Governor Smith had just finished exercising and gone to bed. He vaguely sensed a cool breeze slipping into the room, but his body was still limp with fatigue, and he paid no attention to his surroundings. He didn't even notice someone walking right into the brightly lit room.
"Cough, cough! Cough, cough!" James had to make a racket to get the governor's attention. He stood there awkwardly for nearly ten seconds.
The governor froze as if struck by lightning, then turned his head in a daze. At last, he let out a panicked scream. "Damn it! Who the hell are you? Guards! Guards!" The woman beside him woke with a start. The two frantically grabbed at clothes and bedsheets to cover themselves, shrieking incessantly.
James sighed helplessly, strode forward, and seized Smith by the throat. He lifted him one-handed, leaving him dangling in the air. The woman screamed in terror. James backhanded her behind the ear, and she fell silent and slumped unconscious.
"Judging by your reaction, you must be Governor Smith. Allow me to introduce myself: James Howlett, the nephew-in-law you took such an interest in."
Governor Smith's eyes bulged, his pupils dilating—whether from shock or suffocation, it was hard to tell. With his throat gripped, he could only gasp, "Hhh..."
Before dawn, James returned to the estate and ate breakfast as usual, greeting his grandfather. Mr. Howlett looked deeply troubled, and James did what he could to comfort him.
Three days later.
News of the governor's death suddenly reached Edmonton. Communication technology was limited in those days, and the governor's office had deliberately kept the news under wraps, so most regions heard the shocking report many days later. All that people across Canada were told was that the governor and his niece had died of food poisoning, and that a number of kitchen staff and servants had been held responsible, among other things.
But rumors that leaked out told a different story. The absolute military and political ruler of a vast colonial territory had been found dead, naked, in his own bed. Most embarrassing of all for the governor's office, the woman dead beside him was his niece. No matter how "scandalous" their deaths had been, they could never make the truth public.
No one could figure out how it had been done. How had the killer entered the governor's bedroom without a sound, killed him cleanly, and vanished without a trace?
The English royal family and government sent their most capable forensic experts and detectives to investigate. They also deployed additional troops to keep the colonial territories under strict control and maintain order. For a time, they were overwhelmed with trouble.
When James learned that the dead girl had been the governor's niece, his expression turned strange. That governor certainly knew how to have fun.
Mr. Howlett had only just spent a few days recovering and was preparing to consider how to counter the governor's final move when he heard the news. It lifted a great weight from his heart. The old man's complexion visibly improved; the family's crisis had dissolved into nothing, and his appetite returned. He no longer looked as though he were on death's door.
But Vane, the butler, couldn't help remembering the meaningful look James had given him when offering comfort that day. He found it deeply strange—an uncanny coincidence—and, more than anything, a little frightening...
Life grew peaceful again. Mr. Howlett increasingly left family affairs to James, seeming ready to step aside and let the job be done. The old man had poured everything into holding on for the last ten years. Now that he seemed to have let out the breath he'd been holding, Mr. Howlett spent most of his time resting in bed or on a chaise longue.
He spoke less and often dozed off, though his memory remained as sharp as ever; he hadn't grown senile. In those quiet days, James found himself both troubled and excited by an unprecedented obstacle in his martial arts training.
To train to the level of Anjin, one had to strengthen the mind and the skin, close the pores all over the body, adjust the position of the spine and coccyx, and connect the outer membranes of the muscles and bones, so that the body's full force could burst forth from a single point. This was what folk tradition called a master who had "opened the Ren and Du meridians."
The next step was to connect the whole body, regulate the internal organs, understand each one, and train them. That way, strength could reach every extremity, from the teeth and tongue to the nails and hair. Even a fly landing on one's face could be knocked away by a ripple of force through the skin. This was the art of Huajin.
At that level, the internal organs were clean and healthy, and the muscles and bones were strong. Every aspect of human physical potential had been unlocked. With proper care, one could live well past a hundred, even reaching a hundred and twenty. In battle, the force of one's fists and kicks was enough to seem supernatural to ordinary people.
During the two months since James had reached Anjin and awakened his mutant abilities, he had run to Lage Forest every morning at two to practice his forms. He had assumed that, with the knowledge and foundation he'd gained from cultivation in his previous life, mastering Huajin would come naturally. But this body, with its awakened Mutant Gene, proved exceptionally troublesome.
The root of the problem was that his body had far too much potential. His cells grew and divided rapidly at the genetic level, and he healed himself as well. Ordinary martial arts training simply couldn't stimulate the different parts of his body enough to trigger active adaptation and growth.
It was like a person training their muscles. The muscles would gradually adapt to a certain weight, growing in size and strength. As the training load increased step by step, the body would grow stronger along with it, building itself up.
Bai Feng had been frail from birth. Once he understood how to use force, he could develop his body's potential without any external stimulus. Ultimately, that was because he couldn't withstand more strenuous training; simply practicing the forms with his bare hands was already enough.
But as James Howlett—the immortal Wolverine—he not only had a body concealing unknown secrets, he could also ignore all the concerns ordinary people had when exercising, such as muscle and joint injuries and wear. So he had to find more intense ways to train in martial arts.
O'Hara cheerfully carried a tray of afternoon tea toward Mr. Howlett's study. James was now officially handling the family's affairs in his grandfather's study, which meant that the position of Canada's biggest landowner and rancher had been handed over to the young man in his twenties.
At least while Mr. Howlett was still alive, James was doing exceptionally well. He was meticulous and efficient, and his ideas were far ahead of his time. He kept the family accounts, personnel matters, and everything else running smoothly. But only after Mr. Howlett passed away would the young man's true abilities be put to the test.
"What are you drawing, young master? It looks like medieval armor. And what's this big round ball?" O'Hara set the tray on the desk and tilted her head, studying the strange designs James was sketching with charcoal.
"Hmm... Just some tools. You wouldn't understand. Go find Vane and ask him to make a list of the best nearby blacksmiths and machine shops," James said, brushing off her questions before giving her instructions.
"Oh... All right. You're so strange. You're the only one who knows everything!"
"What did you say?" James asked, raising an eyebrow as O'Hara muttered to herself on her way out.
"Ah! Nothing, young master! I'm off to find Mr. Vane!" The girl fled the study, her thick hair swinging behind her.
James smiled faintly, then lowered his head and studied the sketches one by one, occasionally jotting something down.
Before you continue