Chapter 36: As expected of Gotham, even Bruce Waynegets bullied.
An endless white world.
Yale came here again.
The end of the grand hall vanished into the thick fog, and the white colonnades stretching straight up to the dome were endless. A red moon hung high in the dome, slowly descending toward the edge of the skyline.
"You're fucking late again."
A familiar greeting.
Silence was sitting on a white stone pillar that had somehow collapsed, supporting her cheek with one hand, a fiery spark flashing within her ice-blue eyes as she stared at him without blinking.
"So how long am I late?" Yale asked casually.
"You're la—"
Silence hesitated for a long time without being able to spit out a number.
"Do you think we are all your dogs, Traveler, just leaving us here to wag our tails and wait for you?" she changed the subject, gritting her teeth.
"Thank you for your concern, but I seemed to have a bit of insomnia tonight." Yale shrugged, "Your tone could be a bit gentler next time, Miss Silence, and perhaps that would make me want to fall asleep and see you even more."
"You—!"
A crack appeared on the surface of the stone pillar under the woman's unconscious stomp.
Yale ignored her and chose to walk forward.
Teasing Silence carried risks, much like teasing a tiger that could eat people at any moment, but...
If he didn't tease the tiger just because there was a risk in doing so, then what kind of Hyperion would he be?!
Yale smirked crookedly.
"Traveler."
A quiet voice came from his side.
Yale's smile vanished.
"Good evening." He raised his hand expressionlessly.
"Traveler."
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A voice carrying a martial and heroic air came over, "You've arrived late."
"Good evening, Diana." Smiles reappeared on Yale's face, "It seems everyone arrived quite early."
"You are the one who arrived the latest, you have no right to say that." Silence snorted coldly.
"I arrived the latest because I have a busy nightlife in reality." Yale justified righteously, "What about you guys? What do you do? Tell me, I'm a farmer, what about you?"
Silence's voice paused, and she silently turned her head away.
Nightwalker frowned slightly.
A busy nightlife, farming?
He narrowed his eyes and carefully scrutinized Yale's nonchalant amber eyes.
Could this guy be a playboy in reality?
That makes sense.
A playboy might be the best disguise for a superhuman like him.
Thinking of this, Nightwalker's eyes couldn't help but light up.
"Trava—"
"You can come earlier next time." Diana spoke before him instead, the Amazonian female warrior sighing slightly, "If you come any later, Nightwalker and Silence are going to start arguing again."
"Can't you mediate between them either?" Yale asked in surprise.
"I said, I said I hope you guys, like warriors, use fists instead of spit to resolve your differences." Diana said, "Unfortunately they are not willing to do so."
"Aren't your motives a bit impure?" Yale's mouth twitched.
It seemed he remembered a certain heroine's belligerent side.
"Pure? On Paradise Island, brawling is a way to solve problems and is respected by us." Diana blinked, "Combat is one of the purest acts, isn't it?"
"..."
"Where is the purity?" Yale asked abruptly.
Diana didn't seem to expect him to ask like that.
"Because combat is truth, it does not lie." The female warrior said earnestly, "I look forward to fighting with the strong, looking forward to confirming my existence in the sound of colliding blade edges, I will feel satisfied when seeing enemies fall, and I will also be excited because I encounter a respectable opponent."
"Both sides surrender themselves to the same rule, and everyone knows what they are doing."
"Then can rules constrain things after the combat ends?"
"After it ends?"
"One person has fallen, and another person is still standing." Yale asked curiously, "Will the winner put down their weapons? Will the loser willingly accept the result? Will the people watching from the side say the loser deserved it just because they like the winner? If the one knocked down is your friend, would you still feel this battle is pure?"
Diana pondered for a moment.
"This is a view of the outcome of combat, not combat itself." She said.
"But people cannot live solely in combat itself; no one can fight forever."
Diana was stunned.
"I suppose you certainly don't know..." Yale smiled, his tone becoming casual again, "A man named Heraclitus said that conflict and war are the laws of the world's operation, and war is the father of all things and also the king of all things."
"Many people like to quote this sentence, as if as long as war is called a father, it possesses the qualification to give birth to all things."
"Isn't that right?" Diana said in surprise, "Legend has it that in ancient Sparta, people who worshiped the god Ares regarded him as a father."
"Combat may be pure, but the results brought about by combat are not."
"All who live by the sword shall die by the sword."
"The Song of the Nibelungs?" Nightwalker raised an eyebrow, "You even know this?"
"Never mind whether I understand it or not."
"You guys only saw the blade edges colliding; blade edges colliding is naturally pure, nothing more than the clashing of metal from swords, spears, staves, and clubs." Yaleshook his head, "But who wins, who gets injured, who loses loved ones, whose city is burned down, whose children are looking for their mothers in the ruins—these are all results triggered by war."
"I don't understand." Diana was somewhat bewildered, "On Paradise Island, I never thought the outside world would be like this; my mother Queen Hippolyta only told me that the outside world has conflicts and contradictions."
"Fine, fine." Yale shrugged, "I just want to say, you guys treat combat as pure because you saw the candor within combat. But candor and kindness are not the same thing; the starting point of combat, the reasons for combat, are very complicated."
Diana's brow furrowed even deeper.
"Then in your opinion, what kind of reason for fighting counts as pure?"
"I don't know."
Yale answered very quickly.
"You were just talking about me a moment ago, how come you don't know again now?"
"Because I am not the God of War."
"The way you spoke just now looked very much like a god."
"That's because you guys on Paradise Island lack a philosophy teacher."
"..."
"Anyway, you just wanted to watch them fight just now." Yale said ruthlessly, "Diana, the bloodthirsty spectator of the gladiatorial arena, a you like this is no longer pure."
"Paradise Island is truly like that." Diana's voice lowered, "Warriors respect combat and also respect winners. We confirm each other's courage in combat."
That being said...
Yet Diana still couldn't help glancing at Nightwalker and Silence.
Fine, her heart told her that she did indeed want to watch just now.
She felt that it would definitely be very interesting if these two people fought.
"..."
Silence and Nightwalker fell silent.
The former was momentarily caught off guard by the philosophical impact of those few passages between the two.
While the latter was pondering where on earth Paradise Island was.
As for pondering the Traveler's words?
What a joke, who would believe an alien's philosophy regarding human war? Nightwalker thought deeply with doubt.
"Traveler." Diana said abruptly, "I will rethink the reasons why I fight in the future."
"Be my guest."
"But I still want to see Nightwalker and Silence have a fight."
"..."
Yale raised a hand to cover his face.
"Anyway..."
"Without training this trash, how can we fight together in the future." Silence crossed her arms, "I certainly don't want someone to be stuck hiding in the back shooting arrows like last time."
"I also don't want someone to idle in place like last time." Yale blocked the words about to spill from Nightwalker's mouth, incidentally throwing a wave of mockery at Silence, "Why can't you two just have a nice chat?"
"Because what I said is the truth." Silence rarely didn't get annoyed by Yale's words, instead taking a step right in front of Nightwalker to continue taunting.
"..."
Nightwalker fell silent for a moment.
"I respect your right to taunt me." He said with an unchanged expression, "You are right, I truly didn't come in handy last time."
"...?"
Silence also seemed somewhat surprised.
But seeing Nightwalker be so candid.
"Not just last time, every time." Silence muttered, turning her head to look at Diana, "Hey! Spar with me?"
Diana was stunned for a moment, then gave a light smile.
"In the name of Hera, I never fear any challenge."
"Audacious."
Silence's figure flashed, and Diana followed closely behind.
The two almost vanished at the edge of the white fog, and immediately after, violent tremors caused ripples to stir through the white fog.
"So I wasted my breath just now, huh?" Yale held his forehead, "Besides, we still have to fight Nightmares later, is it appropriate for them to do this?"
"There are no Nightmares tonight." Nightwalker shook his head, explaining, "Moge said there definitely won't be any unusual movements tonight."
"Why?"
"Because..."
"Tonight is Christmas Eve." Moge walked over from the depths of the grand hall with a round, rolling cat-walk, "Good evening, Traveler."
"What does Christmas Eve mean?" Yale asked strangely, "How can there even be this kind of setting?"
"Literally what it means." Moge scratched its head, "Although I don't know the exact principle either, this kind of situation occasionally happens, just like the 'dream' itself has fallen asleep, the restlessness of the Nightmares will be suppressed to the lowest."
"Is that so?" Yale sighed.
"What are you regretting?" Nightwalker was vigilant.
"Without Nightmares, how am I supposed to fight monsters and level up?" Yale felt a bit mentally exhausted, "Do you know how worried I am that I won't keep up with the patch version."
"..."
"Where are you?" Nightwalker decided to change the subject.
Yale raised an eyebrow.
Wasn't it this kid who sent the invitation letter?
"Next Saturday, Gotham, charity banquet." Nightwalkersaid, "Do you need me to send you an invitation letter?"
"No need."
"Then how will you..."
"I am the Traveler." Yale said, "The Traveler goes wherever he wants to go."
"..."
"Aren't you a farmer?"
"I actually changed careers and sold tofu for a period of time."
"Why do you always have a set of smooth talk after smooth talk?" Nightwalker managed to squeeze out a sentence after a long while, "It always makes me feel like I'm being scammed by someone playing 2048."
Yale blinked: "Then this round of 2048 of yours can no longer combine larger blocks~ Mr. Nightwalker, checkmate."
"..."
This guy.
Possessing combat power far exceeding ordinary people, a rich nightlife, an in-depth understanding of Gotham's underworld, a speaking style like a playboy, but unexpectedly well-read and knowledgeable, and an age roughly between seventeen and twenty-three...
Nightwalker narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Anyway, next Saturday, or just during this time." Yaleturned and walked toward the direction where Diana and Silence were fighting, "I will collect the deposit first, don't you worry."
Nightwalker stood in place.
After all, chasing after him wouldn't yield an answer either; it was better to just watch the riddle-maker vanish into the white fog like this.
...
Tonight was uneventful.
Just as Moge said.
Christmas Eve.
However, the flickering of the prophetic dream didn't care whether you were safe or not.
"Hoo—!"
Wayne Manor, the second bedroom's large bed.
A seventeen or eighteen-year-old youth woke up from the bed, drenched in sweat.
"Ding—! Ding—!"
He vigorously shook the bell by the bedside twice.
"Master Bruce."
The balding old butler silently pushed open the door, walked over, and handed over a glass of water.
"Thank you, Alfred." The youth drank the glass of water in one gulp, wiped his mouth, and handed the glass back onto the tray, while also locking eyes with...
A pair of melancholic eyes that Bruce Wayne could never forget for the rest of his life.
"I'm fine, Alfred."
"Did you encounter Nightmares tonight?"
"Christmas Eve." Bruce sighed, "But it wasn't peaceful inside the prophetic dream."
"Then Saturday's banquet." Alfred worriedly said, "How about you still don't..."
"Alfred."
"..."
Looking at his young master's somewhat stubborn eyes, Alfred Pennyworth's lips quivered, unable to say anything.
"It's time for school, young master."
The old butler pulled open the curtains, letting the morning sun fill the bedroom, "The sunlight is just right today."
...
Wayne Manor in the suburbs indeed had the morning sun.
But unfortunately, Gotham inside the city was still raining.
Just as the Divine Comedy says.
I see you reveling in the sunlight, but this is nothing more than the abyss taking its last breath before chewing you up.
Gotham Private High School.
The tuition fee was forty-eight thousand dollars a year; every student was a future Ivy League reserve, and the heir to every major family in future Gotham.
"Bruce Wayne!"
Twenty minutes had passed since the class bell rang.
Yet behind the teaching building, three boys were still surrounding a tall, slender youth into a semi-circle.
"Why the fuck do you stare at people every day?!" a sturdy red-haired boy said angrily, "Last time, last time you stared at Anthony in the cafeteria, and this time you stared at my girlfriend in the hallway."
"What on earth are you looking at?! You freak."
"Go ask her yourself." Bruce said expressionlessly, "Make her return the item."
No one would harbor thoughts about a football player's girlfriend.
But if the ring worn on the left hand of this football player's girlfriend was the lost item posted on the bulletin board of the principal's office last week...
"I said what the fuck are you looking at?!"
The red-haired boy gritted his teeth.
"Ron." Someone nearby pulled the boy back, "He's from the Wayne family, you'd better not go too far."
"The Wayne family is bullshit! Both his parents are dead." The red-haired boy said mercilessly, "His uncle Kane is even taking his inheritance, what the hell are you scared of! If you don't dare to bully him just because he's from the Wayne family, then how can you inherit the family business in the future? How can we mix in Gotham?!"
"But..."
"But what but? Malfoy, you coward..."
"Bang—!"
The elbow strike hit home.
"Gwaa—!"
With a heart-rending scream, the red-haired boy painfully clutched his lower body.
Bruce remained expressionless.
After being picked on by Silence several times, this was the tactic he formed after secretly watching combat instructional videos and practicing it himself four hundred and seventy-two times.
Strike first to gain the upper hand.
"Ron!"
Seeing Ron fall, the other two shouted in astonishment, and the blond boy known as Malfoy lost his temper, kicking directly at Bruce, who had exposed his back.
"Bastard! What did you do to Ron?!"
"Splash!"
Splashes of water flew up.
The dark-haired youth braced his hands on the ground, muddy water flowing past his eyes and gathering at his chin to drip down.
According to what Diana had taught him, when knocked flat onto the ground by someone.
Taking the kicks without a word, Bruce silently counted the reflections in the water surface.
One, two, three, four...
"Pull him up for me! An eye for an eye! Double it back!" Ron, who had fallen in pain to the side, was helped over by Malfoy with a distorted face, "This is our family motto! I'm going to make this freak pay back tenfold!"
An eye for an eye! Double it back!
That's him.
A trace of ruthlessness flashed in his eyes, and Brucegrabbed a stone from the ground ready to...
Wait? Where did four come from?
Bruce was stunned.
"Gotham after the rain has quite nice scenery."
"Don't you think? My dear comrade-in-arms, the currently bullied Bruce Wayne."
A nonchalant voice came from the mouth of the alley.
This familiar tone.
"Splash!"
In a moment of carelessness, the youth was kicked back into the muddy water by someone.
But these things weren't important.
Bruce wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, raising his head dazedly in the heavy rain.
Alley entrance.
The heavy rain of Gotham drifted and fluttered, resembling a grey-black cloak behind the newcomer.
"This place of yours is already no inferior to my home, Bruce." The fellow wearing a pumpkin mask sighed softly.
Chapter 37: Blood Cross.
A cliché pumpkin mask.
But the words spoken from beneath the pumpkin mask were far from cliché.
"Ten points from Gryffindor! By the way, your hair isn't red enough, Ron!"
"..."
"Are you fucking escaped from Arkham? Dressing up as a pumpkin, haven't you fucking had enough of Halloween?" Ron was so infuriated that he laughed, completely forgetting the pain in his lower extremities, "Freak of the Wayne family, do you know this freak?"
In fact, Bruce very much wanted to say he didn't know him.
But there were three people on the opposite side.
"If you're here to help," Bruce, lying in the muddy water, stood up again, his fierce gaze locked tightly onto Ron, "stop standing there acting like a headless horseman, Traveler."
"Help me teach this unappreciative Weasley a lesson."
"Bastard!"
Ron gritted his teeth.
Three against two!
The advantage is mine!
"Brothers! Light up—"
"Splash—!"
Muddy water splattered.
"Now it's two against one."
The pumpkin-masked man picked up one in each hand and tossed them into the corner of the alley.
"This place is blessed." He looked up at Gotham's dark clouds, the voice beneath the mask inexplicably solemn, "For the rain will wash away the blood of those who come after."
As he spoke, he calmly took a step back.
"Begin, you two."
"Have a death match."
"..."
"Yesterday you still said not to use beating each other up to solve problems." Bruce, covered in muddy water, was expressionless.
"But who told your home to be Gotham?" The pumpkin mask tilted its head, "My rules don't apply to this city."
"..."
"True." The youth's lips curled up.
"You two bastards, don't get too carried away!"
Ron roared and charged forward.
...
Heavy rain baptized the blood all over the ground.
"What did you just say?" The youth panted as he grabbed the red hair of the bruised and battered boy from the muddy water, "What did you say happened to my parents? Huh?!"
"Bruce... you..."
Ron gritted his teeth, his eyeballs rolling within his bruised eye sockets, but his peripheral vision could only see his companions piled up at the mouth of the alley, their lives unknown, and a pumpkin mask sitting on a fire hydrant watching the show with one leg crossed over the other.
"You remember this!" he said hatefully, "This guy can't possibly help you for a lifetim—"
"It's enough that he's my partner now, idiot!"
The youth suddenly exerted force and pressed down.
"Bang!"
"Glug glug glug glu..."
Ron struggled twice, then went limp and collapsed in the muddy water.
"How does it feel?" Yale yawned, jumped down from the fire hydrant, "Revenge? Retaliation? Vengeance?"
Bruce was silent for a moment.
"I feel... pretty good."
He stood in the rain, lowering his head to look at his own hands, "However... is this considered revenge?"
"..."
"My friend, Nightwalker." Yale shook his head, "You aren't a psycho, are you?"
"Why do you say that?" Bruce's slightly curled lips stiffened.
"Only a psycho would stand in the rain smiling after beating someone into the mud, and praise their own campus violence." The masked man clicked his tongue, "Look at that smile of yours, Bruce."
"..."
"Perhaps because this is Gotham?" Bruce mused, "Isn't it normal? Every Gotham citizen is a potential resident of Arkham."
It made so much sense that I couldn't even refute it.
"I hope so. I hope you chose violence in a completely sober state." Yale sighed, "In that case, it wouldn't be called mental illness, um... in the words of superheroes, maybe it's called... conviction?"
"..."
"Is this considered a rare affirmation from you?" Bruceraised an eyebrow, "The Traveler actually has a time when he praises me."
"After all, isn't the starting point of every tyrant conviction?" Yale said casually.
"..."
Can this guy really spit out anything nice?
Bruce stood in the rain with twitching lips, while Ron at his feet was still twitching in the muddy water.
Good news: The Traveler affirmed that he wasn't a psycho.
Bad news: The Traveler said he was a tyrant more terrifying than a psycho.
Damn it.
Bruce took a deep breath.
Trying to delete someone's perception of him from his memory.
Communicating with this guy really required caution; who knows, one careless move and he might be led into the gutter by his words and have his perception rewritten.
What a dangerous guy.
"Not taking off the mask?" Bruce changed the subject.
Of course, he knew this sentence was a pure waste of saliva; after all, how could the Traveler...
"Of course."
"I'm not some headless horseman."
The youth generously raised his hand, pinched the mask, and casually pressed it onto the back of the red-haired boy's head on the ground.
Revealing a young face with black hair, black eyes, and an utterly unremarkable appearance.
"What's wrong?" The Traveler blinked.
"..."
"You're a bit more unremarkable than I imagined." Brucewas suspicious and uncertain.
He had originally thought the Traveler would at least be the kind of presence with a 100% head-turning rate on the street, but the guy in front of him looked thoroughly unremarkable, just like a college student casually plucked from Gotham University.
"Sorry to disappoint you." Yale held back his laughter inside.
"..."
"This morning."
Throwing irrelevant thoughts to the back of his mind, Brucecasually pulled the topic back on track, "My dream has deepened."
"What is it this time?"
"Blood Cross."
"A cross?"
"Mhm." The youth spoke, "Still the banquet hall, but this time there was an enormous cross burning amidst a sea of corpses and blood, just like..."
"Some kind of ritual."
"A ritual?"
Yale mused for a moment.
No ripples rose within his black pupils.
But Bruce could sense that the other party seemed to be digesting this piece of information at a processing speed completely unimaginable to him.
"What about now?" Bruce said abruptly.
"What?"
Yale was stunned.
Why did this guy's thinking always jump so fast?
"You're here to get the money, right? But everything is in the underground vault of Wayne Manor. You'll have to come find me later, Alfred needs to..."
"I thought it was something major." Yale grinned, "Isn't this simple?"
A hand grabbed Bruce's shoulder.
"What are you do—"
"Hum—!"
Before the youth finished speaking,
he was tossed straight up into the sky by one hand.
He passed through the clouds.
Beneath him was a sea of gray-black clouds, thousands of household lights flickering in the heavy rain, the filthy corners of Crime Alley, the hedonism of the Iceberg Lounge, the broken ruins of the East End—everything flowed within this decaying city.
This was the first time Bruce Wayne saw the full panorama of the city he had vowed to take revenge for all his life so clearly.
He saw everything.
"Bang—!"
A hand grabbed his arm.
"Hold on tight, my dear Nightwalker."
...
Wayne Manor.
Water was boiling in the kitchen.
The loyal elderly butler always prepared black tea for young master Bruce, who might return at any time.
Pouring the black tea into the pot with fluent ease, he habitually looked out the window.
The weather was overcast, dark clouds were somewhat dense, bats had flown back into the cave, birds had come to the eaves, and there was also the young master flying in the sky looking like he'd gotten out of school early.
Everything was very...
"...?"
Young Master Bruce was flying in the sky?!
The old butler was silent.
"Splash!"
"Puff—"
A pale-faced Bruce stood swaying on the lawn.
"Young Master!"
"Alfred, don't come over!"
"Wh... What?"
"Blech—!"
...
A moment later.
The bathroom door was pushed open by a wobbly Brucewith a pale face.
"Alfred."
"Young Master." Alfred helplessly stepped forward to support the thin youth.
"Where is he?"
"Uh... Mr. Traveler didn't stay long. He took the gold and left."
"Three hundred kilograms of gold." Bruce frowned, "How did he..."
"He carried it and flew away." Alfred deliberated, "I wanted to invite him to stay for lunch, but Mr. Traveler said this damn place of Gotham was too unlucky."
Bruce sat down in silence.
"What about that?" he asked.
"The photo?"
"Mhm."
The old butler took it out hesitantly.
Bruce's pupils shrank.
Alfred's candid photography skills were naturally impeccable, but where the black-haired youth appeared in the photo, there was actually just a dense mass of mosaics?!
"..."
Bruce gave up thinking.
As expected, mortals cannot understand the Traveler.
He decided not to think about anything related to the Traveler for the next forty-eight hours.
...
Unlike the unlucky Gotham,
Smallville, a place abounding with talented people, was naturally thriving.
The sun hung high in the sky.
Yale, having stored the gold safely, passed through the cumulonimbus clouds, confirmed that the last bit of Gotham's bad luck on him had disappeared, and then glided towards Smallville.
The town's streets.
Were sparsely set up with tents and colorful flags.
Harvest Festival.
Yale landed on the main street with high profile.
Don't ask why it was high profile; if you ask, it's because the almighty Bio-field with fifty percent role-playing proficiency could already easily refract light and successfully achieve invisibility.
Quickly bypassing an old lady selling caramel apples and a group of old men discussing this year's Pumpkin King candidates, the blonde youth finally stopped in front of a small stall in the corner.
The handwritten cardboard sign swayed slightly in the wind.
"—— my uncle captain america Charity Sale · Proceeds Donated to Smallville Community Mutual Aid Fund"
A blonde girl sat behind the stall.
"How is it going?"
Disengaging the Bio-field, Yale crouched down.
"You've been gone for so long." The girl was somewhat dissatisfied.
"It's only been half an hour, come on." Yale replied casually as he sat down on the chair in front of the stall, "Mr. Blake just ran into me at the school gate and chatted for a couple of sentences."
"..."
"How are sales?" Yale cleared his throat.
Joanna shook her head.
Yale smiled helplessly, though he wasn't surprised.
After all, the main battlefield of the Harvest Festival was the pumpkin competition and the bare-handed corn-shucking contest.
Coupled with the fact that Smallville's elderly farmers didn't read comics much, most of the young people had already left the town for Metropolis or Kansas City, and high school students were still frantic with rehearsals for Homecoming in the auditorium at this moment.
What youngsters nowadays would come to this nook and cranny...
"Joanna!"
An angel appeared.
Yale's eyes lit up.
A chestnut ponytail swept back and forth in the autumn wind. Elaine Belloc raised a charcoal-roasted Red King and dragged a quiet black-haired girl as she walked over quickly.
"Yale! You're here too!" Elaine bounced to the front of the stall, "How's business?"
"As you can see, not a single bit of business."
"Alright." Elaine blinked, "Then can I buy some?"
"I'll give it to you."
The blonde youth casually handed over two comic books, "One for each of you."
"Yay!" The girl grinned, "You really are a good guy, Yale."
"Thank you." Mona nodded.
"You're welcome..."
Wearing a spring-breeze smile, Yale was about to continue farming favorability with Miss Angel, but unfortunately, before the words could leave his mouth, the corner of his eye twitched first.
Super Hearing keenly captured a familiar, robust heartbeat gradually fading.
Yale looked back at Joanna, only to see red light flashing in the girl's eyes as well.
"Elaine."
He turned serious.
"Wh... What's wrong?" Elaine swallowed her saliva.
"Did you see Clark and my dad when you just came over?"
"They seemed to be shucking corn." Mona spoke up.
"I'm worried about them. Could you please keep Joannacompany for a bit?" Yale stood up, "Elaine, and Mo... Mona?"
"I'll find time to thank you later."
"I'll go help out first."
"Joanna, remember to watch the stall, don't walk around."
"Mhm."
The girl responded hesitatingly, a bit of worry in her blue eyes.
But she still chose to listen to the boy, sitting on the chair without moving around, silently watching the boy's dazzling blonde hair disappear into the sunlight.
"Your brother is so bossy, Joanna." Elaine leaned over and gently poked the girl with her elbow, "We haven't even agreed yet."
"..."
"Joanna."
"...?"
"Do you just like this kind?"
"I do not."
"But the look in your eyes just now." Elaine grinned and winked, "I remember you guys aren't related by blood..."
"Elaine."
The girl turned her head, sparks flickering in her eyes.
"I'll shut up." Elaine obediently sat down on the other folding chair behind the stall and began gnawing on a corn cob, "Then let's not talk about it, haha."
Standing beside the two, Mona flipped through the comic in her hand; she didn't hear anything.
"According to the Kansas Risk Control Assessment, the Smallville area will welcome a new round of heavy rainfall tomorrow. Farmers, please take precautions."
The radio on the Harvest Festival stall was still playing the weather forecast.
Joanna sat silently.
Adjusting the distance between the comic tankobon in front of her over and over, she simultaneously divided her focus to capture that fading heartbeat.
Until another strong heartbeat converged with it, making the fading heartbeat strong again.
Only then did the girl heave a sigh of relief.
Yale...
She just knew that Yale was omnipotent.
"Hey! Joanna." Elaine leaned into the girl's ear again, "Look over there."
"Hm?"
Following Elaine's direction, Joanna looked towards the crowd.
Amidst the bustling crowd, a little girl stood alone by the dried-up stream.
About six or seven years old, light brown eyes wandering blankly through the crowd.
"Is she lost?" Joanna's voice softened for once.
Elaine nodded and was about to stand up, but Monabeside her had already taken a step ahead of her before she knew it.
The black-haired girl cut through the crowd and led the little girl back.
"Mona! If you do this, people will mistake you for a child trafficker!" Elaine rolled her eyes.
"But she's lost." Mona said softly, "Aren't we a detective agency?"
"There's really no helping you."
"But who made us agree to form a detective agency for a lifetime?" Elaine let out a soft huff, then righteously squatted down, "What's your name? Can't you find your mom and dad?"
"..."
The little girl's mouth was slightly open, her expression somewhat wooden.
"... Can you tell big sister where you're from?" Elaine tried again.
Still no response.
Such a difficult kid.
Elaine's mouth twitched, and she subconsciously turned to look at Joanna.
Only to see the blonde young lady slightly narrowing her eyes.
Her gaze seemed to have fallen into the girl's hand from the very beginning.
A dark red badge held tightly in the little girl's hand.
The front had a blood-red cross.
The back had barbed hooks.
Joanna's nostrils flared slightly.
Super senses easily caught a scent from the cross.
The smell of rust—was it bloodstains?
"Elaine," Joanna said softly, "look at what's in her hand."
"Stuff? This is... a badge?" Elaine tilted her head in surprise, subconsciously reaching out to touch it, "What church is this?"
"Smack—!"
Joanna grabbed the girl's wrist, her gaze unexpectedly stern.
"Don't touch things of unknown origin, Elaine."
Chapter 38: "There's no saving anything at all, I don't understand what you're saying!"
The Harvest Festival in Smallville was in full swing.
That was true in every sense of the word.
Take the unremarkable northeast corner, for instance.
Pillars of fire shot straight up into the sky, and heatwaves rolled backward from all directions.
Kansas's dark clouds were summoned along with them.
Yet there was no sign of heavy rain falling whatsoever.
"Pete!"
"Where is Chloe?!"
Seeing Clark rush over, Pete said tremblingly, "She's inside, Clark."
"How could she be inside?!"
"Didn't you say you stopped her?! Didn't I tell you to wait for me?!"
"But she wouldn't listen to me and got into a huge argument with me," Pete muttered. "She said she had to smoke out that Weather Wizard, I said it was dangerous, but... she... she said she's a reporter, and this is her duty."
"And then the fire suddenly started! Clark!"
"It's all my fault, Clark... I should have grabbed her..."
"Damn it."
Clark took a deep breath.
Super Vision pierced through the rolling thick smoke, finding a petite silhouette curled up under an iron table inside the burning barn.
"Screeech—!"
The load-bearing beam let out an ominous groan.
Time was clearly running out.
The town youth's gaze swept quickly around. Although this was the corner of the town's corner, he remembered that at a town meeting four or five years ago, his dad Jonathanhad proposed comprehensively popularizing fire...
"Found her!"
Clark's eyes lit up. "Pete, stay here and don't move."
"Huh?!"
Clark's figure flashed, and when he reappeared, he had already pulled out the hose from the equipment box in front of the warehouse, pressing one hand onto the valve of the spigot!
"Clang—!"
He exerted a tiny bit of force.
"..."
"Puff..."
A few drops of mud seeped out from the joint.
The fire hydrant...
Was broken?
Clark's pupils dilated in shock, staring blankly at the muddy water in his hands.
He tentatively twisted it again, and the iron pipe emitted a hollow, muffled sound, echoing emptily inside its cavity, or even...
"Thud!"
A green stone shot out from the faucet.
Why would there be a green stone inside the faucet?!
Clark's face turned pale.
Tinnitus vibrated against his eardrums, and a burning pain spread all over his body. His strength, his speed, were draining out of his body!
"Clark!"
Pete, who had caught up, supported him from behind. "What's wrong with you?!"
"I..."
"The stone..." the youth wailed in pain in a low voice, "The gro—"
"The ground?"
Pete looked down following Clark's gaze.
Something on the ground was glowing.
A green stone the size of a pigeon egg was half-buried in the soil.
"Get away from my friend!"
Although he didn't know what had happened, Pete also used all his strength to kick it flying away.
"Whoosh—!"
The burning pain receded.
Clark panted heavily, taking deep breaths.
Strength rolled back, blood surged!
He propped himself up on Pete's shoulders and stood up.
"Boom—!"
Amidst the burning fire, the barn let out a miserable scream like rolling thunder.
Staggering, Clark rushed to charge inside again.
"Clark? What are you going to do?!" Pete grabbed his arm in terror. "I've already called! The fire department will be here right away! Look at that fire! The outer walls are burned down! The roof could collapse at any time!"
"We have to go in and bring Chloe out!"
"Stop being a fool! Clark! We're just ordinary people! We can't save Chloe! I'm begging you! I don't want to lose you too!"
"Pete..."
Clark's footsteps paused.
Ordinary people.
Yes, Pete was an ordinary person.
This ordinary boy had calmly admitted the fact that he was an ordinary orphan since childhood, and his only wish since he was young was to live happily with him and Chloe.
Therefore, in this boy's world, they were naturally two ordinary sixteen-year-olds.
——He was merely Clark Kent, he was just the eldest son of the Kent Family, Yale's older brother, Joanna's older brother, he was just the pillar of the football team, he...
He alone was not just an ordinary person!
"Pete... Clark!"
The crying of the girl curled up under the iron table was captured by his gradually reviving Super Hearing.
"There's no saving anything at all, I don't understand what you're saying! Pete!"
Clark clenched his teeth.
"With great power comes great responsibility."
Uncle Ben's words echoed in his ears.
He shook off Pete's hand.
He limped and rushed toward that burning warehouse.
There was nothing to hesitate about; the fire hydrant could be broken, his legs could be weakened by the stone, but he was Clark Kent, he was...
"When you take on..."
Right, in Yale's words, he was...
"Idiot."
"...?"
"Stop, idiot." A hand pressed onto his shoulder. "Having been weakened to this extent, do you still want to go in and throw your life away?"
Clark turned his head in astonishment.
The youth's blonde wisps of hair were stained grey by smoke and dust, a thin layer of sweat was on his forehead, and he tucked an unsold comic book volume under his arm.
He looked just like a neighbor's younger brother who had jogged all the way from the Harvest Festival's charity stall. The only thing that seemed a bit off was that his breathing was very steady.
"Yale! Chloe, Chloe she is in..."
"Leave it to me."
"Yale... this time we can go together..."
"Lie down."
The blond youth raised the green stone in front of Clark.
A gloomy, emerald green glow flickered in the boy's eyes.
"Splat."
Clark collapsed.
The rain in the sky fell down.
The bleak autumn rain fell slantwise onto the tongues of fire, steaming out thick black smoke.
"Yale..." Clark opened his mouth silently.
But his younger brother had no intention of paying attention to him, turning around and walking straight toward the fire, even...
"Crunch."
The town youth's face turned astonished.
With eyes full of rainwater and tinnitus, he saw his younger brother lift the green stone in the fire—the very stone that had rendered him utterly powerless and forced him to collapse limply onto the ground...
Chewing and swallowing it in his mouth like potato chips?!
"Boom—!"
Lightning flashed in the sky, and thunder surged.
"Boom—!"
A burning crossbeam plummeted crashingly the moment Yale stepped into the door frame, kicking up a flurry of sparks and completely sealing off the path he had taken to get there!
Flames weighing as if thousands of tons rolled past both sides of his body!
Rolling! Roaring! Licking at his blonde hair!
Yet not a single inch of flame dared to truly touch a single strand of him!
Clark lay prone in the rain.
Pete hurried over, trembling, and helped him up.
The fire was still burning.
The rain was still falling.
His younger brother was walking amidst the raging flames, like a lion walking into its own territory.
"When you shoulder responsibility, great power naturally follows."
Great power? Did that mean Power, or did it mean...
From a hundred meters away, faint cries of fire and running footsteps could be heard, but to Clark, these sounds only made him feel more dazed.
"Pete..." he spoke hoarsely.
"Clark! Are you okay?!"
"Did you see it?"
"See what?" Pete supported him frantically.
Clark didn't speak again.
"Mom, my name is Clark, so why is Yale's name Yale?"
Stripped of all his strength by the two aftershocks of Kryptonite, his memories became incomparably clear at this moment.
"It means lion."
"A lion? Yale is a lion? But he doesn't even like to play football with me, he only knows how to sunbathe."
Martha laughed.
"The lions in the Bible have many sides; sometimes they represent protection and power, and sometimes they represent judgment. But no matter what, lions won't harm anyone, and children can live together with them."
Clark didn't understand back then; he only remembered that he had secretly snitched.
"Mom, actually Yale also has incredible power, is he really a lion?"
Martha shook her head, smiling lightly as she looked out the window.
The blond little boy who was always lying on a chair sunbathing had his eyes closed, the sunlight rippling warmly around him.
"You'll know one day, Clark."
Chapter 39 Even the Most Scum-like Father.
The charity bazaar corner was incomparably quiet.
"Joanna?" Elaine carefully stood up, "What's wrong? I just wanted to take a look, can't I?"
"No."
"What if this is some kind of clue? Maybe this child ran away from some church."
"Even if it is, it's a cult."
"..."
"There's blood on it," Joanna added.
Elaine and Mona were startled.
They simultaneously looked at the innocent girl sitting on the chair.
"You mean..." Elaine swallowed.
"She killed someone?" Mona couldn't believe it.
"..."
"Of all things, that's impossible, right?" Elaine rolled her eyes, feeling that most of the terrifying atmosphere just rendered by Joanna was gone, "Where would this little girl get the strength?"
"I was just saying it casually," Mona muttered softly.
"Can you usually watch fewer weird things?" Elaine said unhappily, "If next time..."
"Enough." Joanna slightly frowned, "Send her to the police station."
"I agree." Elaine raised both hands in agreement.
"Mhm," Mona softly said, "Old William should be on duty today, we can..."
"Uh… three ladies?" A middle-aged man's voice sounded, "My daughter seems to have been picked up by you?"
Joanna subconsciously stood up, shielding them behind her.
A plainly dressed middle-aged man was standing under the ginkgo tree, looking at the three of them with an embarrassed expression.
"Thank goodness." The man let out a sigh of relief, "I've been looking for my child for an hour, the crowd at the Harvest Festival today is simply too much."
"..."
"How do you prove she's your daughter?" Elaine, holding a corn cob, jumped out and questioned, "What's her name? How old is she? When is her birthday?"
It was no wonder Elaine suspected.
After all…
Joanna frowned and glanced at the girl behind her.
The girl was still pinching a bloody cross, sitting blankly on the chair, without saying a word, showing no joy at reuniting with her father.
"Th-Th-This..."
The middle-aged man looked somewhat helpless, "How should I put it? Three ladies."
He sighed, took a piece of paper out of his jeans pocket, and handed it to the three of them.
Elaine suspiciously took it and unfolded it.
Issued by the Kansas Red Cross Health Center.
Autism spectrum disorder.
The guardian's name was John Grant, the ward was Mary Grant, and the photo matched the little girl in front of them.
The paperwork was complete.
"Make you three laugh at us," the man said somewhat tiredly, "My daughter, she… sigh, her mother and I originally wanted to bring her down here to relax, but who would have expected that not paying attention for a moment would let her run off and get lost."
"It's me, her father, who is incompetent."
"..."
Elaine hesitatingly cast her gaze toward Joanna.
The blonde girl stood beside the little girl.
"She doesn't seem to want to leave with you?" she spoke.
"Of course." The man gave a bitter smile, "An autistic child, you know. I'm usually busy with work, she always stays with her mother, and she probably isn't very close to me."
"..."
Reasonable and logical.
But…
This was a lie.
Yale had taught her when she was young how to tell apart lies.
Just like the heartbeat of the man before her.
Very stable.
Probably around seventy beats per minute?
Yet a father searching for a lost daughter in the crowd of the Harvest Festival had such a stable heart rate?
"..."
Seeing Joanna's expression grow increasingly icy.
Elaine and Mona exchanged glances, silently shielding Joanna in front of them, guarding the sides of the little girl left and right.
It seemed he also noticed the three girls becoming increasingly unfriendly.
"How about this, girls." The man sighed, folded the document and put it back into his pocket, "Trouble you to take care of her a bit longer, I'll go bring my wife over. After all… does this face of mine not look much like a good person?"
He made a self-deprecating smile, then quickly turned and left, disappearing into the increasingly gloomy sky under the gaze of Super Vision.
"You think there's a problem?" Elaine asked in a low voice.
"Mhm," Joanna nodded, "A father who has been looking for his child for the better part of a day, yet he didn't sweat, and his heartbeat was very stable."
"And…"
"He didn't communicate a single sentence with this child from beginning to end." Joanna stroked the girl's head, "Even the scum-liest father, I think would still bid farewell to the girl when leaving."
"Then we…"
"Take her to the police station." Joanna bent down and picked up the little girl.
The girl blankly shrank into her arms, still without making a sound.
The three quickly walked out of the stall.
"How come there's no one around?" Elaine said in surprise.
Joanna subconsciously spread her Super Hearing in all directions.
This was her most proficient and most covert ability; Yalehad taught her that she only needed to switch her attention from one frequency to another to achieve arbitrary eavesdropping…
"There's a fire!"
A shout came from the distance.
"There's a fire! The old warehouse on the east side is on fire!"
"There's a fire," Joanna frowned.
"A fire?" Elaine blinked and looked toward the sky.
The pattering autumn rain slowly fell.
The corn cob in her hand had already gone cold.
"Then can we do a zero-yuan purchase?" Mona asked cautiously.
"..."
Elaine glanced around.
Sure enough.
The charity bazaar area, which wasn't very lively to begin with, was empty at some point. Everyone seemed to have gone to watch the commotion or tried to help put out the fire, leaving the scattered charity items in place.
"Mona, how could you have such a thought?" Elaine didn't understand how her honest friend actually had this kind of notion.
Just like how she didn't realize before that a girl like Joannawould also have in her heart…
"Didn't you say you have to first learn the methods of committing crimes to learn how to be a detective?" Monasaid blankly, "Isn't now a good opportunity? We haven't found any clues about the recent convenience store massive robbery in Smallville."
"Is this the same thing?" Elaine retorted, "Completely not..."
"Elaine."
Joanna abruptly interrupted the girl's words.
With one hand, she hugged the girl into her arms, and with the other hand, she violently pulled Mona and Elaine's collars backward.
The half-eaten charcoal-grilled corn cob in Elaine's mouth even flew out of her hand due to inertia.
"My EX Red King!" The girl let out a painful groan, "Do you know how much one of these sells for at the Harvest Festival! J-Jo…"
"Bang——!"
The ground they were just standing on exploded!
The shockwave made the angel's wail in her mouth come to an abrupt halt.
Mona's ears buzzed from the vibration, and the little girl tightly closed her eyes in Joanna's arms, a look of pain displaying on her face.
"Really troublesome."
The returning voice sounded.
Elaine dazedly looked not far away.
It was still that gentle and kind face, but a few hints of ruthlessness hung at the corners of the man's mouth.
"Tsk."
"Are they all Superhumans?"
He twisted his neck, spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground.
"This damn place is truly a breeding ground for extraordinary people."
Chapter 40 Go for it! Flashy old man!
"My ability is blood manipulation."
Grant shook his hand, and crimson blood drops seeped from his fingertips.
Something seemed to be awakening in the blood vessels beneath his skin, and terrifying power seeped out from his pores, turning into beads of blood that spun in his palm.
"Not just mine, but yours as well."
"So... make sure you don't get touched by me, ladies."
The man grinned from ear to ear.
At the same time, the muscles all over his body bulged inch by inch under his jacket! They looked like crimson creepers crawling all over his body, instantly transforming an ordinary, honest middle-aged father into a terrifying beast!
Joanna narrowed her eyes slightly, and with a quick movement, she turned around and shoved the little girl—whose body temperature was gradually rising—along with the badge into Elaine's arms.
"Keep a close eye on her."
"Joanna," Elaine swallowed hard. "Did we run into something..."
"Swish——!"
The beads of blood in Grant's hand were flicked out by him.
The ground exploded in response.
The girl's sky-blue eyes ignited at that very instant!
"Heat Vision?"
"An interesting ability."
The man sneered and lunged forward abruptly, countless streams of blood churning around his right arm, transforming into a massive scroll of blood from the sky...
"Clang——!"
The ring of a blade.
In a daze, Elaine saw a cold gleam slicing through the world at an unbelievable angle!
"What?!"
Grant was even more horrified than she was.
A severed arm soared into the air, the cross-section of the wound as smooth as a mirror.
Grant blasted backward, dragging two bloody trails on the ground, the smile at the corner of his mouth freezing on his face, solidifying into an eerie look somewhere between horror and ferocity!
"Condense!"
He let out a low growl, and the bleeding wound was instantly condensed by an infinite force, the blood forming a thin waxy layer to protect the wound.
Yet this could not bring him a shred of security.
To actually...
To actually sever his own right hand in just a single instant.
He raised his eyes with lingering suspicion and looked at the utility pole under the rain curtain.
He saw a figure squatting on top of the streetlamp.
Clad in an orange and black alloy armor, the left half of the mask on his face was a profound black, while the right half was a scorching orange-red.
From within the breath-like holes, a faint, chilling light emanated from a single eye.
"Hum——!"
The figure shook his blade with a flick, and the bloodstains were flung away and splashed into the rain by inertia.
"You... is it you?!"
Grant's heart shook, waves of blood surging across his body.
"Know me?"
The old, hoarse voice was distorted by the voice changer.
The figure executed a beautiful backflip and landed on the ground.
He leisurely sheathed his long sword back into the scabbard on his back and glanced back at Joanna and the other two.
"Go do what you're supposed to do, girls." He whistled. "No need for thanks; old mercenaries don't like girls who are too young."
"Deathstroke." Grant gritted his teeth. "This is none of your business, right?"
"Knowing it's me, why aren't you backing off?" Sladesneered. "Or are you saying you also want to exchange blows with an old mercenary?"
"..."
"The world's number one assassin." Grant took a deep breath, barely squeezing out a smile. "The undisputed King of Hunters in the underground world; no one doesn't know Deathstroke."
"Is that so?"
"Of course."
"But I don't know you, kid." Deathstroke laughed out loud, his words tinged with an irritating contempt and casualness.
Grant's expression sank, blood-red killing intent surging around him.
"You know who I'm working for, right?" He lowered his voice. "Back off, Deathstroke. What can a ghost town like this possibly give you? Don't bring unnecessary trouble upon yourself."
"Let me take that girl away."
"..."
"Agreed? My girls." Deathstroke turned his head to ask.
The three looked at each other, then shook their heads in unison.
"See? They don't agree." Deathstroke shrugged. "Of course, even if they agreed, it wouldn't matter much; after all, it can be revoked afterward."
"Besides..."
Deathstroke tossed it casually, and the long staff extended in mid-air before being grasped in his hand.
"Take their money, do their bidding."
"..."
Grant's expression became rather colorful.
This ghost town...
Someone can actually afford to hire Deathstroke?!
No, you can afford to hire the world's number one assassin! What are you still doing in this dump?! Growing corn?!
Taking a deep breath, Grant wore a gloomy look on his face.
"Kill them, Deathstroke. My master and I can let bygones be bygones."
"Otherwise..."
Grant didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning in his eyes couldn't be more obvious.
"Look at you saying that." Slade sneered. "But I'm sorry, I don't want to kill them, and I don't even want to kill you."
"However, the one thing this old mercenary cannot tolerate is you trying to kill me, kid!"
Terrifying killing intent erupted from the mercenary.
The heavy rain was still falling.
The two stood in a cold standoff.
Although they had finished throwing out harsh words, obviously neither of them had any intention of making the first move.
"Joanna." Elaine breathed out carefully. "What are we going to do now?"
Joanna didn't make a sound, only staring unblinkingly at Slade, this man wearing orange and black armor who was protecting them...
Talking incessantly about taking wages and being loyal to their cause?
Could it be...
Yale's friend?
"Let's go first." Joanna turned around.
Elaine nodded.
She hugged the little girl in her arms tightly, and Monasilently followed behind. The figures of the three girls began to retreat toward the other end of the street.
"Don't think about escaping!"
Grant moved first.
"Kid, didn't anybody tell you that you can't move around when playing statue?"
Deathstroke let out a cold snort, about to swing his staff and strike.
Dealing with a blood-flow monster like this, using a staff is more...
"Go for it! Flashy old man!"
Elaine suddenly turned her head and shouted at the top of her lungs toward Deathstroke's back.
Old man?
Slade staggered.
And right at that momentary hesitation, a blood arrow pierced toward him like a venomous snake!
He leaned back and ducked down.
The blood arrow grazed past his mask, and he swung his staff upward.
"Bang——!"
He swung at empty air.
Exercising force from his core, Deathstroke abruptly straightened up.
Instead, he saw a sea of blood surging ahead, with Grantchanting loudly amidst the bloody rain.
"Blood Brother Grants power, Trigon seals the gate! The body of the sinner becomes my sharp blade!!!"
As the words fell, the severed arm lying in the puddle suddenly exploded into plumes of blood mist! It surged out from the remains and mixed with the raindrops falling from the sky! Like a crimson giant python with its bloody maw wide open, carrying shattered rocks torn from the ground and roadside bushes uprooted by the roots, it whistled as it lunged to tear into Deathstroke!
"Disgusting stuff from the mystical side."
Holding the long staff vertically in front of him, Deathstroke's sigh was swallowed by the giant python.
To be honest, it was impossible not to miss his full Prometheus armor. After all, his current alloy tactical armor was more than enough to handle agents and superhumans on Earth, but facing a cultist who pumped out his own blood to use as a weapon...
Whatever.
The corners of his mouth behind the mask curved upward.
Actually...
The thing he hated most in this world was a fair fight, regardless of whether the advantage lay with the enemy or with him.
Who made his nickname Deathstroke?
He liked taking risks.
The alloy long sword was drawn from his side up to the top of his head, the blade reflecting the pitiful yellow light of the streetlamp as the crimson giant python lunged straight at him!
Slade Wilson drew his blade upward.