[Task Completed.]
Character Level: Black Iron Tier.
Promotion: Not Achieved.
Cause of Death: Drowning.
Novelty Rating: ★★★★★
Final Emotion: Fear.
Emotional Intensity: ★★★☆☆
Overall Task Evaluation: ★★★★☆
Newbie Privilege Exchange in Progress...
Rewards: Bronze Tier Four-Star Reward Pack ×2
"Open all reward packs," Cohen whispered silently in his heart.
[Congratulations! You have received the following rewards: Master of Combat, Handgun Proficiency, Trap Proficiency.
Free Attribute Points: 6
Task Updated. You may now view it.]
A strange surge of power flooded into his body.
His palm developed a thin layer of callus, and as he held the revolver, he felt a newfound sense of precision—point and shoot, no hesitation.
His limbs moved with perfect coordination, and his senses sharpened dramatically. It was as if he could hear in all directions and see from every angle.
Thinking back to the alley earlier, eight different hand-to-hand killing techniques instantly surfaced in his mind—each one a guaranteed kill.
He still had 6 free attribute points. After a brief consideration, he distributed them evenly among Strength, Speed, and Defense.
A surge of heat pumped through his veins. Power coursed through his body. The pain in his ribs faded, replaced by a slight itch.
So adding attribute points helps with healing too!
He reopened the system panel.
[Name: Cohen]
Age: 22
Bloodline: Human
Status: Minor Injuries
Strength: 7 (Average Human: 5)
Speed: 7 (Average Human: 5)
Defense: 7 (Average Human: 5)
Constitution: 5 (Average Human: 5)
Spirit: 8 (Average Human: 5)
Skills: Master of Combat, Handgun Proficiency, Trap Mastery
Abilities: None
Items: None
Dungeons: Locked
Parallel Universes: Locked
Main Quest: The Guilty Must Be Punished
Black Iron Tier Targets: 0/3
New Mission: Bronze Hunt
Bronze-Tier Target: 0/1]
Creed: Through slaughter, attain redemption.
Cohen was surprised to discover that the Black Iron-tier missions still remained—only now, the number had increased to three.
A new mission had also been added: eliminate a single Bronze-tier target.
He clenched his fists.
In this world, he finally had a sliver of power to defend himself.
But it was far from enough.
At the end of the street stood a run-down, tiny motel. Cohen spent $30 to get a room.
A place like this didn't care about ID or documentation.
The moment he entered the room, he collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.
He had come to a realization.
In this world, in this city, he could die at any second.
So why overthink it?
Take life and death as they come. If someone doesn't like it, fight them. What is there to regret?
If any living person has a problem with him—come and kill him.
And if any dead soul holds a grudge—wait till he's dead. Meet him in hell and settle it there.
The next morning, after grabbing a bite to eat, he went straight to the nearest newsstand.
As a genuine Marvel fan in his previous life, the first thing he had to figure out was whether this world had a proper worldview—and if the timeline was "juicy" enough.
Several headlines immediately caught his attention:
"Stark and the Secret Scandals of Eight Supermodels"
"Senator Robert Warns: Beware of Emerging Human Species"
"One Night with Stark: An Exclusive Tell-All"
"NYPD Chief George Comments on the Red Vigilante"
"Tony Stark Spotted at the Golden Club"
Although there were reports about new human species, street vigilantes, gangs, and experimental monsters, overall, this world wasn't too far off from the cinematic universe.
Most importantly, everyone's favorite playboy—Brother Tony—was still living it up in the Big Apple's high society.
There was still time. Everything could still be changed.
In that moment, Cohen laid out his grand plan: work quietly, shock the world!
When the time is right, rise up in revolt, dominate the land, and rule for a thousand years!
Just thinking about it gave him chills of excitement.
Oh—and he'd definitely find a chance to buy a plane ticket to Sokovia. Even if it took him a lifetime, he was going to win over the Scarlet Witch!
He meant it—nothing short of divine intervention could change his mind!
But first things first… he needed a place to stay.
Rounding the side of the newsstand, he checked out a wall plastered with job postings and missing person flyers. He'd noticed it earlier.
After scanning through them, he didn't find anything suitable.
Back at the front, he took out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the man behind the stand.
"I'm looking for a job nearby. Got any suggestions?"
The newsstand owner, a big, jolly Black man, grinned and pocketed the money.
"Of course. As an Asian man, I'd suggest the Chinese restaurant down the block."
"Room and board included. All you need to do is wash three thousand dishes a day, and you'll earn eighty bucks!"
Cohen frowned. "What's a normal person to wash in a day?"
"Six hundred."
"F**k that. Next!"
"In that case," the man said with a shrug, "try the end of the street. Look for a guy named Jesse. You can help him move some goods. With a bit of luck, you could make a few hundred a day."
"Move goods? What kind of goods?"
"Meth."
Cohen instinctively recoiled and stared at the man for a long moment.
Good thing the system didn't mark you as a target—otherwise I'd come back and end you one day!
"Next suggestion," he said coldly.
"Hmm…" The man scratched his head for a while. "Ah! Emma Church is hiring a deputy priest. Interested?"
"A priest?"
Emma Church.
A rundown, pitiful little church.
It was a two-story building. The ground floor housed a small hall with three rows of pews on either side.
At the front was the altar, above which hung a plain wooden crucifix with a hastily carved Jesus figure nailed to it.
What stood out in the modest little chapel was that, unusually, there were two confessional booths—one on each side of the hall. Clearly, the sins of Hell's Kitchen were abundant.
At that moment, old Father Emma sat frowning, glancing between the young Asian man in front of him and the certificate in his hands.
"You're telling me you graduated from the Shaolin Seminary in China and even interned at the Vatican for a year?"
"That's right," Cohen replied with a completely serious face.
The newsstand owner hadn't just given him the job lead—he'd also helpfully referred him to a guy who forged IDs and documents.
Now Cohen not only had a diploma from the Shaolin Seminary, but also an American driver's license and an official internship certificate from the Vatican—complete with a seal.
He recalled what the big guy had told him:
Old Emma had served as a priest his whole life and had never set foot in the Holy City. Now past seventy, he had finally saved enough to go on a pilgrimage and meet His Holiness the Pope.
But because this church sat in the middle of Hell's Kitchen, no one wanted to take over during his absence. So, out of desperation, he posted a job ad.
Father Emma pondered for a moment, then asked, "How many days did it take God to create the world?"
"Seven days."
"What were God's first words?"
"Uh…"
Cohen froze, trying to think, when he noticed the old priest nodding upward. He looked up—there was a light overhead—and suddenly understood.
"God said: Let there be light!"
"Final question," said the priest. "God created Adam and Eve. According to the Bible, what are the names of the first two humans?"
Cohen blinked. "Wait… it's Adam and Eve, right?"
"Congratulations!"
Father Emma beamed and shook his hand warmly. "Shaolin must be a remarkable place to produce such an exceptional student! You've passed the test."
"Hehe, thank you, thank you. And congratulations to you too—your pilgrimage to the Vatican is finally happening!"
The two chatted a bit more before signing a simple contract.
Father Emma gave Cohen a tour of the church. The second floor had three bedrooms; Cohen could choose one as his guest room.
In the back was a small garden, and just past a narrow path beyond it flowed the Hudson River.
Unfortunately, the old priest wasn't much of a gardener—the plants were sparse and wilted, barely clinging to life.
Just after the tour, Father Emma returned from his room carrying a suitcase.
"You're leaving already?" Cohen asked, surprised.
The priest handed him an envelope. "I'll be away for three months. This contains your pay for the first month—fifteen hundred dollars. That's the most I can afford."
"The other two months will be paid to you by Father Kyle from St. John's Church. I leave Emma Church in your care."
Cohen accepted the envelope, and Father Emma handed him a set of keys. "There's an old pickup truck out back. You can use it while I'm gone."
And with that, without hesitation, the old priest turned and left.
His figure slowly disappeared down the street.
Cohen stood there with a strange feeling, almost surreal. Things… had gone far smoother than expected.
Just as he was about to close the church doors, a dark hand reached out to stop him.
"Dear Father Emma, I've come to see you again~"
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