God of Crime: Strongest Mafia Boss

When Adam entered and saw the sweat, he sighed and used the heat to dry it out. He could already guess what had happened. It wasn't like it was the first time his mother used the living room as training.

This was even more so now since the basement was unusable currently.

"Mom! Stop dirtying the house if you won't clean!"

He shouted, his voice filling the whole house and Cecilia did not hesitate to answer in kind.

"Why clean when I know you are here!"

He chuckled at her brazen reply coming from the bathroom. She was treating him as free labor.

His mind moved and everything followed with it. Cleaning everything around, displacing chairs and the like, dumping trash in the can.

In less than a few minutes, work that would have taken hours was completed at the highest efficiency possible.

Once Adam was sure that everything was clean, he nodded and walked toward his room before jumping on his bed.

Makarov and Viktor were not on his radar, which would mean they were either out or in another dimension.

He could meet them but now— He simply wanted to rest. 

Even if he couldn't sleep, simply closing his eyes and lowering the wideness of his domain was more than enough.

"Lock."

He muttered and suddenly — The word became dark.

Lying down on the bed, he felt like everything was swimming around him. It was as if all his senses were completely disoriented.

'Ugh…'

Adam realized once again just how much information he was unconsciously filtering with The World when it was activated. Now that only his five senses were in use, the load on his soul and mind was so low it was negligible.

Even so, 

'I don't feel good.'

Adam groaned once again and closed his eyes. Not only mentally but physically as well. 

The stronger he became, the larger the difference between his normal state and his power state would become.

Clenching his fist, feeling nearly no prana flowing in him, Adam sighed.

Why did supernatural creatures and even hunters treat normal humans as if they were babies who needed to be cared for at every step?

The answer was simple; Because they were weak. They were so weak that they were helpless.

At the same time, despite how weak they were, they had many troublesome skills and liked creating trouble.

How many people could survive a nuclear bomb?

Adam didn't think that he could. He could perhaps stop the explosion or move it, reduce it, and so on. But he couldn't survive the full might of a nuclear weapon.

At least not yet.

'Hum…'

He stopped thinking. This was a bad habit of his. Thinking and overthinking too much, slowing down in the end, and making him make mistakes that could have been avoided, and missing some opportunities.

[What do you plan to do next?]

'Later I will visit Theresa as I planned. Not much outside of this. Then Tomorrow I Will enter Wonderland for the last time. Hopefully, I will reach the next level there. Now, don't speak to me. I want to sleep.'

Genesis did not answer more though he knew that Adam couldn't sleep. At least not now.

.

.

.

While Adam was sleeping or rather Resting, in the basement an old man was busy swinging his hammer as if the rage of god was falling on earth.

Clang~Clang~Clang~!

Repetitive, rhythmic, magnetic.

The sound emitted each time the hammer met the anvil seemed like music to the ears of those who understand even the slightest bit about crafting.

Standing next to him, Viktor sat quietly, watching and listening, feeling with every fiber of his body the process of the creation that was happening.

"Listen well, boy. You already know my secret technique. The 88 Hammers; I am a crude man and I have no use for complicated names. How many vibrations can you feel?"

"108."

"108 huh…Still a little short"

Makarov did not turn as he struck once again.

Clang~!

The sound was louder, the material that was being refined, trembled and emitted a special wave, as if it was being crushed 360 times at the same moment.

This was the technique Makarov created. A precise technique, 88 strikes, 360 vibrations, the pinnacle of human creation as known currently.

This technique was something even the dwarves envied and respected but Makarov was not proud at all.

He only managed to create one divine weapon in his lifetime. This was not enough. Not even close to being enough.

He could do so much more.

"Boy. The theoretical limits of my technique should be 144 strikes and 720 vibrations. I don't know if I can manage to do this. I am getting old and weak after all."

"You are still strong grandpa. Didn't you say you could crush bear even when going to school without Prana?"

"Pfft!"

Makarov laughed as he continued to swing his hammer. His face was willed with sweat. His large muscles were tight and solid, giving him a very reliable impression.

Holding his hammer, he looked like a god of war fighting for his life.

Makarov grinned.

He loved this feeling.

The heat, the sound, the shock, the vibration.

He loved everything about forging.

"Do you know, boy? We, blacksmiths, are weak. We need protection and we cannot do much fighting. But at the same time, our very existence represents the spark of civilization. Wars are fought and won or lost with our weapons. Technology advances with our creation. This is why we are respected. This is why we are admired."

He continued to swing again and again.

"Soon, you will be independent smith. Always remember. The moment you create a weapon means you stained your hand with blood. There are no two ways about this. So always be ready. Always understand. Never create a weapon lightly."

Viktor nodded. His eyes were slightly red and his throat was dry.

"Sigh~This is enough for today. I think soon we will be able to rest for a few days and let the material absorb more energy. Before proceeding to the final casting."

"Grandpa…Your eyes…"

Makarov ignored Viktor and swiped away the blood leaking from his eyes.

"Go rest."

His laugh never wavered and his expression was bright.

He had already lived for nearly a century. Even if he didn't do it now, his lifespan was slowly approaching its end.

The only reason he was able to keep is performance was because of his prana.

"Listen, boy, perhaps it's my pride talking. But I would rather burn out now while doing what I love rather than slowly weakening and becoming too old and frail to even hold a hammer. There would be no greater torture for me. So now, stop crying. You are acting like a woman."

Viktor swiped the tears away from his eyes and gave a forced grin, 

"I will tell what you said to Cecilia."

"Pfft! Hahaha! Go on! That one ain't a woman. Simply a gorilla disguised as one."

The dark mood was swept away as the two muscular men left the premises.

Looking behind him, Viktor held a complicated light in his eyes. He didn't know whether coming to this place was the right choice or not.

But at the very least. He knew Makarov was happy.

This was the most important.