Junior Warrior
Two hours later.
Xu Mo opened his eyes and slowly rose from the ground.
As he moved, sharp crackling sounds echoed from his joints, like the snapping of dry wood.
A transparent panel appeared before his eyes once again.
[Name: Xu Mo]
Age: 20
Strength: 10,360 kg
Speed: 96 m/s
[Ability: None]
[Points: 512]
Staring at the numbers, Xu Mo was stunned.
After just one round of training, his physical power had more than doubled. His strength now exceeded ten tons—reaching the standard of a junior warrior, comparable to a trained metahuman.
But it wasn't only raw power and speed. His entire body had undergone a profound transformation. His senses, too, had sharpened to frightening levels.
He could feel the air currents shifting around him, hear the tiniest of sounds. Even the faint ticking of the clock on the wall slammed into his ears like a cathedral bell.
Suddenly, his head turned. His eyes locked on the door.
"Someone's outside."
Xu Mo strode forward and opened it.
Standing there was Wanda Maximoff, pale from waiting for over two hours. Her eyes were red, her face drawn with worry.
"Why are you here?" Xu Mo asked, brows furrowing.
At the sight of him, Wanda rushed forward, clutching his arm tightly. Her voice trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes.
"Something happened to Pietro!"
---
Hell's Kitchen
Inside a dim, smoke-choked room of a private building, Pietro Maximoff sat bound to a chair, his face bloodied and bruised. His wrists and ankles were lashed tight with coarse rope.
"Boss, this is the guy I told you about!"
A thin man spoke nervously to the imposing figure by the window.
The bald man rose from his chair. Nearly two meters tall, built like a tank, he radiated authority and menace. Pietro's eyes widened slightly—he recognized the reputation even before the name was spoken.
Wilson Fisk. The Kingpin of Hell's Kitchen.
"Have you verified his identity?" Fisk's gravelly voice carried across the room.
"Yes, Boss. We checked. He came in from Western Europe recently. Word is, his sister married into serious money."
The thin man produced a dossier, handing it over eagerly.
Fisk flipped through it, his sharp eyes catching the details. Then, his expression darkened into something between greed and resolve.
"…One hundred million dollars?"
"That's right, Boss. More than enough to cover everything we owe this year!"
Fisk smiled faintly—cold, predatory. "Well done."
He turned his gaze back to Pietro.
"Relax. I'm not unreasonable. I only want money. You wouldn't want to die before you get to spend it, would you?"
Pietro spat blood to the floor, glaring defiantly. "Kill me then. If you think you're getting a single cent, forget it."
Despite the ropes cutting into his wrists, despite the bruises swelling his face, Pietro's pride as a Maximoff—and as Wanda's brother—burned too fiercely to let him bend.
---
At the Manor
Xu Mo and Wanda sat tensely in the living room.
"Maybe he just went somewhere with no signal," Xu Mo suggested.
"No!" Wanda snapped, her voice shaking. "Pietro would never disappear without telling me. Never." Her eyes glistened, her hands twisting together. "He'll be okay… right?"
Xu Mo offered what little comfort he could. "Don't worry. I've already sent people to investigate. We'll have word by tomorrow at the latest."
But his reassurance didn't ease her anxiety.
Just then, Xu Mo's phone rang. He picked up, and Avril, his secretary, spoke on the other end.
"Boss, we've got a lead."
---
On the Road to Clinton
Half an hour later, Xu Mo's car sped through the streets. Wanda sat beside him, her nerves frayed.
"Why aren't we calling the police?" she demanded.
"Because if the NYPD gets involved, Pietro's dead the second they show up." Xu Mo's voice was cold, matter-of-fact.
He didn't bother to explain further. Wanda knew Fisk's reputation. The Kingpin was beyond the reach of ordinary law enforcement, and calling the cops would only provoke retaliation.
The car stopped two blocks from the Mafia's base in Hell's Kitchen.
"Stay here," Xu Mo said firmly. "I'll handle it."
Wanda's eyes glowed faintly red with restrained emotion. "Be careful…"
Xu Mo didn't turn, only lifted a hand in a brief wave before walking away.
At the door of the building, he touched the bracelet on his wrist. A faint shimmer of energy flickered across its surface. He had prepared for this. The shield would activate automatically under fire—even strong enough to withstand heavy energy weapons, if only for two seconds.
And with his new reflexes, ordinary bullets were meaningless.
He slipped inside the low-rise building that served as the Mafia's headquarters. The Kingpin's empire had not yet expanded beyond Hell's Kitchen, but within these walls, his word was absolute.
Xu Mo glanced up at the second-floor balcony. With a light leap, he seized the ledge and vaulted silently inside.
Gasps erupted.
"Oh my god!"
"Holy—!"
Seven or eight thugs whirled toward him. Xu Mo moved before they could even aim. His figure blurred across the room, striking like a storm.
+50 Points!
+60 Points!
The system's rewards chimed in his mind as gangsters crumpled one after another.
Without pause, Xu Mo stepped through the door and advanced upstairs—straight toward Pietro and the Kingpin.