The Almighty Convict's Revenge

01

Deep within the imposing concrete walls of Stonegate Federal Penitentiary, a young man with a sharp buzz cut sat on the edge of a narrow iron bed. His eyes were half-closed in relaxed contentment while several heavily tattooed inmates hovered around him, massaging his shoulders with frantic eagerness. Among them was a hulking, broad-shouldered bald man with a jagged knife scar running down his cheek. The terrifying giant flashed a fawning, almost goofy smile as he spoke.

"Boss Curry, you're really getting out this afternoon. Man, I hate to see you go," the scarred giant said, nervously rubbing his massive hands together. "Look, if things get tough out there and you can't find a decent job, just come to The Draven Clan. Tell the boys you're my big brother. I swear on my life, they'll serve you like you're their own grandfather."

"Get lost," Curry Pitt shot back. He casually raised a hand and slapped the back of the giant's bald head. "Can't you wish me some actual luck instead of expecting me to fail?"

The massive man just scratched his shiny head, chuckling sheepishly. Any outsider witnessing this bizarre exchange would have picked their jaw up off the floor. This fawning giant was none other than one of the most notoriously ruthless wanted criminals in all of the United States of Namalia. Years ago, he had clashed head-on with a heavily armed squad of twenty elite mercenaries. The bloody encounter ended with the giant sustaining only two minor flesh wounds, while all twenty mercenaries were found with their necks violently snapped. Following that massacre, he founded The Draven Clan, an underground organization that struck pure terror into the hearts of foreign syndicates. Yet, in front of Curry, this terrifying warlord was as obedient and docile as a golden retriever.

Later that afternoon, the atmosphere in the yard was historic. The oppressive afternoon sun beat down on the cracked asphalt, but nobody dared to move out of line. Over a thousand inmates stood shoulder to shoulder across the vast yard, arranged in perfect, militaristic rows. Their eyes, usually filled with malice or despair, were completely unified in a gaze of absolute reverence. Among these ranks were legendary assassins who had dominated the underworld and infamous warlords whose names were whispered in fear. But in this exact moment, every single one of them worshipped the same unreachable god.

Walking toward the heavy iron exit gates with confident strides, Curry moved with the commanding presence of a dormant dragon finally waking up. The moment he stepped into the light, Warden Benjamin Head practically sprinted forward, anxiously rubbing his hands together.

"Our great Dr. Pitt," the warden greeted, his voice thick with undeniable emotion. "You're leaving us today, and I honestly don't know when I'll have the honor of seeing you again."

"If fate allows it, I'll buy you a meal on the outside," Curry replied, offering a polite nod. "Thanks for everything you've done to smooth out my release."

"You're far too polite, Dr. Pitt," Benjamin Head insisted, shaking his head vehemently. "You literally dragged me back from the gates of hell. My life belongs to you. Talking about thanks is just making us act like strangers."

The warden then took a deliberate step back, raised his right hand high into the air, and brought it down sharply. Taking the cue, the thousand-strong legion of hardened criminals inhaled as one.

"Farewell, Dr. Pitt!" Their unified voices exploded across the yard, rattling the heavy iron fences and echoing high into the clouds.

Almost every single man standing in that yard had been saved by his miraculous medical skills. Whether it was a minor ailment or a terminal disease that top-tier hospitals had completely abandoned, Curry had cured them all with terrifying ease.

"I'm out of here, boys," Curry shouted back, raising a clenched fist into the air. "Take care of yourselves. Do your time right and come out better men."

"We will always remember Boss Curry's teachings!" the deafening roar came back.

Adjusting the straps of his worn backpack, Curry finally walked through the massive front gates. Just outside, basking in the warm afternoon glow, sat Old Man Turner. The elderly man was casually lounging in a folding chair, sipping steaming tea from a cracked porcelain cup, looking like a man completely free of the world's burdens.

"You ungrateful little brat," the old man grumbled without bothering to look up. "Were you really planning to waltz out of here without saying goodbye to me?"

Curry stopped, a warm smile spreading across his face as he took a step closer. "Never. You're the only person in this whole miserable place I'll actually miss, Master."

The old man slowly opened his sleepy, half-lidded eyes and studied the young man standing before him. "Do you know what my greatest dream in this life is?"

"I have no idea," Curry admitted, genuinely curious.

The old man sat up straighter, his gaze turning profound and dead serious. "To lie drunk on the lap of a gorgeous woman, and to wake up holding the ultimate power of the world."

Curry couldn't help but sigh, shaking his head in amusement. "You're ancient, old man. What are you going to do with all those worldly desires at your age?"

"Shut your mouth and get out of here," Old Man Turner cursed, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Just don't forget what you promised me once you're out. And don't you dare forget me."

Hearing those words, a heavy lump formed in Curry's throat. The playful banter immediately faded. He took a solemn step back, dropped both knees onto the dusty gravel, and bowed deeply until his forehead touched the ground. Hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

"Master," his voice trembled slightly. "Your disciple will forever remember your teachings. The new life you've given me, I won't forget it for as long as I live."

"Get up, you idiot, just go," Old Man Turner waved his hand impatiently, refusing to show his own emotion. He watched the young man's retreating figure, a proud smile finally blooming on his wrinkled face. "Brat, my most glorious days might have been when I represented the United States of Namalia, but your era is just beginning."

Leaving the desolate prison grounds, Curry pulled a crumpled cigarette from his pocket and lit it. As the bitter smoke filled his lungs, his thoughts drifted back three years. That was the year his grandfather had passed away. On his deathbed, the frail old man had grasped his hand, gasping out the secret of a marriage contract arranged when Curry was just a child, begging him to fulfill the vow.

Honoring his grandfather's dying wish, he had tracked down the girl on the document. To his utter shock, his betrothed turned out to be none other than Fae Svard, widely celebrated as the absolute most beautiful female CEO in all of Bayhaven City.

But their very first dinner together had ended in absolute disaster. A group of wealthy, arrogant youths had spotted her stunning face and began making vile comments, eventually trying to put their hands on her. Driven by righteous, youthful fury, he had thrown himself into a brutal brawl to protect her.

He hadn't realized that one of those thugs was Evan Cross, a notoriously cruel and powerful young master from a prominent local family. A man who spent his days doing absolutely nothing but making innocent people suffer. Leveraging his family's massive influence and bottomless wealth, Evan Cross had ruthlessly manipulated the legal system. He framed the fight entirely on the young man, having him slapped with an aggravated assault charge and a devastating five-year prison sentence.

His life was supposed to be completely ruined. But fate had intervened in the darkest depths of the prison when he met Old Man Turner. At first, the eccentric elder claimed to be a reincarnated immortal who possessed absolute knowledge of the heavens, the earth, divine medical arts, and ancient martial combat. Initially, he thought the old guy was just completely insane. Yet the old man forcefully dragged him into a grueling training regimen day after day.

Over three grueling years, he had miraculously absorbed an arsenal of heaven-defying skills. By utilizing his newfound medical expertise to save lives within the prison, the authorities had granted him a massive sentence reduction, slashing his five years down to three. And just last night, before his release, the old man had given him one final, unbreakable order. He was to find a girl named Mika Turner, his biological granddaughter, and marry her.

The sharp squeal of tires violently dragged his consciousness back to the present. He pinched the glowing cherry of his cigarette, tossing the butt aside as a sleek, pitch-black Mercedes-Benz slid to a halt right in front of him, kicking up a small cloud of dust. The heavy luxury doors popped open. Two figures stepped out into the afternoon heat. One was a towering bodyguard who instantly crossed his massive arms. The other was a breathtakingly beautiful young woman. She had a delicate, upturned nose, captivating eyes that demanded attention, and an aura of icy elegance. Her most striking feature was her perfectly sculpted, long legs, stepping gracefully onto the rough asphalt.

He recognized her instantly. It was the very woman he had sacrificed his freedom to save three years ago. It was Fae Svard.

"It has been a long time," Fae Svard spoke first, her voice smooth but entirely devoid of warmth.

Curry simply gave a faint, indifferent nod, his expression unreadable.

"I came here today because we need to clear the air," she continued, her chin raised slightly as if speaking to an employee. "I am genuinely grateful for what you did for me three years ago. But you have to understand, we are no longer from the same world. You should know exactly why I am here."

He reached into his worn pockets and pulled out a faded, meticulously preserved piece of parchment. "You mean this?"

Fae Svard offered a curt nod, her eyes locked on the old marriage contract.

Without a second of hesitation, Curry tore the ancient contract cleanly in half, then shredded it into pieces, tossing the scraps into a nearby rusty trash can. The casual destruction of the document caused a visible wave of relief to wash over her tense shoulders.

"I know this reality must be incredibly hard for you to accept," she said, her tone softening with a sickening layer of pity. "But I truly want you to start over with a clean slate. I owe you a favor for taking the fall back then. There are five million dollars in this account. Consider it full mental compensation for the years you lost."

She stepped forward and forced a sleek, black bank card into his rough palm. He stared at the piece of plastic, rolling it between his fingers a couple of times. A mocking smile touched his lips.

"I don't need your charity."

With a flick of his wrist, the card sailed into the trash can right on top of the shredded contract.

"You little punk, don't reject a face when it's given to you!" the hulking bodyguard suddenly barked, taking a menacing step forward. "Miss is only giving you that money because she pities your pathetic existence. A miserable ex-con like you is going to starve to death out here on the streets!"

A chilling frost instantly overtook Curry's eyes. Before the bodyguard could even blink, a devastating kick launched from the ground. The heavy impact connected with the bodyguard's chest, sending his massive frame flying backward through the air.

The giant crashed violently onto the hard concrete. His face twisted in pure agony as he rolled on the ground, screaming.

"Since when do mindless insects get to interrupt a conversation?" Curry asked, his voice deathly quiet.

"How can you be so utterly barbaric!?" Fae Svard cried out, her chest heaving as she bit her bottom lip in pure frustration and shock.

She couldn't recognize this violent man anymore. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? Now that you're out, Evan Cross will absolutely not let you live! Why couldn't you just take the money and hide in another city!?" she shouted, her delicate face paling with genuine anxiety.

He simply adjusted his worn backpack, turning his back on the luxurious car and the beautiful woman.

"Worry about your own messy life first."

Without another word, he walked away, his solitary figure vanishing down the dusty road, leaving her standing entirely alone.