[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-846":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Mental Mentor in Marvel",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2323414,4544,"Chapter 846: Savage","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-846",846,"\u003Cp>Gotham’s night deepened; Savage stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of the Sokwos Hotel room, watching the city’s lights flicker out one by one—except for a few spots where illumination never ceased, construction sites buzzing with noise all night long.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gotham’s massive construction boom had not escaped Savage’s notice; he believed his timing was excellent—if he could ride the wave of public infrastructure renovations, chaos would only intensify, giving him ample opportunity to exploit the confusion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Piper had already been dispatched to scout the construction sites; if he could slip some sand into the infrastructure, it would add more leverage for future negotiations with the gangs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as Savage turned to rest, he noticed a shadow beside the window—he instinctively sidestepped, and with a *whoosh*, a batarang sliced past his neck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Savage turned and saw a dark figure with pointed ears behind him; before he could cry out, a fist was already slamming toward his face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Batman had no intention of reasoning with Savage; when men are driven by money, there’s no room for talk—and Bruce Wayne was no exception.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Savage leaned back, reaching with one arm to grab Batman’s wrist—but the moment his fingers touched the suit, a *crackle* of electricity erupted, forcing him to recoil; his fingertips were smoking.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sharp pain jolted him—he stepped back with his left foot, stabilized his stance, and delivered a spinning kick toward Batman’s neck. Batman refused to yield, ducked low, surged forward, and drove Savage into the room’s corner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Savage snorted, threw a right hook feinting left; Batman dodged left, Savage stepped and spun, positioning himself behind Batman—attack and defense reversed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Batman moved as if he had eyes in the back of his head—he bent low, spun, evaded Savage’s punch, and hurled three batarangs, forcing Savage into another corner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In that instant of locked gazes, both knew they had met their match.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Batman’s martial skills were refined—but Savage was no slouch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His long life and countless battles compensated for any lack of innate talent; when a prodigy clashed with a veteran, every move was calculated, every strike lethal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Neither man spoke much, so after several exchanges, neither had named himself—but despite his superior experience and combat mastery, Savage was outmatched by hardware.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This black-clad freak wore a suit that discharged electricity, boots studded with spikes, finger blades, and carried batarangs as ranged weapons—he was utterly dishonorable, ambushing a fifty-thousand-year-old veteran.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even with a left front kick and a right roundhouse, Savage gradually fell into disadvantage, his body now crisscrossed with wounds carved by the finger blades.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It wasn’t that Savage wanted to yield—but since arriving in this city, he’d realized its climate was utterly bizarre: no sun, endless rain, and every drop that touched his skin caused infection; every infection brought fever; even his meteor-radiated physiology was useless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Slow healing meant low tolerance for error; once that thought entered his mind, his offense grew cautious—he avoided trading blows—but the more cautious he became, the less advantage he held; within dozens of exchanges, Savage already considered retreat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Batman! What do you want?!” Savage growled. “We have no grudge—why are you targeting me?!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No grudge?” Batman’s deep voice replied. “You broke into my Batcave. That’s ‘no grudge’?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Broke into your…” Savage froze, then his face flooded with boundless rage—in an instant, his neck flushed crimson, his fury exploding.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That was your base?!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Savage roared. “You set a trap for me!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You treacherous worm!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His outburst left Batman momentarily stunned—why was Savage so furious? What had he tricked him about? What trap?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Was there a trap in the Batcave? Batman had no idea.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In fact, Batman had never noticed his plan document was missing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One reason: so much had happened in the past three years, so many things had changed—he’d never considered reviving his old, discarded plans, and because he’d ignored them, he’d completely forgotten.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he’d flipped through the cabinets Savage had opened, Batman had counted twice and found no losses; the adolescent scheme he’d written was already gone from his life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Savage had been utterly ruined by that document.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His plan against Alberto had failed—but that mattered little; Alberto was busy with his internship and had no time to bother him, so Savage turned his focus to Schiller.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Schiller had been preoccupied with supervising interns and vocational college students, rarely returning home, shuttling between Gotham University and Arkham Asylum, mostly staying on campus.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To target Schiller, Savage needed to enter Gotham University; according to the document, Gotham University was just an ordinary school—anyone could enter or leave, an unremarkable spot in Gotham.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At least, that’s what Savage believed—so he entered without caution. The nearest building to the east gate was the laboratory wing; within three minutes, he encountered Victor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Batman wrote that document, Victor hadn’t arrived yet, so the file made no mention of such a professor; Savage assumed he was just an ordinary man.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And because Savage thought Victor had seen him infiltrate, he decided to eliminate him—and then… he was frozen solid.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the time, class was about to begin in five minutes; Victor realized he’d forgotten his lecture notes and rushed back to the lab to retrieve them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After freezing Savage, he didn’t inspect him closely—he assumed it was just another student wandering around.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Almost every student at Gotham University knew Victor’s freeze gun could immobilize people without cold or lasting side effects, so they’d grown accustomed to being frozen for hours after getting caught doing something wrong, then released.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gotham had no “call your parents” rule; if a student dared return home and cry to their mob-boss parents about being frozen, they’d only get a double beating.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Knowing there’d be no serious consequences, Victor didn’t think twice—he planned to unfreeze the student after class.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But coincidentally, Cobblepot was assisting Victor in the lab that day; he stepped outside and saw the ice statue.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The memory of Savage taunting him and Alberto was still vivid; Cobblepot’s cunning far surpassed Schiller’s and Batman’s.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He simply summoned a few newspaper boys who regularly delivered goods around campus, had them carry the ice statue onto Gotham University’s garbage transport truck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The truck sped off with Savage’s frozen form; beneath the setting sun, Savage’s youth was already dead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eventually, the truck dumped its load at the landfill; Savage was tossed into the garbage mountain alongside rotting food scraps and stinking wastewater.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He hoped someone would thaw him—but also prayed they wouldn’t.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unfortunately, Victor knew his memory was unreliable; if he froze a student and forgot, the poor soul might starve—so the freeze gun he used on campus had a timer: maximum four hours, then the ice would melt automatically.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Savage would never forget the sound of the ice cracking—louder than a primordial beast’s footsteps, louder than Roman eagles snapping in the wind, louder than French cavalry hooves thundering, louder than the cry of an eagle over the steppes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And as the batarang’s whistle pierced the air, Savage relived that horrific scene—rage drowned all reason; his roar echoed over Gotham:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Batman!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>！」\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though Batman didn’t understand why he was furious, he stuck to his plan—pretended to lose ground, lured Savage out of his room, and led him through the Sokwos Hotel corridors.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As they clashed back and forth, the hotel was utterly wrecked; ruined furnishings were minor—but they fought without restraint: doors shattered, chandeliers crashed down, and countless guests in the lobby fled in terror.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Security arrived promptly—but they were powerless against these two combat masters; Batman was a man who made Omega Rays detour, and mere machine-gun bullets couldn’t touch him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They fought as they ran; the once-pristine Sokwos Hotel was left in ruins.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only when he’d lured Savage out of the hotel did Batman accelerate, following his pre-planned route and leaving Savage far behind—leaving Savage alone on the rooftop of a Gotham tower, raging impotently.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he tried to return to the hotel, he found he couldn’t—the owner, even if he were an idiot, would never let him stay again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And since he’d been gone long enough, Sokwos Hotel had mustered significant security—all armed; fighting them head-on would cost dearly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The hotel’s survival in Gotham relied not just on marketing and gimmicks—it had substantial firepower; Savage’s slow healing and susceptibility to infection made it a credible deterrent. He thought it over and decided to find another place.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His second choice was Wayne Hotel—he checked in, but after one night, he was forced out again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The room he stayed in was haunted: faucets gushed water, bed frames creaked, drills drilled through the ceiling, and arguments erupted downstairs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Savage wasn’t afraid of ghosts—but he needed sleep; before the situation spiraled beyond control, he left.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He tried several other luxury hotels—but each was either disrupted by Batman’s pursuit or plagued by inexplicable disturbances that prevented rest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After three days, Savage understood: this city was fighting him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But he refused to surrender; in his long life, he’d faced countless defeats—Waterloo was the most famous, but not the last. He believed a great monarch never feared failure—he could still forge a great empire himself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Savage turned his attention to rentals; short-term hotels were out—could he not rent a long-term apartment?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After careful comparison, he found a perfect location—its strategic position was ideal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It lay in the southern part of the East District, surrounded by active construction sites, dense foot traffic, heavy vehicle flow, and fully developed commercial infrastructure; if he could establish himself there, he could radiate influence across the entire East District.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Savage’s silhouette vanished down an alley, a rusted mailbox behind him tilted in the wind—faintly visible, handwritten letters: “Living Hell.”\u003C\u002Fp>",1599,"2026-06-20T16:39:22.658Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","b39442336d38c1257a3d69632b63c25b6e637af1130d24d5d8cfc9a8d103f75e","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-847","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-845",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]