Arnold noticed that his magic progress bar had increased slightly. It would be full after about fifty uses. He wondered what would happen once it reached its limit.
The flames continued to burn. Just as the other guards rushed to help, they too were engulfed in fire, driven mad by the heat. A group of workers rushed out from the workshop, nervously clutching pistols as they stared at their fallen comrades.
A menacing, bald Black man shot and killed one of the burning guards. "They suffer in life, so let's give them a quick death. It's the least we can do after working together!"
His words dispelled much of the suspicion from the others; in this business, no one wanted to be associated with a traitor.
Arnold continued casting, setting the crowd ablaze. People scrambled frantically, trying to extinguish the fires with water. These drug addicts somehow found the strength to run faster than Olympic sprinters!
Splash! Cold water poured down, successfully extinguishing some of the flames. While many wondered how the fires had started so suddenly, their priority was survival. But flames rose one after another, and eventually, the survivors began to lose their minds. The sheer eeriness of the situation terrified them. They ran out into the desolate wilderness, shouting for help that would never come. Local gangs knew to stay far away from this place.
An hour later, Arnold slowly approached the workshop. He could only cast magic on those he could see; those hidden in the shadows remained a threat. He picked up a handgun and crept closer. Inside, several white men—all looking like gaunt drug addicts—held knives warily.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Three shots ended them. Arnold found a car and began loading the confiscated drugs, weapons, and ammunition. Finally, he scattered a large amount of flammable materials around the workshop, drove the car a safe distance away, and used his magic to ignite the building.
Boom! A massive fire erupted instantly. Arnold started the engine and sped away. He knew this would attract the police, but in 1939, a case of gangsters killing each other was hardly a priority. A few dead criminals were not a big deal.
After driving for a long distance, Arnold finally stopped. He used his magic to conjure a steak and a glass of red wine, beginning to feast. Once he finished, the plate and glass simply disappeared—no washing required. He let out a burp, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag, letting the hot smoke stimulate his nerves.
It wasn't his first time killing, but the scale of this massacre was something he had to force himself to adapt to. As he finished his cigarette, Arnold discovered his spell bar had leveled up! However, his mana had reached a dangerous orange level, almost turning red—a sign of impending overload. Casting magic during an overload could cause a backlash, potentially killing the caster.
Checking the tome icon on his panel, he saw a wealth of magical talents. These rewards were his allowances, representing his growth. While higher-level spells usually required specific levels to learn, self-taught spells had no restrictions. Arnold was now officially a "magic apprentice."
The level-one talents included
Alchemical Mastery: Increases the success rate and speed of creation.
Arcane Scholar: Improves reading speed of magic books.
Fast Learner: Increases experience points gained from practice.
Uncharge: Allows the user to dump mana every four hours to avoid overload.
Arnold didn't choose a talent immediately. He knew sleep would recover his mana naturally, so there was no need to waste his points yet.
Back at the bar, Arnold handed the goods over to the Penguin. They sat in a private room on the second floor, drinking wine.
"You're really fast," the penguin said, pouring a glass. "How did you do it?"
"I burned them all to death. It's that simple," Arnold said succinctly.
He felt no remorse looking at his friend. Just hours ago, he had been in an apartment sleeping with the Penguin's mother. Not only that, but he had ejaculated inside her without a condom. In a biological sense, Arnold was now acting like Oswald the Penguin's father. He kept these thoughts to himself, however; it wouldn't be right to hurt his friend's feelings.
"You really are ruthless!" The Penguin chuckled. As a genuine resident of Gotham City, he knew there were no "good" people.
Arnold looked at him meaningfully. "If you cherish something, and I also want it... what would you do?"
The Penguin's eyes flickered, his tone turning unfriendly. "You want to take my things?"