136. Warning

During the three-day trip to Lake Tahoe, the two of them experienced skiing, hiking, surfing, scenic cable car rides, and dining at the Naked Fish restaurant.

The total expenses came to just a few hundred dollars.

Over these three days, Dean grew as familiar with the Fantasy Space as if it were an extension of his own limbs. He grew accustomed to the two-second delay and learned to store and retrieve items without a sound or trace.

In addition, utilizing his God's Eye view combined with the M1900, he hunted a few brush rabbits and an adult wild boar in the mountains. This experiment proved that tracking bullets could lock onto a maximum of one target at a time, last for up to twenty-four hours, and have a range within one hundred miles.

The effect was immensely powerful.

Only the gunshot sound and recoil were smaller than Dean had anticipated, leaving him with the illusion every time he pulled the trigger that he was holding a toy water pistol and squirting people.

Yet this toy killed people as easily as mowing grass.

"When are we coming here again? Just the two of us, no one else." In the car heading down the mountain, Gretchen interrupted his musings, looking at him with a smile while holding a photo of Dean tumbling headfirst into the snow on a snowboard as she asked,

"When you graduate from police academy."

"It's a deal then!"

……

The trip to Reno ended perfectly, but before leaving, Dean paid a visit to Marco's pet clinic, exchanging pleasantries with the white-coated old man at the entrance.

Soon, a flurry of urgent barking came from inside the clinic, and a chubby Rottweiler rushed out.

It looked less than three months old, its fur pitch-black and glossy, but the hair around its muzzle, on its chest, and on all four paws was yellow—commonly known as iron-wrapped gold.

At the peak of its two eyebrows were two distinct yellow spots, making it look as though it had an extra pair of eyes. Right now, all four eyes were simultaneously staring vigilantly at Dean.

"Small frame, but quite the temper." Dean made a soccer-kicking motion toward it, and the Rottweiler instantly lowered its body, pressed against the ground, and retreated while emitting a low growl.

Ruben, dressed in light blue hospital pajamas, hurried over and picked up the dog. Compared to the emaciated and filthy miserable state he was in a few days ago, his face now carried some healthy color, and his cheekbones had some meat on them, no longer protruding severely like a skeleton.

"Naru, Dean is my savior. You must never act fierce toward him, understand?"

The Rottweiler let out a whine, as if it understood its master's command, and obediently lowered its head.

"So young yet already showing human-like intelligence, much smarter than my Coco." Gretchen's blue eyes sparkened brightly.

"Of course, Naru is an elite breed I picked out of a hundred. Want to pet it?"

Ruben had the woman bring Naru inside the clinic to sit down, while he called Dean over and walked along a shaded path nearby.

"I've started using the ancestral fountain pen to write my diary. Besides recording my own training progress, I write about Naru's daily growth, slowly transforming it into the greatest guard dog in the world, a cosmic divine dog."

"It's only been two days, and Naru can already sense the surrounding danger to a certain extent... um... it tells me your aura is terrifying, which is why both it and its companions are so afraid of you."

Dean smiled casually. "Perhaps it's because I've experienced quite a few mysterious events and picked up some bad auras."

"Is that so? By the way, there's a question I'd like to ask you. After using the ancestral fountain pen to write a diary entry of a few hundred words, I feel extremely exhausted, even more tired than pulling an all-nighter writing used to be. It feels as if something inside my body entered the draft using the fountain pen as a medium."

Dean pondered for a moment.

"This is a good thing. It proves that the fountain pen can accelerate the infusion of your spiritual power into the written words, and your efficiency in writing things into reality will also increase."

Ruben nodded, recalling the scene from that night when his severe injury of a perforated and rotting stomach instantly healed.

"Consuming spiritual power... Does that mean there are also superpowers that consume physical stamina, like your severe injury self-healing?"

Hearing this, Dean straightened his face, a majesty and ferocity between his brows leaving Ruben terrified.

"Do not inquire about any fellow superpower users' abilities; this is a taboo. Even if you guessed it, do not broadcast it."

"OK, I remember. Any other suggestions?"

Dean put his hands behind his back, imitating Time's demeanor back then to impart knowledge:

"There are certain organizations searching for superpower users like us, wanting to capture us and turn us into laboratory specimens. Be sure not to leak your information to anyone."

"Not even other superpower users?"

"What do you think? Not all peers are as willing as I am to communicate with you peacefully and friendly; among them, there are no shortage of bloodthirsty, crazy, and perverted individuals who will directly kill a rookie like you upon meeting."

……

"You must set a principle and a bottom line for yourself. You cannot completely ignore morality, law, and conscience, and use superpowers recklessly to satisfy your own desires, otherwise, before the Law of Convergence even strikes, you will fall into a frenzy of loss and self-destruction."

"The breathing and movements in your family's ancestral vellum manual can effectively maintain sanity; you must persist every day."

Ruben was twice Dean's age, but at this moment he kept nodding like an obedient student, his eyes growing brighter and brighter.

"Man, to be honest, we just met. Why are you willing to give me so much valuable advice?"

"When I first awakened my abilities, I was also ignorant and naive, leaving flaws everywhere like an idiot. Fortunately, I met someone with decent character and got on the right track. I got my chance, and you can too."

Dean looked at Ruben's withered face. To put it bluntly, this guy was stubborn, naive, and an idealist.

But looking at it from another angle, he lacked worldly cunning. Helping him once now might allow Dean to borrow his power at some point in the future. Today could just be considered a low-cost investment.

"Can I train with you in the future?" Ruben asked expectantly.

"No. The more the supernatural gathers, the more dangerous it gets... I don't even know if that dog of yours counts as another kind of supernatural creature after you modified it, but in short, you need to be careful."

"If you encounter trouble you can't solve, contact Tribeca and have her relay it to me... I'll help for a fee if it's within my power, but if it exceeds my capability, I can only say I'm sorry."

"No matter what, I will remember your help."

The two of them chatted all morning about the precautions for superpowers.

After a hearty lunch, Dean and Gretchen bid farewell to Marco and his son and returned to Las Vegas.

They arrived home around dusk.

Last was frantically pounding away at the combat dummy in the yard. Seeing them, he wiped his sweat, tossed a fist-bump at Dean, and asked,

"Was Reno fun?"

"Very nice, especially when bringing a girlfriend."

Hearing this, Last's expression stiffened.

"Britney still hasn't forgiven you?" Gretchen noticed what was on his mind.

"She won't talk to me, she keeps avoiding me," Last said dejectedly.

Dean punched him in the shoulder.

"There's an old saying in our hometown: a true man shouldn't worry about not finding a wife. When you graduate and start working, with this handsome face of yours, pretty women will naturally swarm over like a tide."

"Is that any way for a friend to act?" Gretchen glared at Dean, then turned to Last. "Don't get discouraged. There's going to be a god-given opportunity soon. Play it right, and you and Britney will make up one hundred percent."

Both men perked up their ears.

"In June, Nevada State High School is holding a prom for us twelfth graders. According to tradition, all graduates must invite their dates in advance."

Gretchen's eyes sparkled with longing.

"Last, as long as you invite Britney... you two will have to spend a lot of time building rapport, shopping for formal wear together, practicing dancing, and the probability of repairing your relationship is one hundred percent."

Last's eyes lit up like lightbulbs.

"Aside from me, Britney doesn't have any male friends she's closer to. I'm the most suitable date!"

……

After making the initial plans for the prom, Dean's life returned to a routine.

He kept a low profile, practiced diligently, studied the private investigator registration materials, familiarized himself with the routine operation of the M1900, occasionally called Marco's father and son to check the situation, discussed the deeds of the Van Helsing family with Tribeca, and updated the Supernatural Encyclopedia.

In addition, there were no commissions from Attorney Luvich. Worried about the new FBI agents spotting flaws, Dean stopped going to the LVPD and no longer "hunted" within the city limits of Las Vegas.

Every four days was the Night of Metamorphosis.

Dean would transform into a black leather jacket and pants-wearing, sunglasses-sporting vigilante lawman, riding his motorcycle through some remote, deserted alleys of a town outside the city. His thirty-meter range God's Eye view constantly peered into the movements of houses along the street, and whenever he discovered criminal activity, he would execute sanctions and farm some proficiency points.

Late that night.

Henderson District.

Wearing a black leather jacket and sporting the unfamiliar face of a punk, Dean rode his motorcycle past a two-story building in an Asian community, sweeping his God's Eye view inside the house.

Dean suddenly pressed the right handlebar to brake the motorcycle, dismounted, ran forward a few steps, braced himself on the wooden railing, and nimbly vaulted into the yard.

His black-gloved right hand grabbed into the void, and a retro-styled, bright silver pistol appeared in his palm.

Click.

Disengaged the safety, pulled the slide.

The muzzle aimed at the closed front door of the small Western-style house.

Lightly pulled the trigger.

Whoosh—it sounded just like a cricket chirping in the grass.

.44 Magnum penetrated the wooden door.

Amidst flying wooden splinters, a thud rang out.

A heavy object fell to the ground inside, and the floor shook.

Proficiency +3, Marksmanship Lv3 (40/400).

Dean kicked open the door.

A bald black man weighing at least two hundred pounds with a ferocious expression collapsed behind the door in a pool of blood, a large bloody hole blown right through the center of his forehead, looking just like a large fat pig being bled.

"F***, someone fired a shot, Jesini's done for!"

"Cop?"

"Whatever, send him on his way!"

Panic-filled curses and the sound of thumping footsteps came from the second floor. Dean didn't stop, walking straight to the center of the first-floor living room, raising the muzzle toward the ceiling.

Bang, bang, bang, he fired three consecutive shots.

The wooden floor burst open with a large hole, and bright red blood dripped from the second floor through the hole down to the first.

On the second-floor hallway behind the opening, a black man shot in the back lay on the ground, his limbs twitching like a suffocating fish.

Proficiency +3, Marksmanship Lv3 (43/400).

Dean swept his God's Eye view across the second floor, hooked his finger around the trigger to spin the gun, and leisurely walked up the stairs.

In the hallway, a third black man, skinny as a skeleton with acne scars and the miserable look of a junkie, aimed his muzzle at a hostage—a young Asian woman bound hand and foot in a chair, her mouth taped, clothes disheveled with a large expanse of skin exposed on her chest, a bright red handprint on her flushed face, unconscious.

"Motherf***er, you're not a cop, what kind of person are you?"

Seeing Dean's cool black outfit, the black man felt instantly terrible. Why would a madman suddenly pop up in the middle of the night to ruin their get-rich-quick enterprise?

Dean remained silently unresponsive. His God's Eye view caught sight of an Asian male lying in a pool of blood inside the bedroom behind the black man. The expression beneath his sunglasses turned as cold as iron, and he abruptly raised the muzzle.

A faint whistle-like sound.

A scream!

The black man's index finger pulling the trigger was jammed by an invisible force, and a striking bloody hole was blasted through his chest tissue by a bullet.

He fell backward to the ground and lost his breath, his eyes wide open like copper bells, dying in agony with lingering grievances.

"Proficiency +2, Marksmanship Lv3 (45/400)."

……

After the triple kill, Dean glanced at the unconscious woman tied to the chair and took out the planchette from his pocket.

With a thought.

A gentle breeze blew.

The semi-transparent soul of the newly deceased black thug flew out from the planchette and landed in front of Dean, instantly pinned tightly by the Shadow of the Past.

Dean picked up the planchette and looked through the glass piece.

Spiritual power poured into the M1900, and he raised the muzzle toward the ghost.

Spirit Bullet!

Biu!

A bullet flickering with a faint cyan glow burrowed into the ghost's body and became stuck in the center.

Like a pebble dropped into a calm lake, ripples imbued with cyan light instantly rippled outward from the bullet as the center, rapidly scouring the ghost's entire body.

The black man's ghost, whose expression had originally been dull like a puppet, suddenly tightened in terror, its hands hanging at its sides, its dark, hollow mouth wide open, and its two eyeballs protruding from their sockets.

Yet it could make no sound at all.

Despair and pain turned into black mist.

But it lasted barely a second.

The spiritual power attached to that bullethead was exhausted, and it could no longer linger within the ghost's body, plummeting to the ground with a thump.

Meanwhile, the ghost's body became even more transparent and pale than before, as if a gust of wind could blow it apart.

Dean raised the muzzle.

Biu!

The second shot.

Cyan light, ripples.

The ghost was completely shattered by the ripples of spiritual power, breaking into pieces that dissolved into the void.

You killed a ghost, proficiency +1, Marksmanship Lv3 (46/400).

Two shots.

Dean's eyes beneath the sunglasses flashed with contemplative thought.

The planchette could eliminate ghosts instantly, whereas the spirit bullet took two shots to put one to rest.

The efficiency of the spirit bullet was inferior to the planchette, but its attack range was longer, its freedom of movement greater, and its consumption extremely low.

With Dean's physical fitness and spiritual power, he could withstand even firing a hundred shots in a short time.

……

"If I encounter a group of ghosts attacking together in the future, I'll let the Shadow of the Past manipulate the planchette while I personally use the M1900, a two-pronged approach."

……

After using spirit bullets to eliminate the remaining two ghosts, Dean untied the poor woman who had lost her husband and splashed a cup of cold water on her to wake her up.

Leaving behind a cold silhouette, he rode away on his motorcycle!

……

From March to early June, Dean's time was spent in training and metamorphic slaughter, along the way celebrating his nineteenth birthday with friends.

This unprecedented period of calm and tranquility triggered no events—so peaceful that Dean even felt somewhat unaccustomed to it, harboring a faint sense of unease.

Yet his strength steadily progressed.

Dean Lu

Character Level: 4 (30/500)

Age: 18 → 19

Physique: 15.6 → 16.1

Strength: 12.5 → 13.1

Agility: 13.7 → 14.3

Perception: 12.9 → 13.1

Spirit: 16 → 16.1

Willpower: 13.4 → 13.5

Abilities: 6/6

Combat Lv3 (5/400)

Marksmanship Lv3 (46 → 100/400)

Shadow of the Past Lv1 (117 → 187/200)

Red Dragon Meditation Lv2 (75 → 145/300)

Mimicry Lv1 (25 → 97/200)

Fantasy Space Lv0, capacity 2 cubic meters.

Specialties: Intermediate Iron Man, Junior Supernatural Hunter

System Ability: God's Eye Lv3: Range 30 meters.

……

Combat had quietly risen to Lv3. Now, his combat technique was no longer inferior to champions of the UFC or MMA, reaching the peak of humanity. With just a wave of his hand or a shift of his foot, he could take someone's life.

(End of this chapter)