novellhall Chapter 38: Ivan, very pragmatic
Chapter 38: Ivan, very pragmatic
Images from my memory flashed by, frame after frame.
A single hand strike, a precise angle, a precise application of force.
Ivan's body moved.
He knelt down, pressing his knees down onto Gilbert's arms, pinning the crazed monster to the ground.
With his left hand gripping Gilbert's chin, he lifted it sharply upwards.
A section of pale neck was exposed, and on the side of his Adam's apple, a lump the size of a pigeon egg was slowly pulsating under the skin. With each pulsation, Gilbert let out a suppressed roar.
Ivan brought his right hand together to form a chopstick.
With precision and without hesitation, it struck the pulsating protrusion.
"Uh...uh..."
The lump shattered under his scalpel, and some kind of viscous liquid seeped into his body from under the skin.
Gilbert's body twitched twice beneath Ivan.
Then all the strength was quickly drained from his body, his muscles relaxed, the dark red in his eyes faded, and he returned to a deathly gray.
He lay limply on the cinder floor like a sack with its bones removed, his chest rising and falling slightly.
He didn't die, but he lost his fighting ability.
Ivan got off him and brushed the coal dust off his knees.
Looking at Gilbert, whom he had subdued, he felt a special sense of accomplishment.
It felt like finally defeating your first monster in the starting village of a game and gaining a generous amount of experience points.
"It seems that the demon-hunting traits I absorbed last night have enhanced my sense of smell. That's why only I can smell that bloody odor."
He looked down at his palm.
"And the knowledge and practical experience related to witchers have been subtly integrated into my instincts."
"It doesn't require conscious recall; it just comes to mind automatically when stimulated by external stimuli."
This feeling was like a song he knew very well.
He can't just recite the lyrics from memory.
But the moment the melody started, he sang along with it, accurately matching each line.
And monsters.
It's the melody of the Witcher.
"Witcher. It seems that to fully digest the knowledge within these traits, I must come into contact with more monsters."
Evan silently summarized in his mind.
"Isn't this just the role-playing technique from the mystery movies?"
Eighteen years of experience as a veteran online novelist allowed him to pinpoint exactly what he was going through at that moment.
The Witcher's legacy is not dead knowledge written in books, but a library of instinctive reactions that need to be activated in actual combat.
The closer you get to the real monster, the more those dormant memories will be awakened.
As Evan was pondering this in his mind, the playground fell into complete silence.
The crimson sunset sank behind the rooftops of the western buildings, turning the entire cinder playground into a solidified orange.
Ryan, John, and the group of poor students in tattered clothes stood there, eyes wide, their faces filled with shock.
Further away, the group of wealthy young ladies who had been screaming and scattering moments before also stopped, covering their mouths with incredulous expressions on their faces.
The way they looked at Evan was no longer the disdain they had for those "poor boys," but rather at a being who had intruded into their world and was completely out of step with their understanding.
Humans are instinctively drawn to the strong.
Especially in the moment of being rescued from a crisis, the gratitude and admiration are amplified infinitely.
Just now, Ivan's series of actions.
From getting up upon hearing the smell of blood, to delivering a judo throw, and then a precise strike, ending the fight in one blow.
Clean and efficient, without a single unnecessary movement.
They're like knights and rangers straight out of those cheap novels.
In the distance, several school security personnel rushed over, carrying wooden sticks.
The middle-aged security guard in charge frowned deeply when he saw Ivan standing in the center of the field.
"Why is it you again?"
This middle-aged man was one of the witnesses who saw Evan kill LeBron and his three companions in the main teaching building lobby that day.
In his memory, this skinny student in the patched jacket was a crazy person who didn't care about his life.
Before Evan could explain, a clear voice came from behind him.
"Mr. Security, please don't misunderstand. Arkham was protecting us; that poor student suddenly went berserk."
A slender figure walked out from the group of girls.
She raised her hand and pointed to Gilbert, who was still twitching slightly on the ground.
The middle-aged security guard then noticed the limp body on the ground, and his expression quickly changed from vigilant to solemn.
He turned his head, lowered his voice, and said something to his companion beside him.
"Go and inform Professor Byron immediately."
The sound was very low, almost carried away by the wind.
But Evan's ears, repeatedly enhanced by aspirin, caught every syllable.
Professor Byron.
The name flickered in Evan's mind.
A renowned chemistry professor at the university. A technical advisor to the Byron Group.
The Byron Group was one of the most important chemical giants in the United States at that time, and the aspirin he took every day had the company's logo printed on the bottle.
"So it wasn't just Professor Pulis's family conducting drug trials?"
Ivan's expression changed slightly.
He had initially thought that the potion on Gilbert was also the work of Priss.
But the moment Professor Byron's name appeared, the whole picture became complicated.
There are at least two extraordinary forces at this university using poor students as guinea pigs.
Their potions...
Ivan's hand tightened subtly in his pocket, pressing down on the three small medicine bottles.
That was the "trophy" he had casually pulled from Gilbert's jacket pocket while he was subduing Gilbert and suppressing his struggles.
Security personnel carried Gilbert away on a makeshift stretcher.
His thin body lay limp on the stretcher like a bag of flour. Several security guards frowned as they carried the stretcher, one even instinctively covering his nose with his sleeve.
Ivan stood still and did not follow.
These three bottles in my pocket need to be dealt with first.
If Byron later discovers that Gilbert is missing his medication and searches the area around the scene, he doesn't want to be caught red-handed.
"Thank you for saving Helen just now."
That clear voice rang out again.
Ivan turned his head.
A faint scent of jasmine mingled with the cool breeze and reached his nose.
Two female students were standing about two meters away from him.
The girl leading the group was about 1.65 meters tall, wearing a well-tailored beige plaid skirt and a dark brown wool short coat over it.
On her feet were a pair of shiny calfskin lace-up ankle boots.
She is quite beautiful.
Her jet-black hair was secured at the back of her head with a ruby hair clip, and a few stray strands fell down her cheeks.
Her facial features possess both the three-dimensional and broad contours of Westerners and the delicate and dignified features unique to Easterners.
His skin was as white as fine porcelain, his cheeks were slightly chubby, his lips were a natural light red, his eyes were dark and bright, and the corners of his eyes were slightly upturned, giving him an undeniable air of heroism.
She has a graceful demeanor and an inherent strength and confidence.
The girl next to her was much more shy.
She nestled close to the first girl, clutching her sleeve tightly, her eyes red and her face still bearing traces of tears from her shock.
She was wearing a blue cashmere dress, which was now somewhat disheveled from the earlier chaos, with a few grains of coal stuck to her shoulders.
Her skin was fair, with a few faint freckles scattered on the bridge of her nose. She lowered her head and sobbed softly.
She looks just like a younger sister nestled in her older sister's arms.
Ivan waved casually.
"It's nothing serious."
The girl in the lead took a step forward and extended her right hand.
"My name is Erdin Yousefka Hearst."
Her fingers were white and slender. She naturally gathered a strand of bangs that had fallen to her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.
The movement was fluid and elegant, and the entire posture, bathed in the afterglow of the setting sun, outlined an indescribable youthful beauty.
The necks of those poor boys in the distance were stretched out as if the wind would break them, and their eyes were all fixed on the screen.
"There have been a lot of rumors about you lately," Eldin said with a hint of meaning in his voice.
"After seeing your behavior today, I realized that some people are really petty."
With one hand still on the medicine bottle in his pocket, Evan reached out with his other hand and grasped Ertin's soft hand.
He gave it only a polite handshake and immediately withdrew it.
"It is an honor to receive your recognition."
He nodded slightly to Erdin.
"But you should comfort this poor lady first, I still have to carry sacks after dinner."
After saying this, he reached up and took off the old newsboy cap from his head, gave the two girls a polite nod, and then turned and left.
it's getting dark.
I wanted to hurry back to take my medicine first, and then go to the dock to carry sacks.
No matter how beautiful she is, if she neither lets me sleep with her nor gives me money, what's the point of all this nonsense?
Evan is very pragmatic.