Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Miserable Jess

A month had passed since the battle between Jayce and Viktor.

The official story released to the public was that of a gas explosion: a chef in the kitchen of Stark New Energy Research Laboratory had mishandled the gas, leading to a leak, and an open flame triggered the blast. It didn’t matter if the excuse was a little too far-fetched; as long as there was something to tell the public, that was enough. The real investigative agencies involved were quietly raking in the profits.

The drone fragments and compressed shell casings Jayce had brought down, the spent energy crystals left behind by Viktor, and a host of other miscellaneous devices all found their way into the pockets of various organizations. Even the land itself had been stripped clean more than once.

Tony’s haul wasn’t bad, either. As the main party involved, Stark Industries managed to secure a small portion of the related materials. That was just one of Tony’s gains. The second was control over Stark Industries.

Obadiah Stane, after being sent to the hospital, was saved—though he had yet to regain consciousness. With the leader of the opposition laid up, Tony’s orders were still not entirely unchallenged, but at least now they carried weight.

These people had made out well, but Jayce had suffered greatly.

Without a suitable place to stay, forced to change locations daily to avoid being found, a month of this life had aged him a decade. His hair was matted in clumps, his beard wild and unkempt, and a strange odor clung stubbornly to his body.

The public restrooms’ bathing facilities were woefully inadequate, barely enough to wash off the most basic grime and dust. The residue that remained accumulated, and the resulting stench was overwhelming.

Jayce had also gotten into numerous altercations with vagrants during this period. Unfamiliar with the unspoken rules among the homeless, he wandered wherever he pleased, often trespassing onto territories others had claimed. Fortunately, his physical prowess far surpassed that of the vagrants, so each conflict ended quickly and quietly.

After suffering so long, Jayce found himself with only one question: how had Viktor survived before he found Stane?

For people like them, this sort of survival was far more difficult than any scientific research.

What’s more, Jayce realized that a professional was tracking him in secret. At first, he thought it was an enforcer from the Clock Tower, but upon further reflection, that didn’t add up—the person tailing him was simply too clumsy.

For an assassin—most likely their profession—to be discovered by a knight like him was almost laughable. After observing for a while, Jayce realized it was only an apprentice assassin, far too weak for the task.

Given this, Jayce could be certain the tracker wasn’t from the Clock Tower. As a mid-level knight wielding Mercury Hammer, only a high-level professional would have made sense to send against him.

After all, an ordinary mid-level professional might not be able to take him down, even if he hadn’t fought seriously in a long time.

With this realization, Jayce’s worries shifted to something else: why hadn’t any enforcers shown up yet? Was their absence meaningful? Or had they already come, and he simply failed to notice?

This was one of the punishments for the lawless—before being caught, they suffered the constant torment of psychological pressure.

Late at night, in a narrow alley where Jayce had once taken shelter, Natasha was carefully searching, inch by inch, for any traces he might have left behind.

Yes, she was the apprentice assassin Jayce had detected.

After acquiring detection reagents through Fina’s connections, Natasha chose the assassin’s path for her own development—after all, it wasn’t so different from what she’d done before.

But now, as a true professional, Natasha discovered just how poor she was. In the past, S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided for all her needs—weapons, gear, food, housing—she’d never noticed. Now, she was responsible for everything herself, and the reality hit hard.

To get by, she’d been actively taking apprentice-level missions marked with the Ouroboros symbol. They weren’t especially rewarding or meaningful—mostly investigating matters in various places and submitting reports.

She’d already been assigned such tasks by Nick Fury, so why not do one job and collect two paychecks?

Her current pursuit of Jayce and Viktor stemmed from accepting a no-level-restriction mission released by the Hextech Organization.

Of course, after reviewing information on Jayce and Viktor, she knew her chances of actually finding them were about as likely as S.H.I.E.L.D. merging with the Clock Tower—impossible.

Still, she didn’t mind; every clue brought a little reward. She’d take what she could get.

“Ahem. Little miss, you’re with Ouroboros, aren’t you? Looking for Jayce and Viktor?”

Suddenly, a voice spoke behind her, and a hand settled on her shoulder.

Natasha tensed, immediately channeling shadow energy, preparing to enter stealth.

But the power failed her, as if it had simply vanished—no matter how she tried, nothing happened.

“Relax, I just want to ask for directions,” the voice behind her said, withdrawing the hand. Natasha found herself able to move again.

Realizing the disparity in strength, Natasha slid her weapon back into its sheath on her thigh. She turned around slowly, but saw nothing.

Looking down, she spotted a massive head, topped with chunks of concrete—who knew how they got there.

“Do you know the way to this place?” The big head swayed, and a hand emerged below it, offering Natasha a tablet.

The screen resembled a radar display, covered in data she couldn’t begin to decipher.

“Um… where exactly? I can’t make sense of this,” Natasha said, utterly confused.

“Young lady, you need to study more. I even adjusted the data to your preferred shadow energy display mode, but young people these days just don’t want to learn,” the big head sighed, tapping the tablet. The display switched to a city map from above.

Now Natasha understood. She followed the path of the two markers on the map and pointed out a general direction.

“Thank you,” the big head said, reclaiming the tablet, “Next time, I’ll send you some study materials.”

With that, the soles of his shoes sprang open, and he rocketed away at a speed beyond Natasha’s ability to follow, piercing through several buildings in an instant.

Now Natasha knew how the concrete ended up on his head—and why he needed to ask for directions in the first place.

With a travel method like that, surviving at all was a feat in itself.