Starting to Gain Experience from Push-Ups Chapter 1217 - 591_2

Shanks gasped, his breathing abruptly becoming labored. Previously, his greatest fear was his lineage curse weakening his body, his mind descending into madness under the assault of mental disturbances. He dreaded eventually transforming into that savage beast, a mere monster driven only by slaughter. But now, a sudden surge of confidence filled him – the power to completely eradicate his afflictions, to live a fulfilling life, and even to thrive! Shanks' cerulean eyes blazed, as if infernos raged within their depths. The heart that had long grown cold within his chest felt as if it were reignited with molten magma, pounding with renewed ferocity. His blood surged through his veins, carrying potent hopes of vengeance and a thrilling excitement that electrified every nerve. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fists with immense force. "Hiss—" The strain caused him to inadvertently aggravate the unhealed gunshot wounds on his chest and abdomen. The recent scabs shattered, and crimson blood rapidly seeped through the bandages, blooming like vivid scarlet flowers against his torso. Shanks emitted a low groan, his brow deeply creased. Yet, he did not release his grip; instead, through the sharp agony, he forced his lips into a near-ecstatic smile. The sharper the pain, the greater the certainty that he was truly on the path of retribution. In the profound silence of this long night, within the darkened basement. He opened his bloodshot eyes wide, fixing his gaze on the discolored ceiling. Allowing his wounds to bleed freely, the agitated state of his nerves banished any hint of drowsiness. "Emily... please be patient. One day, your brother will personally exact vengeance for you..."

.........

Simultaneously, across thousands of kilometers. The tempestuous wind shrieked, whipping the ocean into towering, black, raging waves exceeding ten meters, which crashed violently against an ocean-going vessel cleaving through the turbulent waters. The frigid seawater transformed into a sky-filling mist of white foam, descending like a deluge upon the ship's steel deck. At the ship's most tempestuous prow, a colossal figure, akin to an iron tower, stood resolute amidst the gale and the colossal waves like a javelin. He wore no protective gear, exposing his thin shirt to the icy wind laced with hail, which tore at him relentlessly. The fierce wind tossed his dark crimson hair, resembling dried blood, wildly around his head. The waves, powerful enough to crush an ordinary man, seemed to strike an invisible barrier three feet from his form. The water was forcibly parted and diverted, cascading down on either side. Any moisture that dared approach was instantly vaporized by an intense heat, dissolving into vast expanses of white mist that swirled around him. The red-haired man rested his hands upon the sturdy metal railing. Around the edges of his palms, the air shimmered with rings of high-temperature distortion. The solid steel bar emitted a strained groaning sound under the pressure. The metal's surface began to glow a deep red, as if subjected to the inferno of a furnace. In mere moments, it resembled a searing branding iron, with molten metal faintly dripping from its edges. The red-haired man tilted his head back, his eyes, devoid of warmth, pierced through the storm's layers, gazing toward the distant continent beyond the horizon. That direction pointed towards East Capital in Xia Country. Abruptly, his eyelids twitched violently. Deep within his bloodline, a potent pulse resonated, as if a deity had roared in fury, shattering the vast expanse of spacetime to erupt directly beside his ear. "Could this be...?" A flicker of astonishment mixed with doubt crossed the red-haired man's eyes, his sharply defined features momentarily contorting. He closed his eyes, sensing for a moment in silent contemplation. However, that pulse quickly subsided like the receding tide, leaving no trace behind. The red-haired man immediately shook his head. Dismissing it as an illusion brought on by the onset of his bloodline affliction. He exhaled a hot, heavy breath, his gaze returning to the churning sea: "White Owl, you await. I shall tear off your mask and discover your true identity?" As he spoke, his five fingers suddenly clenched. Crack! The steel-forged iron bars were easily crushed like soft tofu by his grip.

.........

Ten in the morning, under a perfectly timed sunlight. The National Special Police Officer Academy, within a third-tier lecture hall. The frigid air discharged from the central air conditioning system cascaded through the vents, yet it failed to dissipate the stifling atmosphere pervading the examination hall. Over a hundred candidates were dispersed across the expansive tiered seating. Within the vast space, only the faint rustling of pen tips against paper could be heard, alongside the deliberately hushed and varied rhythms of breathing. The questions posed for this comprehensive written examination were exceptionally intricate and obscure for many. Confronted with queries spanning law, politics, psychology, and military science, the pugilists, more accustomed to resolving issues with their fists, found themselves utterly disheartened. One individual furrowed his brow into a perpetual crease, gnawing on the plastic cap of his pen until it was riddled with indentations.

For a full ten minutes, someone stared intently at a single, major question. Their hair was disheveled, resembling a bird's nest, yet their answer sheet remained starkly blank.

Some individuals even abandoned all pretense of effort, resorting to random guesses and filling in the multiple-choice section with their eyes shut tight.

Another student's quivering legs repeatedly bumped against their desk, producing a grating sound that further agitated those seated nearby.

Over at the rear of the examination hall...

A slender young man, sporting a buzz cut, exhibited a furtive demeanor, his eyes constantly darting within their sockets.

Seizing an opportune moment when the invigilator looked away, he swiftly pulled up his left sleeve. Taped to the inside of his forearm, beneath a layer of clear plastic, was a miniature electronic screen, which he glanced at.

"Snap!"

However, before he could decipher the words displayed on the screen, a hand unexpectedly shot in from the side.

With fingers splayed wide, it forcefully slammed down onto his desk, pinning the exam paper flat.

The skinny young man flinched violently, snapping his head upwards.

The invigilator, identifiable by a name tag, had materialized before him with unbelievable speed. Their gaze fell upon him with evident disdain:

"Useless. Can't even cheat properly. Get out this instant!"

"Teacher, I wasn't..."

The youth's face drained of color as he desperately attempted to lower his sleeve and protest.

Dismissing his pleas, the invigilator decisively tore the answer sheet from his desk.

Hearing the commotion from the hallway, two uniformed guards entered and, grasping the youth's arms on either side, dragged him out of the classroom amidst his frantic protests.

The sounds of their struggle slowly receded down the corridor.

Within the confines of the exam hall, the atmosphere instantly turned frigid.

The remaining students lowered their heads even further, their palms slick with cold sweat, nearly causing their pen grips to falter.

Yet, amidst this tense atmosphere, Fang Cheng, positioned by the window, seemed completely detached, as if existing in a separate realm.

Sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating his right hand as it held a pen.

The black gel pen moved with brisk efficiency across the answer sheet.

There was no hesitation, no nervous chewing on the pen tip, and no need for scribbling or calculating on scratch paper.

Each question, immediately after being read, received its logical and precise answer, which flowed smoothly onto the page.

The invigilator who had apprehended the cheater earlier paced down the aisle, stopping directly beside Fang Cheng.

Observing the densely filled exam paper, adorned with handwriting described as 'iron and silver hooks,' the teacher's eyebrows rose slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing their eyes.

Such rapidity and coherence in answering suggested that the standard solutions were imprinted in his mind, requiring only transcription.

After a brief moment of contemplation, the invigilator felt their unease subside.

The Special Search Team, recognized as a pillar of the nation's strength, not only wielded power over life and death but also benefited from exceptionally high internal privileges and societal standing.

Every year, numerous elite families and influential figures strived to place their offspring within the academy, seeking the prestige it offered.

Possessing this experience proved invaluable for integration into high society, whether in the realms of politics or business.

While the recruitment process for the Special Search Team was notoriously stringent, designed to weed out frivolous individuals concerned only with indulgence, the allure of absolute power meant that exceptions could sometimes be made.

Certain influential figures, leveraging their connections, managed to obtain the core question bank through illicit means, bypassing the standard procedures.

The invigilator's gaze shifted from the exam paper to Fang Cheng's face.

Gold-rimmed spectacles, a handsome and refined countenance, and a stable, proper posture while holding his pen.

Even in silent repose, answering questions, he exuded an innate aura of superiority, invincibility, and privilege.

This natural 'qi' field was not something an ordinary family could foster.

"Likely another young master sent out by some prominent family for practical experience," the teacher mused.

Muttering this thought internally, the teacher wisely averted their gaze and continued their inspection towards the back rows.