592: Chapter 592 The Role of the Solar Mind Network, Written Examination Room

Deep in the night at the Jinshui Fish Market, the hustle and bustle had long since ebbed, leaving everything pitch silent.

Inside the ward located in the clinic's basement, it was even more enveloped by boundless darkness.

The exhaust fan in the corner was caked with grease, emitting a strained and muffled humming sound.

Shanks leaned back against the hospital bed, his eyes staring straight ahead with a blank expression.

In his mind, there were only various impressions regarding the "Illuminati".

Back on the top floor of the Silver Wing Building, when he first heard the President say this name, he hadn't cared at all.

He had thought it was some unknown little team trying to take advantage of the chaos, foolishly provoking the Blood Thorn Mercenary Group backed by an S-rank powerhouse.

As a result, that man had used only two punches to blow apart the flesh-mountain-like Big Bear and severely injure the leader, the Masked Man.

That unbridled and feral Aura, along with destructive power, instantly suppressed the entire scene and completely terrified him.

Shanks had decisively chosen to retreat back then, shrinking into the shadows of the corner, wanting to play dead and muddle through.

Bearing the blood debt of hundreds of people in his entire Family, how could he possibly risk his own life for a mercenary group like Blood Thorn that took money to do jobs?

However, the subsequent minutes of frantic bombing allowed him to witness firsthand what the true limit of human power was.

The President had actually used a mortal flesh body to confront the military's armed helicopter head-on, blowing apart the steel beast representing modern technology with his bare hands.

Yet he had unfortunately been swept by the autocannon, suffering heavy injuries, and was about to plunge into Hell to end this pathetic life of his.

But his full heart of unwillingness and resentment made him spend his last breath crawling to that man's feet, extending a hand for help.

At that time, the President lowered his gaze, resembling a deity overlooking the mortal world.

Life and death were entirely in the other's single thought; he didn't even have the qualification to beg for mercy.

Fortunately, this god of slaughter finally nodded, tossing a lifeline to him, a drowning man.

Afterwards, the surgery was successful, preserving his life that had been lingering on for over a dozen years.

But after Shanks woke up, he was still apprehensive.

He worried that after handing over his bank passwords and draining his last bit of utilization value, he would be immediately silenced and discarded like trash.

Never had he expected that tonight's bizarre experience would usher in a turning point in his life.

All of this came too suddenly; he was still somewhat caught off guard, and his mind was still a mess.

It was like a person walking to the end of a desperate path, only for a soaring bridge to suddenly be erected across the cliff before him.

Amidst the joy, his heart surged with a myriad of conflicting emotions.

Shanks couldn't help but compare the President with that grey-robed man who also looked like a demon god.

One was like the sun in the sky, acting violently and dominantly, yet able to emit light and heat to illuminate those in the darkness.

The other seemed compassionate to the world, but was actually ruthless, using any means to achieve his goals, bringing only death and misfortune to others.

Shanks suddenly remembered a saying his grandfather often had on his lips before he died:

"Fate is like a dealer who loves to play tricks; you can never guess whether the next hand it will push your chips to the demon or throw them to God."

Having wandered through the underground world for so many years, being able to find a true home now and follow such a powerful and reliable leader—

for him, was definitely a blessing won from a high-stakes gamble.

"Thank the Lord, for not abandoning me, a sinner fallen into Hell..."

Shanks habitually raised his right hand, his thumb touching his forehead, preparing to cross himself and pray.

But only halfway through the motion, his arm stiffened mid-air.

His entire person seemed frozen, and then he let out a self-deprecating, bitter chuckle.

"Where in this world is there any illusory Lord who delivers people from suffering."

Shanks slowly lowered his arm, raised his face, and looked at the yellowish incandescent lamp above his head:

"Since this life of mine was generously bestowed by Lord President."

"Then from now on, my Lord has one and only one, and that is you, President."

As this heartfelt sentence was spoken, amidst the nether, a distant echo seemed to come.

Shanks vaguely felt that his Soul seemed to have forged an extremely strong bond with someone in the distance.

This bond was deep and firm, sufficient to resist the massive demonic shadow lurking at the bottom of his consciousness, and also refreshing his spirit.

Shanks slowly closed his eyes and concentrated on Meditation.

He faintly saw a blazing and dazzling sun.

Endless light radiated outward continuously, impressively weaving into a vast golden giant net.

And he was right inside this brilliant network of light, transforming into a lit star shining brightly alongside the great sun.

At the same time, a warm little stream flowed slowly toward him along the invisible golden rays.

"What is this?"

Shanks suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze shining brightly.

This warm current was very subtle, and its flow rate was also very slow.

If not for his long years hovering on the edge of life and death and his extremely acute perception, he wouldn't have detected it at all.

But its advantage lay in being continuous; like a trickling stream, it was improving his condition from the inside out.

Just like the medicinal liquid in the hanging bottle above his head, it poured into his limbs and bones, nourishing his scarred body.

It also dispelled the hidden gloom in his heart and comforted his exhausted spirit.

Shanks could clearly feel that the wounds on his chest and abdomen were warming up slightly at this moment, and the healing speed was obviously accelerating.

Even, this warm current also alleviated the aftermath of his Soul feeling like it was being torn apart in the nightmare earlier.

You must know that this was a chronic headache ailment caused by overusing Bloodline abilities!

"Could this be a miracle bestowed by the President?"

Shanks's breathing instantly became heavy, and countless thoughts flashed through his mind.

Previously, what he feared most was that his body would be dragged down by the Bloodline curse, and under the torture of his mental ailment, he would gradually go mad and lose his reason.

Ultimately becoming like that worse-than-beast guy, reduced to a bloodthirsty and ruthless monster.

But now, he suddenly had the confidence to completely cure his chronic ailment, live well, and even live better!

Shanks's blue eyes were startlingly bright, as if flames were burning in their depths.

The heart in his chest that had been cold for many years was like being re-injected with magma, pumping wildly.

Blood surged through his blood vessels, carrying the hope of revenge and extreme euphoria, scouring every nerve.

He gritted his teeth and suddenly clenched his fists tightly.

"Hiss—"

Using too much force instantly affected the unhealed gunshot wounds between his chest and abdomen.

The freshly scabbed wound directly ruptured, and bright red blood quickly soaked through the gauze, blooming into a few dazzling splashes of blood on his chest.

Shanks let out a muffled grunt, his brow tightly furrowed.

But he didn't let go of his hands; instead, amidst that heart-piercing pain, he forced the corners of his mouth apart, revealing a nearly frantic smile.

The clearer the pain sensation, the more it could prove that he was truly walking on the road of revenge at this moment.

In this long night, within the gloomy basement.

He opened his bloodshot eyes wide, staring at the mottled ceiling.

Letting his wounds seep blood, his euphoric nerves simply couldn't squeeze out even a shred of sleepiness.

"Emily... Wait patiently. One day, older brother will personally avenge you..."

...

At the same time, thousands of kilometers away.

Gale winds howled, whipping up black raging waves over a dozen meters high, fiercely slamming toward an ocean freighter cutting through the waves.

The cold seawater turned into flying white foam all over the sky, splashing like a torrential rain onto the steel deck.

At the most turbulent bow of the freighter.

A figure as stalwart as an iron tower stood erect like a javelin amidst the fierce winds and giant waves.

He wore no protective suit whatsoever, letting the sea wind mixed with ice shards tear at his thin shirt.

The gale whipped up his dark red long hair, which looked like dried blood, flying wildly behind his head.

Those giant waves, which were enough to smash an ordinary person to pieces, seemed to crash into an invisible high wall when they came within three feet of his body.

The water flow was cut and diverted by a barbaric force, then crashed down thunderously to both sides.

Because any water vapor, as long as it came slightly close, would be instantly vaporized by the extreme high temperature, turning into large patches of white mist lingering around.

The red-haired man placed his hands on the thick metal guardrail.

At the edges of his palms, the air presented rings of high-temperature distorted fluctuations.

That solidly forged steel railing emitted an overburdened creaking sound.

The metal surface took on a dark red luster, as if it were being forcibly melted by a furnace.

In the blink of an eye, it became like a branding iron, with faint molten iron dripping down the edges.

The red-haired man raised his head, his utterly temperatureless eyes piercing through the heavy storms, looking toward the continent on the other side of the distant horizon.

That direction was precisely Dongdu of the Xia Country.

Suddenly, his eyelids jumped fiercely.

Amidst the nether, a violent throbbing came from deep within his Bloodline.

It was as if a deity issued an enraged roar, tearing through endless time and space, exploding directly beside his ear.

"Could this be..."

A flash of shock and suspicion crossed the depths of the red-haired man's eyes, and his chisel-carved face couldn't help but twist slightly.

He closed his eyes and quietly felt it for a moment.

However, that throbbing quickly receded like the tide, leaving no trace.

The red-haired man furrowed his brows slightly, then shook his head.

He simply regarded it as a hallucination generated when his internal Bloodline chronic ailment flared up.

He spat out a hot, turbid breath and cast his gaze back toward the churning sea:

"White Owl, wait for it. I'm going to tear off your mask and see who on earth you are!"

As he spoke, his five fingers suddenly clenched together.

Snap!

The steel-cast railing was actually snapped apart by him as easily as tofu.

...

At 10:00 AM, when the sunlight was at its most brilliant.

The Third Tiered Classroom of the Dongdu National Special Police Academy.

The cold wind from the central air conditioner whistled down through the grilles of the air vents, yet it couldn't blow away the scorching and anxious Aura inside the exam room.

Over a hundred examinees sat scattered across the spacious tiered seats.

In the huge space, there was only the rustling sound of pen tips rubbing against paper, as well as the intentionally suppressed, varying breaths of the people.

The questions of this administrative aptitude test were extremely obscure and tricky for many people.

Facing the exam questions on the paper involving law, politics, psychology, military affairs, management, and other subjects, the martial brutes who usually were accustomed to solving problems with their fists were all forced to lose their tempers at this moment.

Someone's brows were twisted into a dead knot, biting the plastic cap of their gel pen until it was pitted.

Someone stared at the same major question for a full ten minutes, scratching their hair into a bird's nest, while their answer sheet remained completely blank.

Even more so, some simply gave up struggling, closing their eyes and blindly guessing on the multiple-choice questions.

Still others had shaking legs bumping against their desks, making soft "creak, creak" noises that made the surrounding people increasingly restless and irritable.

In the back row of the exam room.

A lean, flat-topped young man had a furtive expression, his eyeballs rolling left and right in their sockets.

Taking advantage of the proctor ahead turning around, he quickly pulled open his left sleeve and darted a glance at the miniature electronic screen taped with transparent tape to the inside of his forearm.

"Bang!"

However, before he could even see the handwriting on the screen clearly, a hand suddenly reached over from the side.

With five fingers spread wide, it slammed heavily onto his desk, pinning the exam paper down with a grip.

The lean youth shuddered all over and abruptly raised his head.

He saw that the proctor wearing a badge had teleported in front of him at some unknown time, staring down at him with eyes full of contempt:

"Trash, you don't even know how to cheat. Get the Hell out of here for me!"

"Teacher, I didn't..."

The youth's face turned pale as he panicked and tried to pull down his sleeve to quibble.

The proctor didn't listen to any nonsense at all, directly reaching out to tear up the answer sheet on his desk.

Two armed guards outside the door heard the commotion and strode in, propping up the youth's arms from left and right, dragging him directly out of the classroom amidst his desperate, pleading cries.

The sounds of struggle in the corridor gradually faded away.

The atmosphere inside the exam room instantly dropped to freezing point.

The remaining examinees were so frightened they buried their heads even lower, the cold sweat in their palms almost making them lose their grip on their pens.

However, under this high-pressure atmosphere, in the seat by the window, Fang Cheng seemed to be in another world.

The sunlight slanted through the glass onto his right hand holding the pen.

The black gel pen glided rapidly across the answer sheet.

There were no pauses, no hesitation of biting the pen tip, and no need to scribble deductions on draft paper.

For every question, the moment he finished reading the stem, the logically rigorous answer had already smoothly landed on the paper.

The proctor who had just caught the cheater paced along the aisle and happened to stop beside Fang Cheng.

Looking at the densely filled exam paper with handwriting like iron hooks and silver strokes, the teacher slightly raised his brow, a trace of surprise flashing in the depths of his eyes.

This answering speed and coherence were simply as if the standard answers had been engraved in his brain beforehand, directly copying them out by memory.

Giving it a second thought, the proctor was relieved.

As one of the important departments symbolizing state power, the Special Investigation Team not only held the power of life and death, but its internal treatment and social status were also ridiculously high.

Every year, countless wealthy and powerful families broke their heads trying to squeeze their own offspring in to get gilded.

Whether entering politics or doing business, this experience could become a tremendous boost for entering upper-class society.

Although the recruitment process of the Special Investigation Team was extremely strict and could screen out the vast majority of wine-bags and rice-sacks who only knew how to eat, drink, and make merry—

yet in the face of absolute power, there were always some big shots who could cover the sky with one hand and obtain the core question bank in advance through under-the-table methods.

The proctor's gaze moved up along the exam paper and fell on Fang Cheng's face.

Gold-rimmed glasses, a handsome and scholarly face, and a steady, upright posture of holding the pen.

Even just sitting quietly there answering questions, a noble Aura of condescension and inviolability naturally exuded from his body.

This restrained Aura could never be cultivated by an ordinary Family.

"Probably another Young Master from some major Family sent out to gain experience."

The teacher muttered to himself inwardly, tactfully retracting his gaze, and continued patrolling toward the back row with his hands behind his back.