The Fighting Nation Really Was Something Else

At a gas station in Smallville Town, a tall, handsome young man frowned as he stared absently at the grassland leading from the station toward the center of town.

Seeing the young man so engrossed, an old employee at the gas station came over and lightly patted his shoulder.

"Clark, what are you looking at? Studying how the crops in our town are growing this year?"

"No."

Facing the old employee's question, Clark shook his head and gave a bitter smile.

"What's the point of studying the harvest? There's no money in it.

"If the farms in our town have a good harvest, then practically every farm across New Jersey will have a good harvest too, and grain prices in New Jersey will naturally fall this year."

With that, Clark Kent sighed and took off his work uniform.

"I was watching the weather just now. I have a feeling it's going to rain over in Gotham, and that rain might reach us too.

"Could you ask Leitner for leave on my behalf? I need to go home and help Martha put the soybeans away."

"Is it really going to rain?"

At Clark's words, the old employee narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"It rains a lot over in Gotham, but it rarely reaches us. We're still quite a ways from Metropolis.

"But you're right. Better to believe it'll rain than let it cause losses. I'll request leave for you in a bit."

"Thanks."

Clark smiled brightly, set his changed-out uniform aside, then got into his beat-up pickup and drove toward his farm.

Not long afterward, at Kent Farm, Martha Kent walked over in surprise when she saw Clark suddenly return home.

"Clark, weren't you at work? Why did you suddenly come back?"

"One of the gas pumps broke. The repair crew said it wouldn't be fixed until at least this afternoon.

"Since there wasn't any more work for me there anyway, I figured I might as well come home and rest for a while, then head back to the gas station after lunch."

As Clark explained, he casually took the farming tool from Martha's hand and began working.

But even as he worked, his eyes kept drifting toward the distant town.

Smallville was a town neighboring Metropolis. The atmosphere there was exceptionally peaceful, and danger almost never found its way there.

But today seemed different, because Clark had spotted more than one high-powered sonic weapon inside several black jeeps near the café in the town center.

At first, Clark had even thought those people were after him.

After all, other than him, who in Smallville Town could possibly be worthy of the immense power of sonic weapons?

But...

As he heard more and more, he learned the truth. Those sonic weapons had been prepared by the United States military for a supercriminal in Gotham named Downton!

That man had set his sights on a reporter named Lois Lane, but her father was a general, so they had prepared this trap for Downton.

It was precisely because he had heard that information that Clark had decided to take leave and return home to look after his mother.

Although the family farm was still some distance from the town center, who knew just how super this supercriminal Downton really was, or how dangerous he might be?

If Downton was truly as dangerously super as Clark himself, then mere sonic weapons and a few dozen special forces soldiers definitely wouldn't be enough to stop him!

Lost in thought, Clark became distracted, and the shovel in his hands snapped into two pieces.

In the distance, Martha looked helplessly at the broken shovel and brought over a new one.

After putting the shovel into Clark's hands, Martha gently patted the back of his hand.

"Ever since Jonathan left, you've always been distracted, Clark.

"People are destined to face death. You and I are no exception, so death shouldn't bring even more pain to the living.

"Cheer up, my son. Later, help me take the dairy cows to the veterinarian. One of them got a long nail driven deep into its left forehoof."

"Okay, Martha."

Clark nodded, then continued swinging the shovel, loading cow and sheep manure into the manure cart.

Yet even though he had focused his mind on the task at hand, he still couldn't help looking toward the center of Smallville Town.

Hopefully the damn military and that so-called Downton won't leave this peaceful little town with a mess to clean up!

Meanwhile, near Gotham's History Museum, Bartel brought the car to a stop.

"Boss, we're here!" he reminded Downton as he turned around.

Downton nodded lightly at that, then asked Bartel a question.

"How old are you, Bartel?"

"Uh... twenty-three. What about you, boss?"

"Twenty-six, hehe."

After grinning, Downton leaned into the passenger seat and grabbed his tactical backpack.

"Bartel, keep a close eye on my location. If I suddenly show up somewhere else within a five- to eight-minute drive, follow the location and come pick me up.

"If my location is especially far away, keep waiting here.

"Also, write down your family information on a note and leave it in the car. If you accidentally die, I'll give this car to your family.

"Of course, if they don't need the car, I'll exchange it for roughly the same amount of Franklin instead. Consider it payment for collecting your corpse."

As his words fell, Downton patted Bartel's shoulder, then jumped out of the car.

Taking out his phone, Downton looked over the floor plan of the laundromat before him.

Liv's intelligence was extremely detailed, and Downton studied it very carefully.

The Dimitrov Family had risen to power during the Cold War. Not only was their boss named Yuri, but his style of doing things was also full of that Russian flavor.

This Yuri didn't like newer ways of making money, such as finance and technology. He only liked old-fashioned methods like prostitution, gambling, and drugs.

The business he used to hide his family was likewise an especially old-school one: a laundromat.

If Liv's map was correct, then the hidden door and basement inside the laundromat ahead led directly to the Dimitrov Family's core underground casino.

Seeing that, Downton put away his phone in satisfaction and took both guns into his hands.

As he approached the laundromat, the two Russians standing guard inside had already noticed him.

Once they confirmed that Downton was armed and clearly headed their way, the Russian gunmen immediately raised their guns at him.

Through the floor-to-ceiling glass window, Downton smiled lightly at the gun barrels, then suddenly stepped to the left.

As he dodged the gunmen's first volley, Downton raised both guns levelly.

Bang! Bang!

The two gunmen roughly twelve meters away from him fell to the ground.

The Desert Eagle was far more powerful than the Glocks the gunmen carried. After being hit, neither gunman had the strength to stand again.

Downton leaped through the shattered floor-to-ceiling window, landed beside the two gunmen, and gave each of them another shot to the head.

As blood and flesh splattered, the gunfire briefly ceased. In that eerie silence, Downton smiled and grabbed one corpse's hand.

"People learn things as they die. For example, if I want to know when you're about to fire, all I need to do is watch the movement of your trigger fingers.

"I never expected to dodge your bullets. The moment you fired, I just jumped around at random. Who would've thought randomly jumping around would actually be kind of useful?

"Thanks, gentlemen. I hereby declare that, after Rola Takizawa, you're the second group of great teachers I've acknowledged!"

After teasing them, Downton turned around and made a shushing gesture toward the astonished pedestrians outside.

Just as the scattered pedestrians hurriedly nodded, Downton heard approaching footsteps. He pushed open the door leading to the employee break room and decisively tossed two grenades inside.

Boom!

The grenades exploded, and the Russians' curses came from within the smoke.

"Fuck, close the door!"

"The Italian Mafia is attacking!"

"Hurry up and call for people from downstairs!"

"The Italians must be fucking crazy! The cops just finished patrolling this street!"

Those voices made Downton pause slightly. He hadn't expected so many voices to remain in the room after the explosion.

The fighting nation really was something else!