Chapter 338: Allen Takes Bruce as His Disciple
"You're granting me three wishes?"
Bruce spread his hands, needing to double-check.
He'd grown up with the story of Aladdin's lamp. Wasn't it supposed to be his three wishes?
"That's right."
Allen replied earnestly, "I know what you're thinking—the story of Aladdin. The lamp spirit ran into the wrong person, who used the third wish to wish for three more wishes, and did it again and again until the spirit got exhausted, drained of power, and died. So, I've learned from those hard-earned lessons of the past. I now make the other party grant me three wishes."
"…"
Bruce was speechless. Strangely enough, it made a bit of sense.
Preempting the opponent's preemptive strike—that was something he could understand.
"The problem is I'm just an ordinary human. How am I supposed to grant your wishes? And don't tell me your third wish is to wish for three more wishes and repeat the cycle forever?" Bruce asked bitterly.
"As the Spirit of the Bottle, I have principles. My third wish would never be that dishonorable."
Of course, he was going to wish for ten thousand more wishes.
Allen added that silently to himself.
"What if I don't go along with it?"
As he spoke, Bruce slowly edged back toward his car, hoping to make a run for it.
"Then nothing happens."
Allen flashed a wicked grin and said cheekily, "I wish you'd try it."
"You're insane."
Bruce yanked the door open.
He jumped in, locked the doors, and scoffed, "You're a lunatic in a hospital gown playing dress-up. I don't have time for this."
With that, he reached for the car keys, ready to start the engine.
"I'm just a reflection of your inner self, Bruce Wayne. There's a madman inside you… hehehe…"
Seeing Allen's creepy, stiff smile, Bruce felt a shiver crawl up his spine and instantly floored the gas pedal, tearing off down the road.
"You won't escape the palm of my hand... hehehe…"
Allen didn't chase. He had no need. Bruce wouldn't be able to get away. Better to build the atmosphere first.
Speeding along the highway, Bruce felt an unusual sense of unease. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror, worried that freak might be chasing after him.
After driving for some distance without anything strange happening, he finally relaxed a little.
Still, there were too many unexplainable oddities.
He was starting to believe this so-called "Spirit of the Bottle" might be real.
"Someone hitchhiking?"
Up ahead by the roadside, someone was waving.
"Having someone to talk to would help ease the fear."
Bruce slowed down, deciding to give the person a lift. Company meant backup.
As the distance closed, a chill ran down his spine.
He saw Allen, that same stiff smile on his face, waving at him.
"Ah… a highway ghost!"
He floored it, pressing the pedal as far as it would go, trying to outrun whatever was haunting him.
He was terrified—truly terrified.
He realized now that something evil had latched onto him.
"Perfect."
Allen watched the car vanish down the road, still waving, and muttered to himself, "Scare him a few more times and he'll get used to it. Time to move to the next location to frighten him again."
There was only one road through this wilderness. All he had to do was use a teleportation gate to arrive ahead of time.
Of course, since teleportation required seeing the place first, Allen had made a special trip in his "Creepy Lantern Man" form to scout the area and get familiar with the terrain—he couldn't afford to lose his target.
Less than half an hour later…
Bruce saw Allen waving by the roadside again.
"I can't shake him. I can't shake him…"
Beads of sweat rolled down Bruce's forehead. His expression was panicked and frightened—he didn't even dare stop to pee.
An hour later—
It happened again.
Allen stood on the roadside like a zombie, waving.
"This is a time loop! I'm trapped in a haunted time-reset dimension! What do I do? What do I do…"
By now, Bruce's previously slicked-back hairstyle was a tangled bird's nest.
His mind replayed every horror movie he'd seen—especially the ones where people were stuck reliving the same events on an endless road, over and over, until death.
He had dreamed of starting a new life, but at this point, even a life of crime seemed more promising.
By dusk, Bruce had completely lost count of how many times he'd seen Allen. His spirit was so broken that he barely reacted anymore. He looked like a worn-out silicone doll, utterly numbed to it all.
Passing a roadside motel, Bruce finally gave in to exhaustion and decided to spend the night.
At this point, he didn't care whether Allen would show up again. All he wanted was a shower and some sleep.
While Bruce was showering, Allen peeked through the glass and snuck into the room.
"Ah…"
After finishing up, Bruce walked out and was horrified to see his nightmare lounging seductively on the bed.
"You can't get rid of me, mortal."
Allen crooked his finger at him, grinning with delight.
Wrapped tightly in his towel, Bruce pressed his back to the wall, too terrified to even cry.
Cowering in the corner, clutching his head, he begged, "Please, just leave me alone. I'm begging you."
"Can't you at least hear what the three wishes are before freaking out?"
Allen rolled his eyes, then patted the bed, signaling for Bruce to sit down. "Don't be scared. If I really meant to hurt you, I'd have done it long ago. Why would I chase you this far just to mess around?"
Bruce, tearful and pitiful, looked back helplessly—but still refused to sit on the bed.
After all, he didn't even know whether this guy was human or not. What if he got too close and things took a turn for the worse?
"My first wish is for you to take me as your master."
"Huh!?"
Bruce's brain short-circuited for a moment.
That's the wish? Becoming someone's disciple?
Besides, he couldn't imagine what this lunatic could possibly teach him.
"What's with that face?"
Allen raised an eyebrow and rattled off a list of "qualifications."
"I embody the skills of a thief, alchemist, cleric, mage, warrior, and shaman. A well-rounded youth of virtue, intellect, physical fitness, aesthetics, and labor. My past glorious achievements are countless. Taking on a weakling like you as a disciple is practically doing you a favor."
"…"
Empty talk. Anyone could brag like that.
"Master, please accept your disciple's bow."
But the situation forced his hand. Bruce had no way to verify the truth. All he could hope for was to send this living plague on his way.
"Now you're talking."
Allen adopted a dignified posture and said in a lofty tone, "Our lineage has only one successor per generation. In ancient times, each heir stood atop the heavens, repelling enemies from beyond the void, accomplishing eternal feats. The rules of heaven and the principles of the Great Dao all resonated in reverence."
"…"
Can you speak in a language people understand?
Bruce couldn't make heads or tails of all this Eastern fantasy talk. He was a Western guy—this was gibberish to him.
"Looks like you're already in awe of the legends of our ancestral line. I'll tell you more when there's time."
Allen pulled out a butcher knife tucked under his arm and solemnly handed it over. "This divine blade has followed me through countless years of battle. I now bestow it upon you as a token of our bond."
Bruce accepted the gleaming, ice-cold butcher knife, every fiber of his being rejecting it.
Dude, American-style quickdraw is what's hot these days.
"Master, if you're giving this to me, what will you use?" Bruce tried to use this as an excuse to return it.
"I can make do with anything."
Of course, Allen wouldn't reveal that he had a Black Creepy Lantern Ring strapped to an indescribable place.
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