Chapter 18: Biological Field

To avoid damaging other people's belongings, Henry had no choice but to use his own hands for experiments.

After much trial and error, he finally found a clue: it was simply the unexplained biological field used by Superman.

If the light of the yellow sun alters his physiology, yet solar energy isn't fully utilized to reshape his body, a significant portion must be stored.

This storage doesn't feel like the internal energy stored in the dantian of wuxia novels.

Because Henry's senses were so refined that he clearly perceived his own organs and bodily state, he could distinctly feel that each time he basked in sunlight, besides his cells being strengthened, an extra energy was drawn into his body.

That energy was everywhere but confined beneath the skin, including secreted hair—it was part of the secret behind Superman's invulnerable body, not merely hardened mutated cells enduring all damage.

If properly harnessed, this energy could make almost anything he wished come true!

The reason for saying "almost" was that in Henry's simple tests, there was nothing he couldn't accomplish—including directing his heat vision to avoid damaging a mirror, reflecting it back onto himself to burn only the hairs exposed beyond his skin.

But doing so depleted the stored energy within his body.

In terms of shaving his beard, the amount lost was roughly one-billionth of his current energy reserve…

This ability, Henry nearly wanted to call it magic—the force that made his wishes come true.

The reason Superman's power is termed "biological field" is likely to emphasize that Superman hails from Krypton, a civilization far more advanced than Earth's, where "magic" inexplicable by science simply wouldn't exist.

On one hand, he was raised with a scientific education; after discovering his origins, he learned his home was a technologically advanced planet, so he never felt the need to develop magical abilities.

To test this idea, Henry attempted the most basic trick—lighting a fire.

In an instant, his thumb and forefinger rubbed together, and a flame appeared at his fingertips, as effortlessly as striking a lighter!

This discovery made Henry momentarily doubt whether he truly was a Kryptonian—but then he immediately understood why Superman never developed such abilities.

From a scientific perspective, energy conversion inevitably faces one problem: entropy. In short, waste.

Using heat vision to remove all the stubble from his chin, cheeks, and neck consumed only one-billionth of his stored energy.

But this tiny act of igniting a flame with his fingers instantly drained one-ten-thousandth of his energy reserve—and as he sustained the flame, energy continued to vanish without end.

In simple terms, producing such seemingly magical effects was an extremely inefficient form of energy conversion.

Using super-speed to create fire by rubbing wood together? That's zero loss.

It was unimaginable—if he wanted to learn from that WWII dark lord next door and burn down an entire city, obliterate Paris—he'd need to tie up several Supermen as magic batteries just to make it happen.

Of course, this conclusion was based on the fact that his solar battery had only just begun charging; his energy reserve hadn't even approached peak levels, let alone whether he'd escaped the redline zone.

And whether there were more efficient methods of magical energy conversion—such as proper rituals or specific artifacts—remained unknown.

Alternatively, one could return to Marvel's original premise: all magic used by wizards was borrowed from dimensional deities, differing only in whom they borrowed from and how they repaid the debt.

In short, all signs indicated he was becoming more and more like a Kryptonian—at least in the abilities he displayed, they matched Superman's memories almost exactly. He only needed to test whether he possessed super-breath and flight.

…Or perhaps he was actually a descendant of a Kryptonian adventurer and a native of another planet—the Daxamite.

These aliens resembled Kryptonians: they absorbed yellow sunlight to strengthen themselves and were immune to kryptonite, but were vulnerable to lead, a substance far more common on Earth.

So don't assume your super strength and invulnerability let you act recklessly.

If he wasn't a Kryptonian but a Daxamite, he wouldn't need to hunt for alien minerals to solve his problem—he could be riddled with lead bullets, which were standard ammunition.

The problem was—he still had no definitive answer as to which kind of being he was.

He didn't even know whether he'd encountered any lead-containing substances in his recent daily life, so he couldn't determine which alien planet he truly came from.

Though he'd figured out some things in the bathroom, thanks to his super-brain's processing speed, he hadn't spent much time at all.

The commotion from his random experiments had been loud, though he hadn't damaged anything in the bathroom—he feared someone outside might have heard something.

His right hand, used as the experimental target, was in terrible shape—flesh and bone were exposed. Though he could see it healing, the regeneration speed still lagged far behind Wolverine's or Deadpool's near-immortal recovery.

To avoid frightening others, Henry tore a strip of cloth from his old clothes, washed it clean, and wrapped it around his palm.

As for pain? Honestly, after enduring the later tortures in the research facility, even if his hands and feet were nailed like Jesus', that minor pain was nothing more than a mosquito bite—he felt almost nothing.

After tidying up, Henry stepped out of the bathroom, passed through the large room, and arrived at Tang Mu's office.

The office's owner had both legs propped up on his desk, crossed and dangling, his face full of displeasure.

When he saw Henry emerge, he opened his mouth to say something—but upon seeing the cloth wrapped around Henry's right hand, his words died in his throat.

After a moment, Tang Mu gave him a sympathetic look and comforted him: "Young man, I understand—you've got a lot of energy. If you've got needs, I can take you to the strip club in town."

"Use a bit of finesse, add a little cash, and you can find your dream sweetheart for a night of passion. No need to wreck your own hand like this—you've rubbed your skin raw, haven't you?"

"Your hand's like this—should I take you to the pharmacy for some ointment? Or maybe some lubricant?"

…What the hell is he thinking?!

Rather than explaining his hand injury, Henry suddenly felt a stronger urge to test what would happen if he fired heat vision into a brain.

Would it melt through like a laser—or boil the brain and cause it to explode?

Right in front of him was a perfect head to test on.

New book request: follow, collect, recommend—thank you~~

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(End of Chapter)