Martin Variety in American Comics.

Chapter 77 Where will you be tomorrow? (Please subscribe, recommend monthly tickets, invest in collections)
Martin turned over in his sleepy state, his arm hit something hard, and he woke up with a start.

He saw the vase on the bedside table was about to fall, so he reached out to catch the vase like lightning, and straightened it and put it back on the table.

Touch your face.

Well, I am soft, chubby, and I wear glasses, but my facial features are all there, so it seems that I am still a human being today, not some other race.

"I hope nothing weird will come to me today."

Martin stretched and climbed out of bed, only to find that his room was filled with all kinds of antiques.

There were screens with pictures of ladies, various blue and white porcelain vases, and small bronze tripods with burning sandalwood incense sticks...

Of course, the most eye-catching thing is the large bookshelf that almost reaches the ceiling, which contains a variety of books.

Martin changed into a blue sweater and jeans, made some Taoist hand seals with his hands, and recited some magical spells, but there was no response.

Then he stretched out his index finger, pressed it on the spine of one of the rows of books, and gently stroked it, making a tapping sound.

These books are in both Chinese and English, most of them are professional books on history and cultural relics, and the remaining small part talks about the chemical knowledge and structural mechanics required for the identification of cultural relics.

"Archaeologist! This profession is not considered safe in this world."

Martin picked up a book at random, flipped through the pages quickly, and read the contents.

Jackie Chan used to have the support of his father, the great wizard, and later became the consultant of District 13.

Nathan Drake's mother was an outstanding historian who later became involved in gangsterism.

Lara Croft is a direct British aristocrat. Not only does she have a title, she also has a large amount of property under her name.

From this we can see that archaeologists or historians are a profession that is highly dependent on financial sponsors.

Now that Martin has Bruce's support, it won't be a problem for him to do research anywhere.

"But I don't want to go anywhere today."

After several days of non-stop fighting, he wanted to take a day off, read some books, identify some antiques, and then go to bed peacefully.

Close the book and put it back on the shelf.

Martin walked out of the bedroom. The living room and kitchen had disappeared. Only a large room similar to the reception desk of an antique shop was left. The decoration style was simple and rustic. To Americans, it had the atmosphere of an ancient oriental country.

Almost everything in the front hall is fake, there is nothing real.

He glanced at it and ignored it, walking out of the store directly. He turned his head to look at the sign hanging on the door. The five large gold-plated characters "Martin Antique Shop" on it were shining brightly in the sun.

"After so many days of hard work, the sun finally rises in this ghost city."

The sky over Gotham was as clear blue as a mirror, without a single cloud in sight. The bright sun shone on Gotham, making the gargoyles lying on the rooftops look wilted.

"It is better to close the shop today than to open it today. It is a good day to rest."

Martin took out a closed sign and was about to hang it on the door.

"Which almanac did you look at to find such a taboo?"

Bruce's voice came from behind. Martin turned his head first, then turned around completely.

He did not appear as Batman today. He wore a gray suit inside and a black coat outside. A brown and yellow plaid scarf was draped around his neck. His sturdy physique made him look even more stylish than the male model on the cover of the magazine.

"I write the almanac and I have the final say!"

Martin answered his question capriciously and then hung the sign directly on the door.

"Why are you coming to me instead of healing Gotham's wounds?"

"Of course I came to ask for your help."

Bruce grabbed Martin's shoulders and pushed him into the store, looking like a rogue.

"Fuck, you really treat me as free labor."

Martin broke free from Bruce's hand, rolled his eyes, and complained, "I won't talk about how much trouble I solved for you in the past seven days. Just last night, I consumed an entire moon to make the entire Gotham sleep. In order to protect those hundreds of thousands of people, my Sin Burning Flame can only be left in the Shadow Kingdom."

"I haven't even come to settle this account with you yet, and you dare to come to me? I've never seen anyone as shameless as you."

Bruce covered Martin's mouth, pushed him into the store, locked the door, and bowed to Martin with his hands clasped together: "Thank you, thank you for saving hundreds of thousands of lives, and thank you for preventing the destruction of Gotham."

"Stop talking nonsense. What's the point of saying these nice-sounding but impractical clichés?"

Martin grabbed Bruce's wrist and twisted it outward, breaking away from his grip and jumping back, putting distance between them.

Bruce was not a stingy person, and he repeatedly assured her, "Whatever reward you want, just tell me, and I will satisfy you."

Martin waved his hand and said, "Forget it. You don't have what I want, and you can't find it or make it."

"Please take a seat first. I will find the portraits from the Shadow Kingdom and select a few reliable and capable people for you so that you don't continue to disturb my vacation."

Martin walked over to the pile of junk that almost reached the ceiling and began to look for the portrait among these old things of unknown value.

Wow!
He just pulled out a wooden sculpture, and the mountain of debris collapsed directly, and all the mess slid down, almost burying Martin.

Bruce supported him and saw the clutter on the floor. He couldn't help but ask, "Why did your home become like this?"

"It's nothing strange. My home sometimes changes shape. It might turn into an airplane or a temple... But this kind of change only happens when I'm alone."

Martin answered Bruce's questions and left the useless junk aside, and then slowly analyzed what they were.

But the portrait was not found, but an iron warhorse was found.

"Hoof Shadow? You didn't disappear!"

Martin looked at the horse standing up from the debris and was nine or even ten percent surprised.

Hoofying is now wearing pure white armor, which is very different from the look of him stepping on flames yesterday, but it has a high-tech psychedelic feel.

He threw the shadow portrait in his mouth in front of Martin, let out a triumphant cry, then lowered his head and put his face close to Martin's.

"Thank you."

Martin put one hand around Hoofing's head and leaned against him, then picked up the portrait and slapped it on the table.

"Here, take it!"

He drew a few runes on the portrait, and the thick curtain opened, revealing an isolated steel island in the shadow kingdom.

Just swipe your finger a few times and the picture will zoom in and out, allowing you to see exactly what each person looks like.

“That’s a good move.”

Bruce had learned a few tricks, but the magic Martin used was unlike anything he had ever seen.

"Remember these runes. You can use them as long as you can draw them."

Martin clapped his hands, the shadows dissipated, and the picture returned to normal.

"Take this and go."

Martin stuffed the painting into Bruce's hand and pushed him out of his shop. "Even slave owners know that they can't squeeze slaves dry all at once. You want me to help, no problem, let me rest for a few days."

Martin knew that what Bruce wanted to talk to him about was the big question of where Gotham should go in the future.

But he didn't want to get involved. This was a thousand times more difficult than what he did last night.

Most importantly, the time has not come yet.

If Bruce can settle the hundreds of thousands of robots in the Shadow Kingdom, Martin doesn't mind giving him advice.

But forget it now.

Bruce did not resist, nor did he force Martin. He just said, "Let alone a few days, even tomorrow, who knows where you will go."

The two men pushed and shoved their way out of the store and saw a middle-aged white elite with gold-rimmed glasses and gray hair standing at the door.

He pushed up his glasses, walked up to Martin, and asked, "Mr. Martin, are you not ready yet?"

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(End of this chapter)