svetikya Page 269
Page 269
The hungry reporters swarmed around her. Louise took a skewer of grilled ribs, took a bite, and raised an eyebrow in surprise at the tender and juicy texture: "Where did you buy this so late at night?"
"You didn't know?" Tom, the reporter who brought the barbecue, asked in surprise, wiping the grease from his mouth. "Your two eldest sons are running a stall on Third Avenue right now! They grill and sell it fresh with real fruitwood!"
Louise's chewing motion suddenly froze.
"True fruit wood?"
An ominous premonition came over me.
Sure enough, the next second Lisa from the accident news team rushed in, holding freshly developed photos. Louise realized something was wrong just by looking at them.
In the photo, two teenagers wearing aprons are standing in front of a burning house. One is turning the grill, and the other is enthusiastically selling to the firefighters—those are clearly Jonathan and Jordan!
"Come on."
Louise took a bite of the roast meat with a blank expression. The originally tender and juicy taste suddenly became complicated—each bite was accompanied by the aroma of pine and a certain subtle sensation.
Ok.
It smells like my new home.
[P.S.: I've saved up almost enough. I'll pay off the debt in three days: the 25th, 26th, and 27th.]
Chapter 136 Ian's Evil God Development Plan
above the moon.
The divine light is brilliant.
The sound of forging, inaudible to ordinary people, echoed throughout the universe.
"Clang—clang—clang!"
Next to the divine furnace.
Clark swung one piece of superalloy and smashed another, sending sparks flying. Although they were in a vacuum, the vibrations from that force seemed to penetrate the universe itself.
Ian floated cross-legged in mid-air.
A surge of divine power was constantly boiling above his head.
Golden light emanated from its head.
He was like a true celestial bodhisattva.
"This thing is too difficult. I don't think it can be completed in a day." Clark was very serious as he used the divine power that Ian had unleashed to forge the armor.
However, the progress is not ideal.
"How long is this going to take?" Ian glanced at the watch on his wrist, which was painted with a brush, and it was calculating the time on Earth with the precision of a flowing painting.
"Dad, I'm about to start school." If there's anything in this world that Ian values more than paying taxes, it's going to school. He generally won't skip class unless it's something really important.
Despite the horrific incident that occurred just yesterday, many schools in the Metropolitan area have not suffered as a result, perhaps due to the low-society atmosphere in which few children die in DC.
In short.
The school is fine.
This means that on Tuesday mornings, students whose families have not experienced death or who are not homeless can still go to school. Of course, this is not a mandatory requirement for public schools.
It was just a normal class.
Whether or not students come is entirely voluntary.
Ian is very willing to volunteer.
"At least we need to get the basic framework out there, right?" Like most men in redneck families, Clark values ability more and doesn't care much about whether his children are late for school.
He was a farm boy.
Her hand-forging skills are also exceptionally proficient. Anyone familiar with America knows she's a jack-of-all-trades, because hiring labor is extremely expensive.
Their expertise in various handicrafts was born out of necessity.
"Student Code of Conduct, Rule Number One: You may leave early, but never be late!" Ian began to stop his divine power burst, and his entire body transformed from a glass-like shell back into a handsome boy.
"alright."
Clark was just a blacksmith, so of course he couldn't debate with the real core of the team, the Forge Boy. Ian remembered that going to school actually made him quite happy.
At least he wasn't as arrogant as many people who are blinded by power.
"Come again tonight."
Ian tidied up and dug up some lunar soil to grow vegetables. Seeing that Clark had cooled the forged embryo, the father and son flew towards Earth.
The old father was flying much faster than Ian, but he slowed down to wait for Ian.
"You can come again tomorrow."
Clark wasn't in a hurry, of course; he didn't need the armor.
And he knows it too.
This is a long and arduous forging process.
It will take at least several weeks.
This is not something that can be accomplished overnight. On the way back,
“I have a feeling you’re up to something again.” Clark said as he flew, looking down at the armor embryo in his hand. Its surface was covered with complex patterns, like some kind of ancient runes or naturally formed cracks, but the arrangement was unusually neat, even a little eerie.
His super vision allowed him to clearly see, at a microscopic level, various images of Ian's facial expressions hidden within the patterns on the armor's surface, though he didn't know their purpose or significance.
"Just as Damascus steel blades have Damascus patterns, metals forged by Ian's divine power naturally also have Ian patterns. It's scientific, natural, and also very, very reasonable."
Ian responded confidently, without even blinking.
"Ok?"
Clark glanced suspiciously at his youngest son flying beside him.
"You tampered with Bruce's armor?" This wasn't really a question. Clark, of course, didn't believe Ian; the patterns were too strange, there must have been a lot of hidden designs mixed in.
He knew this very well.
Unfortunately, his recent cramming on occult knowledge didn't seem to have enabled him to discern any clues.
“Dad, you’re being paranoid. You should go see Dr. Hannibal.” Ian immediately raised his hand and swore, “My skull was open just now, so I couldn’t think straight.”
"I simply enchanted this armor as a way of repaying Young Master Wayne's generosity. It's a supreme enchantment that's so powerful that it would make Young Master Wayne so satisfied that he would cry tears of joy and kneel down to call me Lord Ian!"
“If Aunt Diana heard about this, she’d be knocking on my window every night begging me to enchant her,” Ian said, his voice brimming with confidence.
He really did work hard to strengthen the Hell Armor, just as he did strengthen the Lasso of Truth, but Wonder Woman obviously hasn't yet seen the gratitude he owes her.
Also normal.
If a person is a little ahead of the times, he will be regarded as a genius. But if he is many, many steps ahead of the times, most people will hardly realize what kind of wisdom he is.
of course.
Ian firmly believes that the Justice League is full of experts.
Anyone who uses his equipment to fight an evenly matched enemy will realize his greatness.
The boy became more and more excited as he thought about it.
Clark's super hearing clearly detected that his son's heartbeat accelerated by 0.3 seconds.
Seeing this, he didn't dare to ask any more questions about the enchantment details. After all, if Ian really did something bad, he could only better face Bruce if he knew nothing about it.
Having made this judgment in my mind.
Clark then asked another form of question with suspicion.
"Didn't they leave a back door on the armor?"
He tentatively opened his mouth.
"I have always been honest and trustworthy, young and old!"
Ian got angry.
Upon hearing this, Clark frowned.
"Really not?"
He turned his head, his eyes filled with profound depth.
"Really not." Ian affirmed once again with a firm tone.
"..."
Clark remained silent for a moment.
When it flew into Earth.
He suddenly said something that left Ian completely bewildered.
"This is definitely a good option."
It's hard to imagine that Superman could say such cunning things.
"what?"
Ian's flight path paused slightly as he turned incredulously to look at his elderly father. The young boy had thought that hiding money was the worst thing Superman had ever done.
I never imagined Superman would have such a crooked idea.
“I’m serious.” Clark’s expression was grave. His ears twitched, but he didn’t detect any listening devices. “Do you know who Bruce is going to use this suit of armor against?”
"alien?"
Ian answered tentatively.
“That’s right,” Clark nodded. “And who is the alien he’s fought the most?”
The elderly father was patiently guiding him.
Ian wasn't stupid, and of course he realized it immediately.
"It's you, Dad!"
Ian's forehead lit up with a "ding".