"Alright, Natasha, let the past stay in the past," Rowan said softly, wiping away the tear stains from her cheeks with his thumb.

It had only been a brief moment of emotional release for Natasha. Soon, she steadied herself again.

"Rowan!"

Just then, Hill's excited voice rang out from outside the room.

Rowan and Natasha walked into the living room.

There stood Hill, wearing a gray tank top, practically glowing with excitement as she stretched and moved around.

Her skin was clean, showing she had probably wiped herself down with a hot towel. Her exposed shoulders, arms, and neck looked sharper, more defined than before. Her skin had also taken on a smoother, more delicate glow.

"Well? What do you think? Don't I look stronger already?" she asked eagerly.

Seeing her delight, Rowan chuckled. "That's right. You really have improved."

"I'm serious! I feel like I could punch a bull to death right now!" Hill exclaimed, swinging her fists.

Rowan couldn't help but laugh.

Her physical strength now was roughly on par with a beginner-level warrior. That meant her punching force was at least 900 kilograms, maybe more. Killing a bull with one punch wasn't just bragging.

"Hill, want to test it out in the training room?" Rowan asked, glancing first at her, then at Natasha.

Both women's eyes lit up with excitement, and they nodded.

Soon, the three of them swiped into Training Room C9.

"Let's start with punch strength. Hill, you first," Rowan said as he activated the testing machine.

Hill nodded, clenched her fist, and stepped forward.

Bang!

Her punch slammed into the target. The machine beeped as the display lit up.

1012 kg.

Just on the threshold of a beginner warrior.

Rowan nodded with satisfaction. Hill had never been particularly strong; before this, she wasn't even at martial academy entry level. Reaching beginner warrior strength in one leap was already remarkable.

And he could tell her body still held unused medicinal energy. With more training, she would get even stronger.

"Oh my god!" Hill gasped, covering her mouth as she stared at the number. She couldn't believe it. Over a thousand kilograms in one punch? That was beyond the limits of ordinary humans.

"Don't be so shocked. If you keep up your training, your body will keep improving," Rowan told her with a smile.

"Even more? Then I'll be as strong as the Captain!" she said, eyes wide.

"Pretty much," Rowan nodded.

Captain America's physical level was roughly equal to a beginner warrior. With a bit more effort, Hill could definitely stand beside him. Of course, she didn't have his uncanny knack for fighting anyone to a standstill, but still.

"Natasha, your turn."

Natasha nodded, inhaled deeply, and stepped forward. A faint crimson glow shimmered under her skin.

Hill stared in shock, her eyes widening at the sight of that strange light radiating from Natasha's body.

Bang!

Her punch landed, and the machine shook violently. The numbers on the screen shot upward before finally freezing.

3073 kg.

Hill's jaw dropped. Even Natasha herself stared in disbelief.

"Not bad," Rowan said calmly.

Three thousand kilos. That was mid-level warrior strength. And Natasha still hadn't absorbed all the medicinal energy in her body. Once she did, she might break into the high-level warrior tier.

On top of that, with her Extremis-virus-enhanced healing and ability to generate several thousand degrees of heat, her combat power already rivaled a true high-level fighter.

Rowan then had both of them test speed, jumping power, squats, bench press, reflexes, and more.

Hill's stats were now completely comparable to Captain America's. Natasha was even stronger, capable of briefly unleashing high-level warrior speed and strength in her full crimson Extremis state.

"With this, I don't have to worry about either of them being in danger anymore," Rowan thought with relief.

Hill usually worked alongside Fury and rarely went to the front lines. Beginner warrior strength was plenty for her safety. Natasha, on the other hand, with her current power, could probably wipe out a Hydra base on her own. And even if things went badly, her regeneration meant she had room to escape.

After the tests, both women were thrilled.

Wanting to thank Rowan, they had him lie down on the sofa and treated him to a double massage. Later that night, Natasha even gave him some very personal attention, her newly transformed body warmer and softer than ever.

…

The next morning, Rowan woke early. Instead of heading into the Devourer's World, he spent some time cultivating his genetic energy.

To his surprise, using the Five-Heart Meditation in the Marvel world also allowed him to draw cosmic energy, and the efficiency was about the same as in the Devourer's World.

Once finished, he booked a flight to Kenya.

Today was the day he had arranged to meet Ulysses Klaue for an arms deal.

After nearly nine hours in the air, Rowan finally landed in Kenya as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Checking his watch, he saw it was a little after six. The meeting was set for eight.

"Plenty of time," he thought.

In a deserted spot, he summoned a manhole cover with his mind, stepped onto it, and soared toward the Salva shipyard.

As a mid-level psychic warrior, he could almost reach the speed of sound when flying at full power. With no lights in the Kenyan countryside, he didn't worry about being spotted.

Half an hour later, he arrived.

The shipyard was decrepit and abandoned, with several rusting freighters stranded on the beach. One, however, was lit up with flashing lights. That had to be Klaue's hideout.

Rowan glided silently closer.

"Damn it. We finally caught a pretty Nigerian girl, and instead of letting us enjoy ourselves, he sends us to fetch some client. Stupid New Yorker."

Two mercenaries grumbled as they headed toward the docks.

So Klaue had sent them to pick him up.

Rowan's eyes narrowed. A knife slipped free from his belt, whirled through the air in a smooth arc, and pierced both mercenaries' skulls before they hit the ground with a dull thud.

The blade returned to him, spotless, as he continued forward.

One by one, patrolling mercenaries fell the same way, cut down silently by Rowan's psychic-controlled weapon.

Within minutes, a dozen guards were dead without a sound.

At the top level of the freighter, Rowan heard wild laughter, mixed with terrified screams. His psychic sense swept through the rooms and confirmed it. Klaue wasn't there, but his men were certainly busy with something vile.

With a flick of his will, Rowan sent his blade spinning through the room. Heads snapped back, blood sprayed, and not a man was left standing. They died before they even realized it.

The terrified young woman who had been their victim screamed, clutching herself in horror.

"What's going on?!"

A man in a white shirt and vest stormed out of the captain's quarters, gun in hand. His beard was thick, and a burn mark scarred the side of his neck. Ulysses Klaue.

His shout echoed, but no one answered.

A chill ran down his spine. None of his lieutenants responded. The patrols hadn't reported in. Something was terribly wrong.

Hugging the wall, Klaue crept toward the main room, only to freeze at the sight inside.

His trusted men, the ones who had been laughing moments ago, were all dead. Blood drenched the walls, each corpse marked with the same strange wound.

"Run!"

He didn't know what was happening, but survival instincts from years on the run screamed at him. He bolted for the deck, desperate to leap into the shallow sea below.

But just as he reached the edge, his body locked up.

Hovering in the air before him was Rowan, standing calmly atop a floating manhole cover, staring at him from above.

Klaue's scalp went numb.

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