My attributes are increasing infinitely Chapter 458: Black Bull Gang

As Ethan navigated a tight alleyway, a figure suddenly blocked his path.

This individual stood at medium stature, appeared unkempt, and bore an expression skilled in feigned friendliness when it suited his needs. His attire was grimy, and his sunken cheeks suggested frequent hunger.

"Hey there, kid." He bent low to meet Ethan's gaze. "You lost? Where are your parents?"

Ethan regarded him silently, offering no reply.

The man's grin broadened. "You hungry? I got food. Warm place to sleep. If you follow me, I’ll take care of you."

Ethan observed him intently for a prolonged instant. A flicker appeared in the man's eyes.

Yet Ethan sought no sincerity. He required entry. A gateway into this shadowy realm's hierarchy. Every dominion required a base. This fellow served as a suitable initial step.

Ethan gave a nod.

Rising to his feet, the man revealed a brief surge of contentment before masking it with his phony smile. "Good. Good decision, kid. Come on, follow me."

They traversed the shantytown, weaving by dilapidated structures and exposed drains, ignoring vacant stares from children and grown-ups who treated them as ghosts. The man chattered during their journey, highlighting notable spots, boasting about Ethan's fortune in encountering such a benevolent soul.

Ethan took in all the details. The arrangement. The domains. The visages.

After about twenty minutes, they arrived at a grouping of marginally improved structures. Sheet metal gave way to genuine timber. Shattered panes shielded by sheets of plastic rather than exposure.

As they passed an unseen divide, the man's smile altered. It grew keener. More vicious.

They halted before a modest edifice. The man thrust the entrance open and motioned for Ethan to proceed within.

Ethan stepped inside.

The interior was stark. Earthy ground. Several wooden boxes. The odor of booze and perspiration hung heavy.

The portal banged closed in his wake.

Turning around, Ethan saw the man's amiable facade entirely gone. In its place, a savage smirk revealing stained dentition.

"Bastard." The man's tone had transformed. "From now on, you’re a slave of the Black Bull gang."

His palm struck swiftly. It clipped Ethan on the skull with force sufficient to hurl an ordinary youth across the space.

Ethan staggered yet held his ground. No tears. No wince.

His countenance stayed utterly serene.

The man's smirk wavered briefly. "Oh? Pretty tough, aren’t you? Let’s see how long you can keep this tough act up."

Bam.

The initial blow struck Ethan's gut. His slight frame buckled. Blood immediately trickled from his lips.

Bam. Next strike to the visage. Crimson erupted from his nostrils.

Bam. Following hit to the side. A bone snapped.

Amid the assault, Ethan merely regarded him steadily. Like scrutinizing a bug. Like a celestial arbiter pondering the fitting retribution.

The man went by Max, and for the first occasion in ages, an odd sensation stirred within him. Disquiet.

"That’s enough, Max. He’ll die. A living person is far more valuable than a dead one."

A gruff voice emerged from behind them.

Max paused and pivoted, annoyance etched on his features. "Fuck off, James. I brought him here. I can do whatever I want with him."

In the threshold stood another figure. Taller than Max. Slimmer. His garments were threadbare yet tidier. His gaze was more piercing.

"Back off, or do you want me to call the boss?" James’s tone remained even as he locked eyes with Max.

Max’s jaw clenched. Tension crackled momentarily between them. Then Max tsked and retreated a pace.

"Tsk." He jabbed a finger toward Ethan. "Go start your training, bastard. If I see you slacking off, you’re gone for good."

He brushed roughly past James and vanished outdoors.

James approached Ethan and knelt. He examined the boy's features, the crimson stains, the utter absence of feeling.

"You took that beating without a sound."

Ethan cleared the blood from his face. Then, gradually, a grin formed on his lips. Not an innocent one. Something icier.

"I’m going to show him what it feels like to touch a god.", he thought.

James blinked once. Then he emitted a brief chuckle.

"Oh kid, that’s a scary smile you’ve got there."

[Master. He is from a hidden martial family. On a mission here.]

Ethan's inner focus turned. "Show me his stats."

[Name: James Maguire

Strength: 1.2 tonnes

Rank: Force manipulation level 3]

"Only 1.2 tonnes? That’s not much. But I guess in a mortal world, that’s terrifying.

And what is force manipulation?"

[Martial artists on this planet use ancient techniques to absorb sunlight, moonlight, or starlight. This births force inside their bodies. The highest known level is level 9, with strength around 5 tonnes.]

"Five tonnes." Ethan’s inner grin echoed the one outside. "I’ll surpass that in just a few days. This mortal world might be more fun than I thought."

He raised his eyes to James, adjusting his look to fit better.

"Thank you for stepping in earlier, sir." He inclined his head modestly. The gesture felt clumsy, youthful.

James eyed him closely. "You’re rather well spoken. Are you not from the slum?"

"I don’t know. I don’t remember anything."

James pondered briefly, then inclined his head gradually. "Okay. You should join under me. You won’t have to beg. I have other tasks for you."

Ethan nodded. "Okay."

"Follow me."

James guided him via a labyrinth of passages to a compact chamber linked to a bigger structure. The space was minimal. A sleeping mat in one corner. A tiny cooker. A surface with a pair of seats.

James secured the entrance after them and went to the cooker. He kindled a modest flame, poured liquid into a vessel, and tossed in some desiccated leaves from a sack on his waist.

After half an hour, he decanted the brew into a dish and placed it before Ethan.

"Drink this."

[Analysis: Low grade healing properties. Safe for consumption.]

Ethan grasped the dish and consumed its contents without pause.

James arched a brow. "You’re not suspicious of poison?"

Ethan placed the dish aside. "If you wanted to kill me, you could do it directly. Why would you bother boiling water, adding herbs, and wasting your time on someone like me?"

James gazed at him extendedly. Then a true smile lit his face. "Hahahaha! Fantastic!"

He rose and positioned himself mid-room. "I’m going to show you some exercises. Do them regularly for seven days. You can stay in this room. Food will be sent to you here."

Ethan nodded once more.

James commenced the display. Basic stances resembling extensions. Motions aimed at boosting suppleness and somatic consciousness.

Over twenty minutes, James progressed through the routine, detailing each stance.

Upon completion, he rose straight and regarded Ethan. "Do you get it?"

Ethan offered no verbal answer. He merely rose and started mimicking the actions.

Flawlessly.

Each degree. Each change. Each fine balance adjustment. His diminutive form executed the routine with exactness surpassing James's own showing.

James observed with bulging eyes. His lips parted faintly. Shut. Parted anew.

He gulped audibly.

Ethan's execution was impeccable. Superior to his tutorial. Superior to any trainee he'd guided.

"A once in a century genius." The notion raced through James’s thoughts. "If I bring him to the family, they’ll go crazy."

Briefly, he weighed it. The gains would be vast. His position would elevate.

Yet he dismissed it with a head shake. Return was impossible now. Not until his task concluded.

"Boy." His voice came out gruffer than planned. "Just stay inside this room. Don’t go anywhere else. Do the exercises regularly. I’ll come back to check on you in seven days."

The door shut after him.

Ethan remained centered in the space and surveyed it. Four barriers. An overhead cover. An entry that secured internally. Beside a refuse container, this counted as opulence.

He settled and reflected on it all. Max. James. The Black Bull gang. The hidden martial family. The stages of force manipulation.

Five tonnes at level nine. That amounted to nil. Utterly insignificant. In his prior existence, he had dismantled entities capable of planetary annihilation mere by willing it.

However, this differed from before. This was a mundane realm with earthly laws and a frail form tipping the scales at scarcely three kilos.

He would commence modestly. The Black Bull syndicate was minuscule, negligible, a mere blemish on this world's illicit underbelly. Still, it marked a beginning.

Henceforth, he would grow. Seize additional groups. Forge alliances. Dominate streams of currency, knowledge, armaments. Next, ascend. Aim at the structured illicit clans, the trafficking rings, the cross-national operations.

Then the conglomerates. Those who presumed dominion from their gleaming spires. They would discover true authority stemmed not from ledgers.

Lastly, the regimes. Those wielding atomic might, legions, every instrument of contemporary ruin. They would crumble final, and most severely.

Upon finishing, every outlaw, mogul, lawmaker across this globe would heed his command.

Yet that formed the extended scheme. The pressing one proved basic.

Endure seven days. Conquer these drills. Forge ties with James. And at the opportune moment, teach Max the peril of laying hands on him.