After stepping through the portal Clarice created, Richard felt the spatial distortion settle and reform around him. A blink later, the city noise was gone, replaced by the quieter atmosphere of the suburbs. The three of them didn't linger in the open. They quickly found an ordinary roadside coffee shop and went inside, blending into the afternoon crowd.
They ordered three cups of coffee and chose a table near the back. Sabretooth didn't waste time on small talk.
"How was your father captured?" he asked directly.
Richard gave him a concise explanation. He described how agents from the Mutant Affairs Department had moved in, how the arrest unfolded, and how Crimson Manor had been disbanded shortly afterward. His tone was calm and factual, without embellishment.
When he finished, he looked at Sabretooth. "What did you need my father for?"
"I've got some personal business to handle," Sabretooth replied. "I wanted your father to watch over Clarice for a while."
He exhaled slowly. "Looks like that won't be necessary now."
He didn't elaborate on what kind of "personal business" required leaving his adopted daughter behind. Richard didn't press. Instead, another question surfaced in his mind.
Why not send Clarice to the Mutant School?
Even if Wolverine wasn't currently there, the school's resources and reputation far surpassed anything Crimson Manor ever offered. In terms of safety and structured protection, it was the obvious choice.
"The Mutant School is too far," Sabretooth said, as if reading the direction of his thoughts. "It's a long trip across the country. I don't have that kind of time."
He paused, then his eyes sharpened with a new calculation.
"Your father's been arrested. You dissolved Crimson Manor. And you just killed agents from the Mutant Affairs Department." His gaze fixed on Richard. "You're strong, but not strong enough to fight them head-on."
Richard's expression tightened slightly. "You want me to take Clarice to the Mutant School."
Sabretooth didn't deny it. "Yes. That's exactly what I want."
"You and Clarice aren't registered. You're illegal mutants. But if you help me with this, I can make sure you get in. You know Wolverine from the X-Men? He's my younger brother."
Half-brother. And he barely remembers that connection.
Richard kept that thought to himself.
"Sorry," he said evenly. "I'm not planning to join the Mutant School."
Professor X and Wolverine weren't villains. The X-Men weren't corrupt. But for someone with Plunder, the school environment was restrictive. Spending his early growth phase surrounded by protected mutants was strategically unsound.
Hunting. Acquiring. Fusing.
That was his path.
In less than half a day in this world, he had already accumulated eight X-Gene abilities. If the current rate continued, triple digits weren't unrealistic in the foreseeable future.
"Joining the school is your chance to become an X-Man," Sabretooth pressed. "You're not interested?"
Richard met his gaze without hesitation. "Since this morning, I've killed eight mutants and twenty ordinary people."
"For an unregistered mutant like me, not being hunted by the X-Men would already be a blessing. Joining them isn't realistic."
He stood.
"If there's nothing else, I'll leave. It was good meeting you. Enjoy your coffee."
He placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and walked out under Sabretooth and Clarice's watchful eyes.
Outside, he used Flash repeatedly, creating distance before transitioning to mundane movement. He located a used car dealership that didn't require detailed registration and selected a well-maintained Class C RV. After paying extra for immediate servicing, he had the vehicle checked and repaired on-site.
Within the hour, he was driving away.
He stopped at a supermarket, stocked up on a week's worth of supplies, then headed toward Los Angeles. He didn't intend to drive straight into downtown. Instead, he planned to spend several days at an RV campground outside the city to train and refine his abilities.
While driving, he opened his attribute panel.
[Skills: Eight Blades Flash (Lv1, 12/100), Earth-Shaking (Lv1, 3/100), Sky-Shock (Lv1, 0/100), Residual Heart (Lv1, 3/100), Iai Slash (Lv1, 0/100), Thunderbolt (Lv1, 1/100), Blizzard (Lv1, 0/100)]
[Magic: 23]
He reviewed the numbers carefully.
He had used Eight Blades Flash twelve times, Earth-Shaking three times, Residual Heart three times, and Thunderbolt once. At level one, each activation consumed one point of magic. By usage alone, he should have only eleven points remaining.
But he had twenty-three.
Magic regenerated naturally through rest and food intake. Based on his experience earlier that day, full recovery required roughly five to six hours. That meant sustainable combat cycles were feasible with proper pacing.
What he didn't know was that, while he drove toward the RV campground, multiple videos featuring him were spreading rapidly online.
The footage varied in angle, but the content was identical.
A silver-haired young man wielding a massive silver-white sword. Mutant agents and special forces falling like wheat before a scythe. Fluid movement. Clean execution. Unshaken expression.
Restaurant patrons had captured everything on their phones.
Within minutes of upload, the videos began circulating aggressively.
"Is this from a new sci-fi movie?"
"That sword is insane. Is it CGI?"
"Where did this happen?"
"No way this is real."
"I can't even combo like that in action games."
"Who says mutants are freaks? If they look like this, sign me up."
"Does anyone know his name yet?"
Comment sections exploded. View counts surged toward seven figures. The combination of appearance, weapon size, and combat efficiency created viral momentum.
Richard remained unaware.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Sephiroth template fusion: 5%.
Despite acquiring multiple abilities through Plunder, the template progression remained low. Compared to the stolen powers, the template was his true trump card. Its growth potential far exceeded isolated X-Gene acquisitions.
Improving fusion efficiency became a priority.
Meanwhile, at the Los Angeles branch of the Mutant Affairs Department, personnel assigned to monitor online public data flagged the videos almost immediately. The content matched an active operation that had just gone dark.
They escalated the information to their supervisor without delay.
Not long afterward, the branch director overseeing mutant agents—a broad-shouldered Black man with a reputation for ruthless efficiency—received an encrypted email from the intelligence division director.
.....
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