in the future.

After tidying up properly, he glanced at the empty doghouse, and remembering that Daisy was still at Logan's house, he breathed a slight sigh of relief in his heart.

With Logan around, the puppy would be fine.

He locked his front door and turned to walk towards the hospital.

The night gradually deepened, and the streetlights drew his shadow very long. His back was upright, yet it exuded a solitary and desolate murderous aura.

Logan's house, on the other hand, was quite lively.

Fox was on rotation leave today. She came back after work to grab some things and incidentally mooch a meal.

Ares was lying on the carpet, with Daisy nestled against its chest, and the two dogs were fast asleep.

Logan leaned against the sofa with a cigar in his mouth while an old movie played on TV. Fox sat beside him cleaning a gun with nimble movements, the metal parts flipping around in her hands like magic.

"I have to say, you spend every day by Pepper's side, yet you still come back to scrounge a meal. Aren't you afraid Pepper will make things difficult for you?" Logan blew out a smoke ring and teased.

Fox didn't even raise her head as she pushed the cleaned magazine into the gun handle. "Miss Potts is much easier to serve than you. As for you, I only take a day off, and I manage to catch your house getting into trouble. Why am I so unlucky? Not many days after meeting you, the mob has already shown up at the door twice."

"Twice? Where did you get that many." Logan sneered, "Last time it was the Assassin Brotherhood, and this time it must be people from the Tarasov Family. Don't worry, they're all small fry, they can't make any waves."

As soon as his words fell, his ears suddenly twitched.

Beast-level hearing captured the movement outside the courtyard—more than one group of people, with very light footsteps accompanied by the metallic clinking of firearms, closing in on the two houses in a surrounding formation.

"They're here." Logan straightened his body, stubbed out the cigar in the ashtray, and his gaze instantly turned cold.

Fox's hand movements also stopped, and she instantly raised her gun and chambered a round in one smooth motion. "How many people?"

"Eight on the left, six on the right, divided into two teams. One team is charging at me, and the other is going to John's house next door." Logan stood up, pointed at the stairs, and said, "You go to the second-floor window and handle precision shots. Don't show your head; these guys have submachine guns in their hands."

Fox nodded, crouching as she ran towards the second floor, her footsteps as light as a cat's without a single sound.

Logan walked to the door of the Underground Room and gently knocked on the door. When he sensed something was wrong earlier, he had locked both dogs in the Underground Room so they wouldn't get scared. "Ares, watch Daisy and stay put obediently."

A low whimpering sound came from inside from Ares, as if it had agreed.

After settling the dogs, Logan flexed his fingers, and his Adamantium claws popped out with a "shing", a cold flash briefly cutting through the dim light of the living room. He walked behind the door, stood flat against the wall, and waited for the opponents to knock.

A few seconds later, with a loud "bang", the courtyard door was kicked open.

Four masked men wearing black combat uniforms rushed in carrying submachine guns, and as soon as they entered the door, they sprayed the living room with gunfire. Bullets hit the sofa and walls, sending wood chips flying everywhere.

After firing for a few seconds and seeing no movement, the leader made a hand gesture, and the four of them moved inward in a tactical formation.

Just as they reached the center of the living room, Logansuddenly lunged out from behind the door.

His speed was so fast he left only a black blur. The thug at the very front hadn't even reacted when he felt a chill in his throat.

The steel claws precisely slashed across the carotid artery, and fresh blood spurted out. The man didn't even groan as he collapsed straight down.

"Who?!" the remaining three were startled and hurriedly turned their gun barrels around.

But Logan's footsteps were even faster than them pulling the trigger.

His Bagua Step was executed as smoothly as flowing water, his figure shuttling among the three. Bullets flew past the hem of his clothes, not even grazing his skin.

"Is this all your accuracy amounts to?" Logan sneered, forming his left hand into a fist, and delivered a fierce crushing punch of Baji Quan directly into the chest of the middle man.

With a crisp "crack" sound, the sternum collapsed, and the man flew out like a broken sack, slamming into the wall and expiring on the spot.

The thug on the right was scared out of his wits, pulling the trigger and shooting wildly.

Logan's gaze turned cold, and his Magnetic Field Manipulation instantly activated.

The flying bullets hit what seemed like an invisible wall, suddenly stopping mid-air and hovering slightly vibrating in front of him.

The thug's eyes went straight, as if he had seen a ghost: "Th-this is what..."

"Something to send you on your way." Logan flicked his fingers gently, and all the bullets returned along their original paths, embedding themselves into the man's body with soft pfft pfft pfft sounds.

With wide-open eyes, he collapsed to the ground, dying with unresolved grievances.

The last person was so frightened he turned and ran, but just as he reached the door, a "bang" of a gunshot came from the second floor.

The bullet precisely hit the back of his head, and the man face-planted onto the threshold, motionless.

Fox poked her head out from the second floor and blew on the smoke from the muzzle: "Four of them. You took care of three, and I picked up one. Logan, you move way too fast. Can't you leave two for me?"

"What's the rush." Logan shook the blood off his claws, "There are still four outside, two at the front door and two at the back door. Guard the windows well, I'm going next door to check on John's side."

Before his voice faded, a continuous series of gunshots came from next door, muffled and rhythmic, sounding unmistakably like John's marksmanship—headshots every time, never wasting a bullet.

"Alright, go ahead, I'll keep an eye on things here." Foxnodded, turned around, and switched to a sniping position.

Logan didn't use the door either, vaulting straight out through the living room window and landing silently.

AI Model: gemini-3.5-flash

Just as he rounded into John's yard, he saw two masked men trying to sneak in through the back door. The moment they reached the window, John shot them from inside, one by one, with precise shots.

Three corpses were already lying in the yard, all shot between the eyes, dying clean and quick.

John stood in the center of the living room wearing his bulletproof suit, gun in hand, with a bit of blood splattered on his face, his eyes as cold as ice.

Hearing a sound, he spun around instantly, aiming his gun out the window, only lowering it slowly when he saw it was Logan.

"Did you take care of things on your end?" John spoke, his voice a few pitches lower than usual, carrying a murderous intent.

"Just a few small fry, not even enough to get between my teeth." Logan climbed in through the window and glanced at the corpses on the floor. "Not bad, John. Retired for so long, yet your marksmanship hasn't degraded at all."

John didn't reply, only frowning. "Stay out of this. I will handle the grudge with the Tarasov Family. They were coming for me in the first place; dragging you into this is already enough of a hassle."

He didn't want to drag Logan any deeper.

Once you get involved with the underworld, you can't shake it off.

Logan had his own life and a proper job; there was no need for him to wade into this muddy water.

Logan laughed instead. "Listen to yourself. They've already fought their way to my doorstep and broke two of my windows. Can I just shrink back and do nothing? In all my years, I've only ever bullied others. No one has ever dared to take a dump on my head."

He walked to the window and glanced toward the alley entrance. There were still scattered footsteps running into the distance, likely some small-fry thugs who had slipped through the net.

"It's only polite to reciprocate." A cold smile played on the corner of Logan's mouth. "Since Viggo wants to play so badly, I'll play with him. I can't just let him send people over without returning the favor, can I?"

John's brow furrowed even deeper. "What do you want to do? Viggo has a lot of men and quite a few strongholds. It's too dangerous for you to go alone."

"Dangerous?" Logan sneered, patting his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm not going to play gunfights with them. Why waste the effort?"

Without explaining further, he turned and walked toward the door. "You guard the house in case there are any more stragglers. I'll be right back."

"Logan!" John wanted to call him back, but the man was too fast. By the time his voice fell, Logan had already jumped over the courtyard wall.

John stood in place, looking at the empty yard, a complex feeling rising in his heart.

He had known Logan for over three years. At first, they were just nodding acquaintances, but later, Logan warned him that Helen's condition wasn't right, indirectly saving Helen's life.

Last night, despite the trouble, Logan had saved the lives of him and his wife again.

And now, he had waded into this muddy water because of him.

This was a massive favor he owed.

The north shore of Long Island, the private Villa of the Tarasov Family.

This house was built by Viggo at a massive cost, with reinforced steel structures, bulletproof glass, and a perimeter of guards, reputed to be an impregnable fortress.

Viggo usually worked and received guests here, and many deals in New York's underworld were negotiated in this Villa.

Right now, in the study on the top floor of the Villa, Viggostood in front of the French window, waiting for news from his men.

Holding a glass of whiskey, his face was gloomy.

Judging by the time, they should have arrived by now. Why was there still no news?

Just as he was about to pick up the phone to ask, he heard a commotion from downstairs, along with the startled cries of the guards.

"Who is it?!"

"Stop! Or we'll shoot!"

Viggo frowned and walked to the window to look down.

A man stood at the entrance of the courtyard. He was very tall, wearing a black jacket, with a cigar in his mouth, walking in leisurely.

The guards at the entrance surrounded him with their guns raised, but the man didn't stop at all, acting as if he didn't even see them.

"You're asking for death!" the guard Captain ordered, and a dozen guns fired simultaneously.

But in the next second, something bizarre happened.

All the bullets stopped abruptly half a meter away from the man, as if blocked by an invisible wall, suspended motionless in mid-air.

The guards were dumbfounded, freezing in place and forgetting to shoot.

Logan exhaled a ring of smoke and lightly lifted his finger.

*Clang—*

The guns in the hands of all the guards twisted and deformed at the same time, their barrels twisting into pretzels, and the metal parts of the gun bodies disintegrated one after another, clattering to the ground.

"F-Fuck..." The guard Captain's face turned pale with fright, and he turned to run.

Logan couldn't be bothered with these small fry.

He came today to find the main culprit.

He looked up at the French window of the study on the top floor, locking eyes with Viggo's shocked gaze.

Logan smiled and waved at him, as if greeting him.

In the next second, he raised his right hand, his fingers tightening slightly.

*Screech—*

A piercing sound of twisting metal suddenly rang out, and the steel load-bearing columns of the entire Villa began to groan under the unbearable weight. Dense cracks split open on the surface of the walls, and tiles came clattering down.

Viggo instantly lost his footing in the study. The floor began to tilt, and the chandelier overhead tottered precariously.

Holding onto the desk, he watched in sheer terror as the surrounding reinforced concrete walls slowly deformed, and the originally straight load-bearing columns were twisted into spirals like noodles.

"What's going on?! Is it an earthquake?!" he roared, but no one could answer him.

The secretaries and bodyguards screamed as they ran toward the door, but the doorframe had already deformed, jamming the door tight so that no matter how they pushed, it wouldn't budge.

Logan stood in the center of the yard, his eyes calm, his fingers tightening bit by bit.

Magnetic Field Manipulation was activated at full power, and every metal component of the entire Villa was under his control.

The main load-bearing beams, the steel rebar skeletons, the steel structural frames... all of them were twisting and snapping frantically.

*Rumble—*

First, a wall on one side collapsed, and dust shot into the sky. Right after, the second and third floors followed. The entire house, like a crumpled paper box, began to collapse layer by layer from the top floor.

The crisp snapping of steel bars, the muffled rumbles of collapsing concrete, and the screams of the people inside mingled together, shaking the ground so much it vibrated slightly.

In less than half a minute, the grand and magnificent standalone Villa from just moments ago turned into a pile of ruins.

Dust filled the air, and rubble lay everywhere. Not a single intact wall could be seen anymore.

Viggo and the core members of his syndicate were all buried inside.

Whether they survived depended entirely on luck—though with this level of collapse, the probability of survival was close to zero.

Logan let go and patted the dust off his body.

Cigar in mouth, he took a couple of looks at the ruins, felt it was about done, and turned to leave.

The guards at the entrance had long been scared out of their wits, slumping to the ground and trembling. No one dared to stop him, nor did they even dare to move.

What kind of joke was this? This man could twist a house down with his mind. Fighting him would be nothing short of seeking death, wouldn't it?

Logan slowly walked out of the yard and sat inside his Hummer.

As he started the engine, he didn't forget to complain: "What 'impregnable fortress'? The steel structure isn't all that great either, crushing with just a squeeze."

He originally wanted to play a bit longer, but the house turned out to be so flimsy. It was a bit of a disappointment.

He casually finished off these guards to avoid leaving witnesses; after all, none of these guys were innocent saints.

Logan pulled out a new cigar and lit it, calculating in his mind: Viggo's gang didn't seem to have any Mutants or other anomalies. Killing them didn't yield any points, what a loss.

"Whatever, just take it as venting some steam and doing John a favor on the side," he muttered to himself. "Anyway, the house has collapsed. No one should come looking for trouble in the future, right? I can finally fish in peace for a few days."

He was also thinking that once this matter blew over, he would ask Michaela to go fishing in the mountains with him, and try out his new car's off-road performance while at it.

The Hummer sped through the night, the ruins behind him gradually fading into the distance.

Logan hummed an out-of-tune melody, in quite a good mood.

As for whether someone would discover the collapsed Villa tomorrow, or if they would trace it back to him—he didn't care.

Anyway, without evidence, who could prove he collapsed the house? They couldn't possibly say a Mutant crushed the Villa with his mind, could they? Who would believe that if it got out?

Even Tony wouldn't dare write a sci-fi script like that.

When he got back home, Fox was sitting in the living room wiping her gun. The corpses on the floor had already been dragged out to the yard by her, arranged in a neat row.

John was there too, sitting on the sofa. His expression was still dark, but a bit more relaxed than before.

Seeing Logan return, both of them looked up at him.

"Where did you go?" Fox spoke first, raising an eyebrow. "Out for so long, you didn't go seeking revenge, did you?"

"What else?" Logan shrugged, sat on the sofa, and took a large swig from his flask. "I can't just let Viggo send people to knock on my door every day, can I? I found it annoying, so I just wiped out his nest."

Fox's hand wiping the gun paused. "Wiped out? How did you wipe it out?"

"How else?" Logan casually flicked his cigarette ash. "Wasn't his house steel-structured? I just gave it a squeeze, and it collapsed. Saved a lot of trouble, beats fighting them one by one."

Fox: "..."

John: "..."

Both of them fell silent.

Not knowing the process, they only took it as a joke, assuming he had single-handedly taken care of Viggo and his men.

Coming to her senses, Fox rolled her eyes dramatically. "I'm truly convinced. Following you really means not a single day of peace. Even carrying out missions in the past wasn't this exciting."

"Isn't it good to be exciting?" Logan smiled. "It's much more lively."

John looked at him, silent for a long time, before finally saying quietly, "Thanks."

"It's no big deal." Logan waved his hand. "We're neighbors, helping each other is only right. Besides, they provoked me first."

He stood up and yawned. "Alright, you guys handle the corpses as you see fit. I'm tired, going to sleep first. Still have to go fishing tomorrow."

With that, he walked toward the bedroom. Halfway there, he remembered something and looked back. "Right, John, no need to worry about Helen's side. Viggo is dead, so no one will go looking for trouble anymore. Just accompany her in peace."

John nodded, watching his retreating back with a complex look in his eyes.

Fox looked at the corpses on the ground, then in the direction Logan had disappeared, unable to help but shake her head, though a helpless smile played on her lips.

This guy looked careless and improper, but he handled matters with clean efficiency, without any hesitation at all.

It's just that... his trouble-attracting constitution is truly strong.

Chapter 39 Subsequent Reactions

The morning sunlight had just pierced through the gap of the curtains and slipped into the living room, and Loganwas already standing in the kitchen wearing an apron and frying steaks.

Amidst the sizzling sound of oil, Ares and Daisy stood in a row squatting by his feet, both dogs tilting their heads up, staring straight at the frying pan with their tails wagging and slapping loudly against the floor.

"What are you rushing for? One piece for each of you, you won't be short of any." Without even turning his head, Logan flipped it over with a spatula, and the oil splatters that splashed up were casually blocked back by his magnetic field.

Fox walked out of the guest room yawning, dressed in casual wear, her hair still a bit messy.

After dealing with the corpses and tidying up the living room for half the night yesterday, she went to sleep a bit late, and her eyelids were still heavy at this moment.

"Frying steaks early in the morning, aren't you tired of it?"

She opened the refrigerator to get a bottle of ice water, casually turned on the wall-mounted television, and said, "Let me check the news to see if last night's incident blew up."

"What could blow up? At most it'll count as a gas explosion." Logan smiled dismissively, scooped out the fried steaks, cut off two pieces and tossed them to the two dogs, "The news surely won't broadcast that a Mutantcrushed a house with telekinesis, right? Who would believe it if that were said out loud."

Fox had just taken a sip of water when the morning news on TV happened to interrupt with an emergency flash.

The female anchor spoke in a serious tone, with the background image showing a messy ruin: "Good morning, viewers, breaking in with a flash news story. Around 2:00 a.m. today, a bizarre collapse accident occurred at a private Villa on the North Shore of Long Island, completely destroying the entire building. The Police have currently cordoned off the scene. Preliminary speculation suggests it may have been triggered by a gas pipeline explosion, but the specific cause is still under investigation. According to insiders, the Villa belongs to New York real estate developer Viggo Tarasov. There were multiple people inside the house when the incident occurred, and the casualty status is currently unknown..."

"Pfft—"

Fox spat out a mouthful of ice water directly, choking her into coughing repeatedly.

Pointing at the television with her eyes wide open, she turned her head to look at Logan: "Is this what you called'squeezed it a little bit'?!"

Where did the ruins in the footage look anything like half a Villa anymore? Reinforced concrete was shattered into slag, piled up like a small hill, and not even a complete wall could be found.

Anyone who didn't know would think it had been bombed by a missile; how did this look like the result of a casual "squeeze"?

Logan walked over to the dining table holding the steaks, glanced at the television, and looked completely indifferent: "Yeah, pretty much. Who knew that house was of such poor quality that it collapsed completely with just a bit of force. It's estimated that the developer cut corners and used substandard steel structures, which has nothing to do with me."

"..." Fox's mouth twitched repeatedly. She walked up to the television and carefully looked at the structure of the ruins twice, growing more and more alarmed the more she looked.

That was obviously the load-bearing pillars twisting and breaking from the inside, which led to the overall collapse. To be able to twist and snap the steel structures of the entire Villa simultaneously, just how strong must this magnetic field control be?

She previously only knew that Logan could control bullets and twist gun barrels, thinking he only dealt with firearms; she hadn't expected him to be able to directly demolish buildings.

"Turns out I underestimated you before." Fox rolled her eyes, sat back down at the dining table, and said, "Next time you demolish a building, let me know in advance, okay? So I can put away the cups and bowls at home, lest they get shattered by the aftershocks."

"There's no such exaggeration." Logan took a bite of the steak and said unclearly, "I was controlling the force; our residential area hasn't been affected by even half a cent. Look, not a single piece of glass is broken."

As they were speaking, the courtyard door was pushed open.

John walked in. He had changed into casual clothes, and although the injury on his back had not fully healed yet, his walking posture was still upright.

He came to pick up Daisy. As soon as he entered the door, he heard the news on the television, his footsteps paused slightly, his gaze fell on the ruins footage, and his expression changed slightly.

"Morning." John greeted the two of them, but his eyes didn't leave the television.

He hadn't dealt with Viggo for just a day or two, and was very clear about that Villa's configuration—military-grade steel structure, explosion-proof design, claiming to be able to withstand small bombs.

Just like that, it collapsed?

Logan raised his chin: "You're here, sit down. Daisy is playing with Ares in the courtyard."

John nodded, but didn't sit down. Staring at the television for a long while, he slowly looked toward Logan, his tone complicated: "Did you... demolish the entire Villa last night?"

"Ah, just a casual matter." Logan shrugged, saying it nonchalantly, "To save him from sending people to knock on the door every day, which was quite annoying. Viggoand his core subordinates were all inside. The Tarasov Family can be considered gone; nobody will come to trouble you in the future."

John fell silent.

He had anticipated that Logan would go take revenge, but he hadn't expected it to be done so thoroughly.

It wasn't just killing a few people; it directly wiped out both the people and the house together, not even leaving the opponent a chance to make a comeback.

This ruthlessness and strength were far more terrifying than he had imagined.

Yet precisely, the other party did it to help him.

"Thanks." John said in a low voice. This was his second time saying thanks. Previously at the Continental Hotel, he never owed favors, but now, this favor was growing larger and larger.

"Such a small matter." Logan waved his hand, not wanting to talk about this, "How is Helen? Is she awake?"

"She woke up in the morning, and the Doctor said her recovery is not bad. She can be discharged after observing for a few days." Mentioning his wife, John's gaze softened a bit, "When she gets better, we'll treat you to dinner."

"Alright." Logan didn't decline either, "Call Fox along at that time, more people make it lively."

Fox raised her eyebrows aside and didn't speak.

After sitting for a while longer, John left leading Daisy.

The puppy lay in its Master's arms, still looking back reluctantly at Ares. The two dogs had gotten along for two days, and their bond had indeed advanced by leaps and bounds.

Once the people were gone, Fox slowly spoke up: "Aren't you afraid that the Police will investigate? With such a big commotion, they'll always find some clues, right?"

"Let them investigate." Logan was unconcerned, "Not even a footprint was left at the scene, and witnesses were all dazzled by my illusions, so they can't remember what I look like. Besides, who would believe a person can demolish a house with telekinesis? The Police will ultimately just rule it an accidental explosion."

What he said was correct.

For such things beyond common sense, nobody would think of superpowers, suspecting at most some new type of explosive method.

But there was not even explosive residue at the scene, so investigating back and forth could only result in an unsolved case.

Fox nodded, considering it an acknowledgment of his statement.

She finally saw through it: this guy looked rough, but his mind was extremely meticulous. Striking was striking, and wrapping things up was also extremely clean; there was simply no need for others to worry.

Meanwhile, in the underground laboratory of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York branch, the atmosphere was not relaxed at all.

Nick Fury stood in front of the big screen with his hands behind his back, his single eye staring fixedly at the satellite-photographed ruins pictures, his face so dark that ink could drip from it.

On the screen, besides the ruins pictures, there were also strings of magnetic field data curves, with peaks ridiculously high.

Fitz and Simmons stood beside the console, the two of them huddled together discussing in low voices, occasionally looking up at Fury's expression, both looking a bit cautious.

"Officer, the data is out." Simmons turned around first, holding a tablet in her hand, her tone rigorous, "Sixty seconds before the collapse occurred, an extremely strong geomagnetic anomaly appeared at the scene, with the peak of magnetic induction intensity being more than four hundred and seventy times the normal value. A magnetic field disturbance of this intensity is enough to twist the steel bar structure inside the building, which is the direct cause of the Villa's overall collapse."

"And it is definitely not a natural phenomenon." Fitz quickly added, his fingers swiping out a waveform chart on the screen, "Look at this fluctuation frequency, it is artificially manipulated, precisely targeting the load-bearing structure of the building, with exceptionally accurate force application points. To put it bluntly, someone used magnetic field abilities to twist and shatter the skeleton of this house."

Fury's brows furrowed even tighter: "Can you confirm who did it?"

"Who else could it be." Coulson walked in from outside, holding an investigation report with a bit of helplessness on his face, "We checked the nearby surveillance. Half an hour before the collapse, a black Hummer H3 appeared on the surrounding roads, and the owner registration information is Logan Howlett. Moreover, the mental states of the several surviving guards at the scene are not quite right, acting dazed and confused no matter what is asked, obviously having been interfered with by mental abilities."

Logan Howlett again.

Fury took a deep breath, feeling his temples throbbing.

The Afghanistan armed stronghold was cleared out, the Assassin Brotherhood was wiped out overnight, and now even the gang boss's Villa was directly demolished. Does this guy belong to a demolition team? Demolishing wherever he goes?

And his abilities are becoming more and more numerous. Close combat, self-healing, steel claws, Magnetic Field Manipulation, mental interference, teleportation... Just how many kinds of abilities is this guy hiding? Aren't Mutants all single-ability? How is he like someone who turned on cheats?

"Officer, should we..." Coulson paused and asked tentatively, "Should we go talk to him?"

"What is there to talk about?" Fury let out a cold snort. "What do we use to talk? Say that we know you demolished the mafia Villa and come back to S.H.I.E.L.D.for tea with us? Where's the evidence? Just based on magnetic field data and a car? He can easily brush it off with some fabricated excuse."

He knew this kind of person all too well.

Impervious to both reason and force, appearing laid-back, but in reality, shrewder than anyone else.

Going to them without proof or evidence would only result in being rebuffed, and it would easily alert the enemy.

"But his abilities are growing too fast," Simmons said softly. "At this rate, in a little while, he might be able to control metal over an even larger range. By then—"

By then, if he wanted to wreak havoc, all the steel buildings in New York would not be safe.

Fury naturally knew the risks involved.

But risks were risks. For now, Logan hadn't done anything monstrous or inhumane.

He cleared out Terrorists, wiped out assassin organizations, and demolished mafia dens. It wouldn't even be an exaggeration to say he was acting on behalf of heaven.

This kind of person could not be cornered; pushing him too hard would only ruin things.

They could only approach him slowly, observe him gradually, and look for an opportunity to pull him over to their side.

"Continue monitoring, and don't disturb him," Fury finally gave the order. "Focus on the changes in his abilities and his social relations. In addition, accelerate the preparation of the Avengers Initiative. When the time is ripe... contact him again."

"Understood," Coulson nodded.

Fitz was still muttering excitedly on the side: "Magnetic Field Manipulation... If we could study the principles... And psychic abilities, if they could be replicated..."

"Fitz." Simmons pulled his arm and gave him a look.

Looking up and seeing Fury's gloomy expression, Fitzquickly shut his mouth and lowered his head, pretending to study the data.

Fury ignored him, his gaze falling back onto the photo of the ruins on the screen, his single eye narrowing slightly.

Logan Howlett...

He wanted to see just how many more "surprises" this guy could bring.

In the evening, Logan strolled leisurely toward the apartment complex where Maggie lived, carrying a bottle of red wine.

Today Maggie called him to say that her follow-up examination results were out and she had completely recovered. She wanted to invite him over for dinner, cooked at home.

Logan didn't decline either; on his way home from work, he bought a good bottle of red wine and came over.

The doorbell had barely rung once before the door opened.

Maggie stood at the doorway, wearing simple home clothes with a smile on her face. Her complexion was vastly better than before.

In the past, she would always subconsciously hide her hands, afraid others would see them shaking. Now, her hands hung naturally by the sides of her body, her fingertips steady, and even her motion of opening the door was very crisp and neat.

"You're here, come on in." Maggie turned sideways to let him in, taking the red wine from his hand. "You came, why did you bring anything?"

"Showing up empty-handed wouldn't be proper." Logansmiled, changed into slippers, and entered the house.

The aroma of food hit them full force. Several dishes were already laid out on the dining table in the living room: braised pork ribs, steamed sea bass, garlic broccoli, and a pot of tomato and beef brisket soup, steaming hot and looking appetizing.

Wearing an apron, Matt was just coming out of the kitchen carrying a plate. Hearing the commotion, he turned his head with a smile: "Mr. Logan, take a seat, it will be ready in a moment."

"To trouble you to cook personally." Logan walked over and sat down. "I thought Maggie was going to make it."

"My sister helped prep, and I did the stir-frying." Mattplaced the plate down and took off his apron. "I learned a bit of cooking at the school for the blind before. My skills are mediocre, so please don't mind."

"It smells fragrant, so it definitely won't be bad," Loganpraised casually.

The three of them sat down. Maggie first poured a glass of juice for everyone, and then opened the red wine for Logan.

She picked up her juice glass, her face blushing slightly, and looked at Logan very earnestly: "Logan, calling you over today is just to thank you in person. When I went to the hospital for a check-up today, Doctor Zhao said my neurons have fully recovered, exactly like a normal person. This illness has plagued me for so many years; if it weren't for you..."

As she spoke, her voice choked up a bit.

The inferiority and anxiety of so many years had finally vanished like smoke in thin air.

"It's no big deal." Logan raised his red wine glass and clinked it with hers. "It's mainly thanks to Tony's rock-solid technology; I just bridged the gap, a mere flick of the finger. As long as you can get better, that's what matters."

"You can't put it that way." Matt also raised his cup with a solemn expression. "Without you acting as a bridge, we wouldn't have been able to touch this level of medical technology at all. My sister and I will remember this favor. In the future, if you have any legal matters or need help with anything, just speak up. I'm not good for much else, but I'm somewhat confident when it comes to lawsuits."

He spoke sincerely, without the slightest bit of polite formality.

What Logan helped them with wasn't just curing the illness; he gave his sister the life of a normal person.

This grace could not be repaid with just a single meal.

"Alright, if something really comes up in the future, I'll definitely look for you." Logan wasn't pretentious either, smiling as he took a sip of wine. "Stop just saying thank you; let's eat, the dishes are getting cold."

The atmosphere suddenly eased up.

Maggie picked up a piece of rib for Logan, smiling as she said, "Try it, Matt's signature dish. He usually doesn't cook, but he specifically showed off his skills today."

Logan took a bite and nodded: "Mm, the taste is indeed not bad, better than what restaurants make."

Matt smiled without speaking, picked up the serving chopsticks, and added a piece of fish for Logan again.

During the meal, they chatted about ordinary household matters.

Maggie said she planned to expand the coffee shop a bit and hire two more employees so she could make more desserts in the future; Matt said his law firm had just taken on a few pro bono lawsuits—though the pay was little, it was quite meaningful.

Logan just listened, occasionally chiming in with a couple of sentences to talk about amusing fishing anecdotes or complain a bit about Tony living in his lab every day like his life depended on it.

There was no deliberate gratitude, nor distant politeness. It was just like old friends sitting together to have a simple home-cooked meal, relaxed and comfortable.

Halfway through the meal, Maggie suddenly remembered something and said with a smile: "Right, last time you said you liked eating the cookies I baked, I baked two boxes today for you to take back when you leave. There are chocolate and butter flavors, and Ares can eat a couple of pieces too."

"Alright, then I won't stand on ceremony." Logan didn't decline either.

"What is there to stand on ceremony for." Maggie looked at him, her eyes carrying a bit of a smile and an unhidden tenderness.

After finishing dinner, Logan sat for a while longer, chatting about recent updates.

While Maggie cleaned up the bowls and chopsticks, Mattaccompanied him to sit in the living room for a bit, chatting about New York's recent public safety and some rumors in the underworld—Matt had keen senses and could always hear news that others couldn't.

"I heard the Tarasov Family has fallen, and the boss Viggois dead. The whole gang is leaderless and a huge mess," Matt mentioned casually. "Outside, everyone is passing around that it's a vendetta by enemies, and even the Villawas blown up."

Holding a water glass, the corners of Logan's mouth twitched slightly: "Is that so? That's great, one less scourge."

Matt didn't ask any further.

He had some guesses in his heart, but he wouldn't expose them.

Some things were fine as long as they were clear in one's heart; saying them out loud would instead make them uninteresting. He only needed to know that Logan wasn't a bad person and was genuine toward their sibling pair; that was enough.

After sitting for a bit longer, Logan got up to take his leave.

Maggie lifted two large boxes of cookies and shoved them into his hands, heavy and packed to the brim.

"Come over for dinner again next time you're free." Maggiestood at the doorway, looking at him as she spoke.

"Alright." Logan nodded and left carrying the cookies.

Watching his back disappear at the entrance of the hallway, Maggie gently closed the door, the smile on her face still lingering.

Matt leaned against the wall and said with a smile: "Sister, why don't you just marry him directly? He's helped us so much, and he's a reliable person."

"What nonsense are you talking about." Maggie's face flushed red, and she turned to go to the kitchen to wash dishes, though the corners of her mouth couldn't help curving upward.

Logan walked home carrying the cookies. As the evening breeze blew, his whole body felt comfortable.

Maggie had recovered, Viggo's matter was resolved, and John's side had quieted down too.

Calculating it all, there really weren't any upsetting things lately.

"I can finally fish in peace for a few days." He muttered to himself, fishing out a cigar and biting it in his mouth, in a very good mood.

Just as he pulled out his car keys, his cell phone buzzed.

He picked it up to look; it was a call from Tony. As soon as it connected, Tony's boisterous voice came through: "Logan! Was that Villa in Long Island demolished by you?! I heard people say the whole building collapsed into dust, you're something else! Such a fun thing and you didn't even call me? I have a few directional demolition plans here that are way more exciting than simply tearing down a building. Shall we try it next time?"

Logan: "..."

He rolled his eyes hard and directly pressed hang-up.

A peaceful life?

To hell with a peaceful life.

With a guy like Tony around, don't even think about having a moment of peace.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket and pulled open the car door to get inside. The engine started, and the Hummer slowly drove away from the residential complex.

Chapter 40: Burying the Hatchet

As the morning light of the next day just spread over the vines on the courtyard wall, the doorbell rang in a ding-dong chime, its rhythm so hurried and heavy that it sounded like someone was trying to tear the door down.

Fox was leaning against the bar counter holding a coffee cup, raising an eyebrow to glance toward the stairs: "Did your enemies come looking for you? That temper sounds pretty big."

Logan poked his head out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in his mouth, his mouth full of foam as he spoke indistinctly: "Who else could it be, just someone urging me to my death."

He didn't even have to guess to know that with such a big temper early in the morning, there was no second person besides Ororo.

Ares trotted happily to the door, sniffed across the door panel, and wagged its tail slowly twice — it was an acquaintance's scent and posed no danger, so it sat down and tilted its head waiting for the door to open.

Fox walked over and pulled the door open. Standing outside was a silver-haired woman in a black leather trench coat, with a straight posture and cold, gorgeous features — it was none other than Storm, Ororo.

The moment their eyes met, sparks inexplicably sizzled in the air.

Ororo's gaze first swept over the loose men's shirt on Fox, and then glanced past her undried hair ends. Her brows instantly knitted into a knot, and her tone was as cold as ice: "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Angelina Fox." Fox wasn't intimidated in the least, leaning against the doorframe and slowly sipping her coffee, a half-smile curling at the corners of her lips: "Living here temporarily. And you are? Looking for Logan?"

"Living here temporarily?" Ororo repeated, her ending pitch raising slightly, her eyes glancing into the room like knives: "He certainly has good spirits, hiding people at home quite often."

"Early in the morning, who's hiding anyone." Logan walked over wiping his mouth, casually nudging Ororo's shoulder to let her in: "Come inside and talk. Is it appropriate to stand at the door? If the neighbors see, they'll think I owe you money."

Ororo glared fiercely at him, stepped in her boots with a heavy clatter into the living room, glanced at the two uncleaned breakfast utensils on the dining table, and spoke sarcastically: "You're living quite a cozy life, Logan Howlett. Bodyguard turned boss, tearing down Villas for fun, and having company at home every day. What, is the stock dividend given by Tony too much, making you bored out of your mind?"

Logan pulled over a chair and sat down, casually tossing her a bottle of mineral water with a scoff: "You ran over to my place early in the morning just to speak sarcastically to me? Nothing better to do?"

"Who has nothing better to do than look for you." Ororounscrewed the cap and took a large gulp, suppressing the inexplicable anger in her heart before saying solemnly: "Charles wants to see you."

Logan raised an eyebrow, rubbing the cold bottle body in silence for a moment.

Three years. Ever since Magneto died at his hands, Charleshad never actively sought him out.

Even though the rumor that 'Logan can control metal' had long spread throughout the Mutant circle, the other party acted as if he hadn't heard it.

Today, he spoke up against all expectations, and one didn't even need to think to know it was because of that Villa-demolishing incident last night.

"Alright then, let's go." He stood up, grabbed the flight jacket draped over the back of the chair, and casually picked up the cigar box on the table: "Just in time, I haven't gone to Xaviers School for a free meal in a long time. I heard Hank recently developed a new flavor of pudding?"

Ororo was amused to anger, rolling her eyes heavily: "You only care about eating! Don't you have any idea what Charles is looking for you for? That Villa in Long Island collapsed as if it had been bombed by a missile, and the Mutant circle is going crazy with rumors that a ruthless person capable of Magnetic Field Manipulation wiped out a mafia den overnight."

"Is that so?" Logan feigned surprise, speaking indistinctly with a cigar in his mouth: "That sounds pretty impressive."

"Cut the act!" Ororo raised her hand and patted his arm with moderate force: "Who else could it be besides you? In the entire East Coast, apart from Erik, you're the only one who can play with Magnetic Field Manipulation to the point of tearing down buildings! Charles was just afraid you wouldn't be able to hold back your strength and cause an even bigger commotion, so he sent me to call you over for a talk."

Fox, standing nearby with her arms crossed to watch the show, slowly added upon hearing this: "He can hold it back, he just finds it troublesome and is too lazy to do so."

Logan turned back and glared at her. Fox shrugged and turned around with a smile to clear the dining table.

Watching their tacit understanding, Ororo felt even more upset inside. She gave a cold snort and walked out first: "Hurry up, don't keep Charles waiting too long."

The Blackbird jet was parked at a hidden helipad in the suburbs. The two remained silent all the way as Ororopiloted the jet into the air, clouds flashing past rapidly outside the porthole.

Logan leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes to rest. He knew crystal clear in his heart — Charles looking for him this time wouldn't amount to calling him to account, but a lecture was definitely unavoidable.

After all, the matter of Magneto was a thorn stuck between them for three years.

When the jet landed on the lawn of Xaviers School, it was exactly ten in the morning, and the sunlight wasn't too dazzling.

Several newly arrived Mutant children were playing on the lawn. Seeing Logan get down, they all curiously poked their heads out and whispered among themselves.

"Is that Logan? I heard he's super powerful!"

"Teacher Jean said it was him who saved those upperclassmen last time..."

"He looks so fierce..."

Logan heard it but didn't mind. He held the cigar in his mouth and lifted his chin at the children, scaring the little ones into scattering in all directions.

Ororo helplessly slapped her forehead: "Can you not scare the children."

"I just look like this." Logan was nonchalant.

The door to the headmaster's office was ajar. Ororoknocked on the door, and Charles's gentle voice came from inside: "Come in."

Pushing the door open, Charles was sitting in his wheelchair, with his back to the door looking out at the lawn outside the window.

For three years not seeing him, his face had aged a bit, and his profile had added a bit of fatigue. Only upon hearing footsteps did he slowly turn around, wearing his familiar, gentle smile on his face.

"Logan, long time no see."

Logan twitched the corner of his mouth as a greeting, casually pulling over a chair to sit down, holding the unlit cigar in his hand — he knew Charles hated the smell of smoke. "Charles, I heard you're looking for me."

Charles's gaze fell on his face, calm and gentle, carrying a bit of scrutiny, but without the slightest sharpness of probing. He was silent for a few seconds before speaking softly: "I've heard about the matter in Long Island. Magnetic Field Manipulation... you use it very proficiently now."

There was no questioning of the source, no demanding, "Why do you have Erik's abilities," just a plain and simple statement, as if saying the weather was nice today.

Logan was instead slightly stunned, then gave a soft chuckle: "I thought you were going to get to the bottom of it and ask where I got this ability."

"Everyone has their own secrets." Charles smiled, his fingertips tapping gently on the wheelchair armrest: "The evolution of Mutant abilities naturally has countless possibilities. What's important is not where the ability comes from, but what you use it for."

He paused, his tone becoming heavier: "I roughly know what kind of person Viggo Tarasov is. He has quite a lot of blood on his hands in the New York underground circle; eliminating him cannot be considered wrong. But Logan, Alpha-level magnetic field power is too glaring. The Military, S.H.I.E.L.D., and many factions eyeing Mutants will all notice you."

"So what if they notice." Logan leaned against the chair back with an indifferent expression: "Can they drag me away for sectioning? They'd need to have the ability to do so."

"I'm not worried that you can't handle it." Charles sighed, "I'm worried that as your power grows stronger and stronger, you'll gradually lose your sense of proportion. Back then, Erik... also started from 'only eliminating evildoers'."

As soon as these words came out, the office fell silent for a few seconds.

Logan's fingertips tightened slightly, crinkling the wrapper of the cigar.

He was silent for a long while, then raised his eyes to look at Charles. His tone lost its usual flippancy and became very heavy: "When I killed Erik back then, I let you down. But if it happens again, I would still make a move."

"He wanted to forcibly turn the leaders of the World into Mutants and drag the entire Mutant community into the flames of war. If I didn't kill him, even more people would die."

Charles looked at him with complex eyes.

Over these three years, he hadn't stopped thinking about this matter. He had been angry and regretful, but upon calming down and thinking about it, Logan was right.

Erik had gone too far. During the Cuba missile crisis, it was just a standoff, but by the end, he was willing to sacrifice innocent people to achieve his goals.

"I know." Charles nodded gently, his voice carrying a trace of unperceived fatigue: "I never blamed you. It's just... he was a friend I had known for a lifetime."

Logan didn't speak, which was considered defaulting to this apology.

He understood Charles's sentimentality; if it were him, he might not be able to be more open-minded than the other party.

Charles looked at his tense profile, suddenly smiled, and changed the subject: "Let's not talk about this. Looking for you today, besides reminding you to rein in your strength a bit, there's another matter I want to discuss with you."

"What matter?" Logan raised an eyebrow, a vague premonition stirring in his heart.

"Recently, Mutant disappearance cases everywhere have been increasing more and more, mostly captured by the underground black market for research. Scott and Jean led people to investigate a few times, but the other party is very cunning and manages to run away ahead of time every single time." Charles looked at him with a sincere tone: "Logan, I know you don't want to meddle in the affairs of the community, nor do you want to join the X-Men. But I hope... in the future if needed, you can lend a hand."

Logan didn't agree immediately, his fingers tapping gently on his knees.

Lend a hand? To put it bluntly, it meant being a temporary worker, called upon to rush to the front lines when there's a dangerous mission.

As for the benefits, naturally it was being able to rightfully deal with evildoers and accumulate points to upgrade his abilities.

And to be honest, back when he killed Magneto, he indeed felt a bit of an indescribable debt to Charles.

He pondered for a few seconds, raised his eyes to look at Charles, and extended a finger: "Let's make this clear first, I'm only responsible for taking action, and everything else is none of my business. Meetings, speeches, teaching kids classes—don't bother me with these damn things. And don't issue me any uniforms; they're ugly as hell."

Charles's eyes brightened, and the smile on his face became much more genuine: "No problem. I only need you to strike at the critical moment; everything else is up to you."

"Also," Logan added, "As for the villains encountered during missions, if they die or are crippled, I'm not responsible. Don't come talking to me afterwards about that 'leave them alive for interrogation' routine."

"Alright." Charles agreed with a smile. He knew Logan too well; ruthless in striking, high in efficiency. As long as you don't make him follow rules, anything is easy to talk about.

Ororo, standing nearby and watching the two reach an agreement, finally let go of the heart that had been hanging all the way. The corners of her mouth curled up unconsciously, but she still muttered: "You're getting a bargain. How many people want to join the X-Men and can't even get in."

Logan glanced at her, smiling mischievously: "What, are you unhappy that I'm coming?"

"Who cares about you! Come if you want, don't if you don't!" Ororo blushed and raised her foot wanting to kick him.

Logan smiled and dodged away, the tense atmosphere in the office instantly dissipating completely.

After chatting idly for a few more words, Logan got up to take his leave.

Charles asked Ororo to see him out. The two walked slowly along the path beside the lawn; sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting mottled light and shadow on the ground as if paved with a layer of gold.

"Seriously," Ororo kicked a small pebble under her feet and said softly, "Charles has actually missed you all this time. He doesn't say it out loud, but every time something happens at the school, you're the first person he mutters about."

Logan, holding the unlit cigar in his mouth, spoke indistinctly: "What's the use of him muttering about me? It's more like muttering about me bringing him trouble."

"You know it." Ororo gave him an eye roll, but reached out to brush a fallen leaf from his shoulder with a very natural movement: "Come visit often in the future, don't always hide from us. Jean... also misses you quite a bit."

Logan raised an eyebrow, didn't reply, and simply let out a whistle.

Walking to the jet, Logan was just about to board when he suddenly remembered something, turning his head to ask: "Right, those disappearance cases Charles mentioned, are there any clues? What's the other party's background?"

"It's not clear yet. We only know there's an organization behind it called Raiders, specially capturing low-level Mutants and selling them to the black market." Ororofrowned, "Their stronghold is hidden very deeply, and every time they can get news in advance and run away, as if... there's a mole."

Logan touched his chin, a flash of shrewd light passing through his eyes.

An organization that specifically captures Mutants? Isn't that just a mobile point warehouse?

He licked his lower lip and smiled: "Alright, call me when it's time to make a move. I happen to be idle and need to stretch my muscles."

Ororo looked at the eager light in his eyes and shook her head helplessly — this guy, as soon as he hears there's a fight, he really perks up.

"I'll contact you once the location is confirmed." She gave him a push, "Hurry back, the one at home is still waiting."

Logan chuckled, didn't explain, waved his hand, and jumped onto the jet.

Amidst the roaring sound of the engines, the Blackbird shot straight into the clouds, quickly disappearing within them.

Ororo stood on the lawn, gazing at the direction the jet had departed in, standing there for a long while before turning to walk back.

How could she not know this guy's personality? But there was no help for it; she simply couldn't resist the kind of charm this guy wantonly radiated. It had already been like this, and even more so now.

Otherwise Jean wouldn't have...

Thinking of this, the smile at the corners of her lips couldn't be hidden at all.

In the office, Charles gazed at the sky outside the window, his fingertips tapping gently on the wheelchair armrest, his eyes deep.

"Logan... what on earth is your secret..."

He could feel that the mental barrier on Logan was thicker than three years ago, and the energy inside the other party's body was heterogeneous yet powerful, far more complex than just regeneration and Magnetic Field Manipulation.

But he didn't probe deeply.

Everyone had their own path to walk.

As long as Logan still stood on this side, as long as he was still willing to protect these children, that was enough.

Charles smiled slowly, turned his wheelchair back to the desk, and picked up the missing person case files on the table.

With Logan joining, this time, those rats hiding in the dark would have nowhere to escape.

Chapter 41 Caliban

The second day after returning from Xaviers School, Loganwasn't idle.

It wasn't like he had some high racial awareness; he was simply bored stiff. The Tarasov Family had been wiped out in one go, Tony was soaking in the lab building mark v, Maggie's coffee shop was busy expanding, and even Foxwas following Pepper around for business every day, leaving only him and Ares staring at each other in the house.

He was getting sick of fishing anyway, and since there was a delivery-style points warehouse right at his doorstep, it would be a waste not to farm it.

Relying on the underworld news from John's side, the underground black market clues given by Blade, plus his own Beast-grade senses tracking the lingering aura of Mutants all the way, it took him three days to actually lock onto a stronghold—an abandoned meat processing plant on the edge of Queens. It looked dilapidated, but in reality, hidden sentries were stationed all around, and the trucks entering and exiting were all unplated.

"Just this crappy place?" Logan squatted on the opposite Water tower, holding half an unlit cigar in his mouth, swept the area with binoculars, and sneered, "Catch people and stuff them into the cold storage? Aren't they afraid they'll freeze and fail to fetch a good price."

Twelve o'clock at night, pitch black and windy, just right for business.

He silently slid down the Water tower, hugging the Baseof the wall to the back door. Two guarding punks were leaning against the wall smoking and yawning, not even noticing him approaching.

Logan wasn't polite either. With a slight flick of his finger, the handguns at the two men's waists were instantly yanked off by the Magnetic Field Manipulation, clattering onto the ground.

"Who?!" The punk was stunned, just wanting to bend down to pick up the gun, when Logan had already closed in.

His left hand formed a palm blade to chop the back of the first person's neck, and his right hand smoothly clasped the second person's wrist with a gentle twist. With a crisp snap of bones, the man was just about to scream in pain before being slapped unconscious onto the ground by him.

It was no more than two seconds before and after, and the hidden sentries at the back door were all taken care of.

Logan patted his hands and pushed the door open to walk inside.

The processing plant was filled with the smell of rotting meat and rust, the hallway lights flickering on and off. He stepped with the Bagua Step under his feet, his figure hugging the Shadow, even quieter than a rat.

The patrolling guards encountered along the way either had their necks snapped by him or were dazed by psychic illusions, not even having time to press the alarm.

Sneaking all the way to the core area, through the heavy iron door, one could hear the scolding inside, as well as the repressed sobbing of children.

Logan's eyes cooled slightly, without wasting words, he popped out his Adamantium claws and slashed at the door lock.

Adamantium cut through iron like mud, and the bowl-thick iron lock was cut open like tofu. He kicked the main door open.

The people inside instantly blew up.

Seven or eight fully armed guards raised their guns in unison. Seeing a tall and sturdy man standing at the door with his Adamantium claws gleaming coldly, they pulled the trigger on the spot.

"Da-da-da-da——"

Bullets came whistling in. Logan stood in place without moving at all, fully activating Magnetic Field Manipulation.

All the bullets suddenly stopped half a meter in front of him, densely suspended in a patch. Following a flick of his fingertip, they all returned the way they came.

The sound of flesh being pierced by pu-pu-pu merged into one piece, and the guards fell to the ground without even letting out a few screams.

The remaining two leader-like figures were scared out of their wits and turned around wanting to run.

Logan activated teleportation, his figure disappearing on the spot, and when he reappeared, he was already blocking the doorway.

His left-hand steel claws pressed against one person's throat, while his right hand grabbed the back collar of the other like picking up a chick, smashing him against the wall with a slight exertion.

"Raiders?" Logan held the cigarette in his mouth, his tone casual, "Where are the captured Mutant children?"

The person whose throat was pressed braced himself to be stubborn, but Logan didn't waste words with him either, a psychic illusion directly drilling into the other person's brain.

In just a few seconds, the man's eyes became vacant, his whole body twitched, and he incoherently confessed everything—this was just a transit station, the children had long been transferred to a secret Base in Brooklyn, and he didn't know who the behind-the-scenes boss was, only that there was a guy in the stronghold who could "sniff out Mutants", giving early warnings every time the X-Menapproached.

After finishing the questions, Logan exerted a slight force on his wrist, and the steel claws pierced through the other's throat.

Just as he wanted to deal with the other one, a very light sound of fabric friction suddenly came from behind.

Without even turning his head, his right claw stabbed backward with a backhand.

With a crisp sound of "clang", the steel claws seemed to have stabbed into something hard, followed by a familiar female voice ringing out coldly: "Years apart, and your attacks are still this ruthless."

Logan raised an eyebrow, retracted his claws, and turned around.

A woman walked out from the Shadow, with blue skin bearing fine scales and golden eyes as cold as ice—none other than Mystique Raven. She had obviously just materialized, still wearing a guard's uniform, clearly having sneaked in.

"I was wondering who it was," Logan sneered, shaking the blood off his claws, "What, Magneto is dead and no one cares, so you've changed your profession to rob the rich and aid the poor?"

Raven's expression sank, her golden eyes narrowing, her tone carrying undisguised coldness: "I'm here to investigate the disappearance of the Mutant children. But you, Logan Howlett, killed Erik, and now you have the nerve to meddle in Mutant business?"

Great, she was still holding a grudge.

Logan didn't mind either, leaning against the wall and leisurely lighting a cigar, blowing a smoke ring: "Holding grudges is one thing, business is business. I can't just watch children get caught and dissected just because I killed Erik, can I? Besides, if he hadn't stirred up trouble back then, he wouldn't have ended up in that state."

Raven's lips moved, wanting to retort, but had nothing to say.

She knew in her heart that Magneto's plan back then was indeed crazy; if it had actually succeeded, Mutants would only have welcomed an even more tragic encirclement and suppression.

But reason was reason, and emotion was emotion. Erikwas her closest person, and dying at Logan's hands was a breath she couldn't swallow.

"What have you found out?" Seeing her silent, Loganactively changed the topic, "Looking at you like this, it's not your first time scouting the place."

Mentioning business, Raven also put away her tit-for-tat posture, frowning and saying: "I've been tracking them for half a month. Every time I get close to the stronghold, they evacuate in advance, and I can't even catch a shadow. It's as if... they can accurately perceive my location."

The cigar at Logan's fingertips paused.

Able to perceive Mutant locations...

A name instantly popped into his head—Caliban.

That guy was a living Mutant radar, capable of sensing all Mutants within dozens of kilometers, with a wide capability range and accurate positioning.

No wonder Ororo and Jean always came up empty-handed whenever they went, and Scott leading people there failed every single time. Turns out the other party smelled the scent and ran away from afar.

Wait.

Logan suddenly frowned.

That's not right. He had sneaked all the way in just now, using both magnetic fields and steel claws, and the commotion wasn't small. Why didn't he see the other party running away in advance? Didn't Caliban perceive him?

Or rather... the other party's perception was ineffective against him?

This thought couldn't be suppressed once it popped up. Logan's eyes narrowed slightly, and he instantly had an idea in mind.

"I know what's going on." He flicked the ash off his cigarette, looking at Raven, "There's a Mutant in the stronghold named Caliban whose ability is to perceive his own kind, equivalent to a live radar. The moment you guys get close, he can sense it from afar, so of course you always come up empty-handed."

Raven was stunned: "Caliban?"

She obviously had heard of this name before, but she didn't expect the Raiders to have recruited him. "No wonder... I was wondering why I was always a step slower."

"Just right, I'd like to try and see if he can perceive me." Logan smiled, smiling maliciously, "Give me the address of their Base in Brooklyn, and I'll go myself. If he can't perceive me, then this matter will be easy to handle."

Raven looked at him suspiciously: "You? Aren't you a Mutant?"

"Yes, but a bit special." Logan glossed over it vaguely, not intending to explain the matter of his golden finger, "Whether it works or not, we'll know by trying. It's better than you coming up empty-handed every time."

Raven was silent for a few seconds.

She couldn't trust Logan, but she had to admit that this was the only way right now.

Caliban's perception was too tricky. As long as the other party was there, these Mutants would never even think of succeeding in a surprise attack. If Logan could really avoid perception...

"I'll give you the address." She finally nodded, fished a note out of her pocket and handed it over, which had a warehouse address at the Brooklyn docks written on it, "I've checked for three days and confirmed the children are locked up there. Caliban should be there too."

Logan took the note, glanced at it, and casually shoved it into his pocket.

"Right," Raven suddenly spoke, throwing him a small communicator, "My channel is in there. If you run into trouble... or need backup, call me."

Logan raised an eyebrow, weighed the communicator in his hand, smiling mischievously: "What? Not holding a grudge anymore? And proactively giving contact info?"

"Cut the crap." Raven's face turned cold, and she turned around to walk into the Shadow, "I just don't want the kids to get hurt. If you die inside, no one will wipe out the stronghold."

When her voice fell, her figure had already melted into the darkness, leaving only a drifting sentence: "Be careful, Caliban has quite a few mercenaries around him, plus a few modified Mutant thugs."

Logan looked at the direction where she disappeared, sneered, and tucked the communicator at his waist.

"Still stubborn."

He turned head to scan the littered processing plant, didn't stay long, and turned to slip out from the back door.

He pulled out the note from his pocket and glanced at it again, a smile curling up the corner of his mouth.

Caliban... modified Mutant thugs...

Sounds like a lot of points.

Just right, tomorrow I'll go meet this 'Mutant radar', and by the way, see if this shielding cheat of mine actually works well.

Chapter 42 Red Tank

Night wrapped the Brooklyn docks tightly, and the salty, fishy sea breeze carrying a smell of rust swept through the abandoned warehouse district, where even vagrants were unwilling to hang around.

Logan bit down on an unlit cigar, leaned against the back of a container, and raised his eyes to scan a large storage warehouse not far away that hung a "Suspended" sign—infrared detectors were mounted on the surrounding wall, and four fully armed mercenaries patrolled back and forth at the entrance, with security much stricter than that transfer station in Queens by more than a notch.

He fished out the note in his pocket and checked the address again, letting out a sneer: "Quite the grand setup."

Normally, they were still over two hundred meters away; if Ororo or Jean had come, Caliban should have smelled the scent and ordered a retreat long ago.

Yet at this moment, the warehouse was quiet, the patrolling guards wandered about as usual, showing no posture of emergency evacuation whatsoever.

"Still can't perceive me?" Logan raised an eyebrow, his previous speculation settling in his heart, and he couldn't help feeling a bit smug.

It turns out that his mixed abilities combined with the mental barrier had instead become a natural invisibility buff, completely blinding Caliban's Mutant radar.

That made things much easier.

His figure flickered, teleportation activated, and he had already landed silently on top of the wall.

The two patrollers had just walked to the Base of the wall without reacting when they simultaneously took a chop to the back of their necks, collapsing softly without even letting out a groan.

Logan landed without a sound, stepping in the Bagua Stepalong the Base of the wall to sneak around. The guards encountered along the way either had their necks snapped by him or were dazed in place by mental illusions, acting like sleepwalkers.

In less than five minutes, all eight perimeter guards were resolved, without even triggering the alarm.

The warehouse gate was a thickened alloy door, locked tightly.

Logan did not force it open either; his fingers hooked slightly, and Magnetic Field Manipulation drilled into the keyhole. With a few clicks, the complex mechanical lock turned open by itself.

He gently pushed open the crack of the door and squeezed inside; the dim yellow light inside dazzled the eyes, and the air drifted with the scent of disinfectant and cheap cigars.

"The boss said, keep a close eye tonight. Caliban said the wind is tight lately, and the X-Men might come looking for us."

"What the hell is there to fear? With Caliban's radar, we'll know before they get within three miles. Besides, there are those three masters here; even if they come, they're just delivering food."

Two guards leaned against the shelf smoking, and right as the words fell, they saw a black shadow flash before their eyes.

Logan didn't talk nonsense, pressing one hand on each of their heads and giving a gentle twist. With two crisp cracks, the two collapsed directly onto the ground.

He had just straightened up when he heard a strong wind striking from behind.

"Courting death!"

With a roar accompanied by the sizzle of electric currents, a man glowing all over with blue-purple electric arcs rushed over, slamming his palm toward Logan's back.

Logan sidestepped to dodge, the electric arc grazing his shoulder and striking the shelf, instantly burning a black hole into the metal rack.

"Modified Mutant?" Logan raised an eyebrow, flicking the dust off his jacket, "Just this bit of capability?"

The arc man was stunned, clearly not expecting anyone to dodge his surprise attack. Just as he wanted to strike again, a burly man whose skin was gray-brown like a rock rushed out from the left, a sand-bowl-sized fist carrying the sound of wind smashing toward his face: "Daring to barge into our territory, you're tired of living!"

Simultaneously, a lingering shadow darted out from the right, moving so fast it pulled out an afterimage, holding two alloy daggers in hand and stabbing straight at his waist.

Three modified Mutants formed an encirclement, sealing off all retreats.

Logan sneered, advancing instead of retreating. The Adamantium claws popped out with a hiss, a cold flash passing by under the light.

He first ducked to avoid the rock man's heavy punch, his left-hand claws slicing along the opponent's arm. The originally indestructible rock skin was sliced open like paper, revealing a deep wound visible to the bone.

"Ah—!" The rock man let out a miserable scream, his facial features distorted in pain.

The speed-type Mutant had already circled behind him, his daggers stabbing straight for the heart.

Logan didn't even turn his head, his mind stirring as teleportation activated, and his figure disappeared on the spot.

The speed man stabbed into empty air. During the moment of daze, a massive force came from the back of his neck; Logan pressed his head and fiercely smashed him into the ground, cracking even the concrete floor, and he passed out on the spot.

"Just this speed? Not even running as fast as my Ares." Logan shook his hands and turned to look at the remaining two.

The arc man turned pale with fear, releasing current like a madman as a dense web of electricity enveloped Logan.

Logan couldn't be bothered to dodge; Magnetic Field Manipulation activated at full force, and the metal dust in the air instantly gathered into a shield. The electric network crashed onto it with a crackling sound, unable to penetrate even a bit.

"Playing with electricity?" Logan raised an eyebrow, his fingers hooking slightly, and all the metal parts on the nearby shelves flew up, shooting out like bullets.

The arc man failed to dodge in time, having his shoulders pierced by several steel bars and nailed to the wall, twitching twice before going still.

The rock man watched his companions go down in seconds, so frightened his legs turned soft, and he turned around wanting to run.

How could Logan give him a chance? He teleported to appear in front of him, slamming his elbow fiercely into his chest.

With a crack, the rock man's sternum collapsed on the spot, and his massive body flew backward, crashing half of a shelf and burying himself in the metal pile without moving.

In less than three minutes total, the three modified Mutants known as "gold-medal enforcers" were all lying flat.

Logan flicked the blood off his claws and sneered: "All looks and no substance."

He followed the faint sound of heartbeat deeper into the warehouse. Deepest inside was a separate monitoring room, the door locked from the inside, and he could hear the rustling sounds of packing things up inside.

"Running? Can you run away." Logan smiled, not bothering to pick the lock, and teleported directly into the room.

Inside the monitoring room, a pale-faced man wearing thick goggles was hurriedly stuffing things into a bag—it was Caliban.

Hearing the commotion, he whipped his head around, and seeing Logan suddenly appear before him, he let out a howl of fright, dropping the bag in his hand to the floor.

"Y-You, who are you?!" Caliban shrank back, his back pressed against the wall, his voice shaking, "Impossible… I didn't perceive any Mutants… How did you get in?!"

His ability covered forty kilometers; how many Mutants were within the radius and in which direction, he knew clearly.

Yet the person before him seemed to have popped out of thin air; he hadn't received a single bit of signal.

"It's right that you can't perceive me." Logan walked over leisurely, his steel claws shaking beside his cheek, the cold light making Caliban's face even paler, "Ask you some things, answer honestly, and I won't kill you. Who is the head here? Where are the captured Mutant children locked up?"

Looking at the steel claws close at hand, Caliban was so scared his calves cramped, not daring to be stubborn, and spilled everything like beans: "I-It's Red Tank! Cain Marko! He is the boss, the children were all transferred by him to the Base in the inland. I-I'm just a worker, he threatened me with my family, I didn't dare not listen!"

"Red Tank?"

Logan's raised eyebrows instantly knitted into a knot, and the cigar in his hand almost dropped to the ground.

That iron turtle whose brain grew together with his muscles, and who rammed into walls more diligently than he ate meals?

He had thought the Raiders were just an ordinary black market gang, never expecting Red Tank to be behind them.

That guy was not like those previous small fry; with infinite strength, physical defense almost maxed out, and going crazy enough to smash through walls, he was a solid, tough nut to crack.

"What is he capturing children for?" Logan asked with a frown.

"D-Do experiments… He wants to make a Mutant army to go against Professor X." Caliban made a crying face, "It really has nothing to do with me, I was just helping him watch if any X-Men came over, I didn't do anything else!"

Logan stared at him for a few seconds, and seeing he didn't look like he was lying, he began to ponder in his heart.

Although that guy Red Tank didn't have a good brain, he couldn't help being able to fight. If they really went head-on, while he might not necessarily lose, it would still take some effort.

Moreover, the other party transferred the children, and Caliban didn't know the specific location either; just catching him alone was useless.

Better take people back to Xaviers School first, have a meetup with Charles; more hands make light work.

Anyway, when the fight starts later, with Scott and Jean assisting, and himself rushing the front line to reap, points would still be earned, and it would save the trouble of racking brains to find the stronghold.

"Fine, come with me first." Logan reached out to grab his back collar, lifting him up like a little chick.

"Where to?!" Caliban struggled a bit in fright, only to be glared back by Logan.

"Xaviers School, Charles wants to see you." Logan let out a sneer, "Rest assured, he's easier to talk to than me. As long as you cooperate honestly, you won't die."

He carried Caliban outward, fished out the communicator given by Raven from his waist, and pressed the channel open: "Hey, blue skin, still there?"

The communicator crackled twice, and Raven's cold voice came through: "Speak if you have business."

"The stronghold is taken down, Caliban is caught." Loganleaned against the door frame, saying leisurely, "The mastermind is Red Tank, the children were transferred, and the specific location still needs to be checked. I'll take him back to Xaviers School first. If you have nothing to do, come over and rendezvous; more hands make light work."

The other end of the communicator was silent for a few seconds, and Raven's breathing could be heard.

After a while, she spoke, her tone still cold, yet she didn't refuse: "Got it, I'll arrive later."

After speaking, she directly cut off the communication.

Logan raised an eyebrow and stuffed the communicator back into his pocket.

Hard mouth, soft heart, same virtue as Ororo.

He lowered his head to look at the shivering Caliban and sneerred: "What are you shaking for? It's not like I'm eating you. If I'd known you were so timid, you shouldn't have hung out with Red Tank."

"I-I was forced…" Caliban defended in a low voice, his head drooping like an eggplant beaten by frost.

Logan ignored him, carrying him straight to the Hummer outside the warehouse, throwing him into the back seat, and sitting in the driver's seat himself.

The engine started, the Hummer crushed across the gravel road, driving toward the direction of Xaviers School.

The night wind poured in from the car window, blowing the scent of cigar smoke all over the car.

Logan's fingers tapped on the steering wheel, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile.

Red Tank oh Red Tank, a tough nut delivered to the door, just in time to test whether his Alpha-level Magnetic Field Manipulation could twist that copper skin and iron bones of yours.

And that experimental Base of his, who knows how many Mutant enforcers were hidden inside, all of them walking points.