The winter Atlantic Ocean was always windy and rough. Guided by the constellations, two figures flew swiftly across the vast waters.
People always found the sea mysterious, but that was merely because ordinary people could not see the things that were even more mysterious.
"Have you ever been to the United Kingdom before?"
Magneto flew too slowly, so Su Ming could only accompany him at a leisurely pace, making small talk to pass the time and probing for information along the way.
Perhaps because Deathstroke had expressed his willingness to help, Magneto's attitude had improved considerably. Though his face remained expressionless, his tone had returned to normal.
"Back then, my wife and I escaped from a concentration camp in Poland and ran east as if we had lost our minds, because I had heard it was a fair country where workers and farmers could be masters of their own fate. But what happened in reality? No matter how diligently I worked, no matter how many times more effort I put in than others, I received far less. Just because I was an outsider, they treated my family like slaves. And after they discovered I was a Mutant, they—"
The more Magneto spoke, the gloomier his expression became. Who knew what those old hatreds had fermented into within his heart.
"Well, that was just how small Polar Bear villages were in those days. You couldn't expect country folk to be particularly knowledgeable."
Su Ming casually echoed him. In truth, it probably also had something to do with Magneto's expression management. Even when he had been young, he had worn that bitter, world-weary look every day. He had already been an outsider, and after arriving in someone else's village, he still looked like that. How could he possibly avoid being targeted?
But