American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 213 Dior: Tell the new guy to go and buy me two cans of milk powder.

As the last applicant disappeared outside the door, the heavy wooden door of the office slowly closed.

Cobbler shrugged dramatically, spreading his hands, trying to mask his persistent unease with a lighthearted tone:

"It seems that Gotham's talent market is not bad after all... although... well, the types of talent are a bit unique."

Dio slowly rose from his chair, straightened his cuffs, and upon hearing this, his crimson eyes immediately glanced at Copport, filled with undisguised mockery:
"Not bad? Cobblestone, do you think I'm wasting my time sitting here watching these freaks perform to hire bartenders and waiters for the Iceberg Club?"

He took a step forward, and a sense of oppression spread from him.

“I’m now starting to recruit these… ‘special talents’ on a large scale. Don’t you understand why?”

"..."

Your strange and eccentric way of thinking
How could he possibly understand that?!

Although that's what he thought, Copport still forced a smirk and leaned forward slightly, saying, "Your Majesty...why not offer some guidance to the foolish old Oswald?"

Dio stopped and stood in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, his back to Cobblestone, looking down at Gotham's gray skyline.

Gang warfare.

Those few words exploded in Copport's mind.

"...?!"

Copeport's heart sank, and the color drained from his fat face.

Gang warfare? How could that be?!
He has always been sensitive to any movement in Gotham. Although there has been an increase in friction between gangs recently, it is far from the point of a full-scale war!

Has his control over Gotham's underworld weakened to the point that he missed even such an important sign?
Or…

Watching Dio walk out of the office without looking back after he finished speaking, Copter was filled with doubt and unease.

He immediately turned to Lark and almost growled the command:

"Quick! Bring me all the recent gang activity data, from Falcone and Maroni downwards, everyone I can name!"

Lark was extremely efficient; soon, a thick stack of documents was placed in front of Copeport.

His fat fingers trembled as he flipped through the papers, his small eyes scanning sharply the lines of information:

The Falcone family is still struggling to cope with the onslaught from the Metropolitan.

The Maroni family is showing clear signs of expansion, but under the influence of the iceberg, they only have minor conflicts with Falco...

Triads, keeping a low profile
The cartel's smuggling routes remain active, transporting large quantities of candy to Mexico...

The Russian mafia, those brutes, are still stockpiling weapons...

And then there are the Sicilian veterans who, squeezed by the two giants Falcone and Maroni, are forced to band together for warmth and eke out a living.
Led by the Garant family, along with the Beretti, Casamento, Inzerillo, and Panesa families, these five once-powerful underground families of Gotham are now struggling to survive in the cracks.

As for street gangs like the Hadim Gang, the All-American Gang, the Black Cloud Gang, the Dock Gang, the Dragon Claw Gang, and the Green Dragon Gang, although their activities have become more frequent and minor conflicts are constant, ...

These ordinary thugs are far from being capable of igniting a full-scale war.

The penguin looked around carefully, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

Even if a major battle were to be waged to reshape Gotham's order, it couldn't have broken out so suddenly without warning.

Resources, timing, trigger...

These elements are still immature.

unless……

Cobbler's gaze returned to the direction Dio had left, and a bold and startling idea surfaced in his mind:

Unless... someone intends to light this fuse themselves.

And it's done in the most direct way.

Could it be... that Dio is hinting to me that he's about to take action against Falcone, the tallest mountain in Gotham?!
The idea sent a chill down Copeport's spine, but it was quickly followed by an excitement that was a mixture of fear and greed.

If Dior could really do it…

So, the sky over Gotham.
Things are about to change.

No way
He also needs to stockpile a batch of weapons.

"Lark, give the order: when trading toys later, sell some and keep some."

"But then what about the money we earn?"

"Price increase, anyway, those Italian country bumpkins can't buy from us anywhere else."
-
corridor.

Dior walked with a leisurely gait toward the rest area arranged for the newly recruited 'talents'.

He was completely unaware of the chain reaction that Cobblestone's casual remark about "gang warfare" would trigger.

That was just a little teasing and a nudge to that fat penguin.

It's like poking an anthill with a stick to see what crawls out.

"And you, Miss Selena, is there anything I can help you with?"

His gaze lazily drifted to his side.

Before he knew it, a nimble figure had silently landed beside him.

She followed with light steps, as if she were meant to be there.

It's Selena Kyle.

Even now, as the manager of the first floor, she still wore that easy-to-move-in waitress uniform, with two buttons undone at the collar, revealing her delicate collarbone. Her cat-like, lively eyes glanced at Dior with a sly smile.

"fine."

She spoke lightly, her steps as light as if she were walking on air.

"."

Dio withdrew her gaze and continued walking forward, as if she were nothing more than a wisp of air.

Silence spread through the luxurious corridor, broken only by the sound of their footsteps, one heavy and one light.

Finally, Selena couldn't contain herself any longer. She quickened her pace, almost walking alongside Dior, her voice carrying a hint of deliberate mockery:

“Our ‘King’ is certainly making quite a splash today, interviewing so many… weirdos.” She tilted her head, scrutinizing Dio’s perfect profile. “What, is it that the club’s old ‘toys’… aren’t interesting enough anymore, and you need something new?”

“If you’re referring to your work ability, your ‘value’ certainly needs to be reassessed right now.” Dior continued walking, his tone flat and even: “Especially when you’re running around like a real wildcat without permission.”

"."

Selena wasn't annoyed at all; instead, she chuckled softly.

“You can only discover interesting things by wandering around. Do you expect to end up like that canary, stuck on the top floor with nowhere to go?” She leaned closer, her warm breath brushing against Dio’s ear, her voice low. “But… compared to those new oddballs, doesn’t Your Majesty feel more at ease with familiar ‘old toys’?”

Dior finally stopped.

They stood in front of a carved wooden door, behind which was the new members' lounge.

He turned around, his crimson eyes landing directly on Selena for the first time, his voice devoid of emotion:
"So, you've been following me all this way just to see the 'new toy'? Or..." His gaze swept meaningfully across the closed door, "...you just wanted to follow me?"

Selena's smile froze for a moment, then she pursed her lips, as if her thoughts had been seen through but she didn't want to admit it.

She took a step back, nimbly turned around, and the hem of her uniform skirt swayed gently, revealing her slender ankles.

"Think beautifully!"

She snorted, reverting to her cunning demeanor. "I was just passing by and happened to remind Your Majesty to be careful of the new 'pets'... They're wild and untamed; don't let them bite you in return."
Before she finished speaking, she nimbly turned around and disappeared into the shadows at the end of the corridor in a few steps.

Watching the direction she disappeared in, Dio's lips twitched almost imperceptibly before he regained his indifference.

He reached out and pushed open the door to the lounge.

Rocman had been standing there waiting for him for a long time, silently observing the three people in the room like a watcher.

The three newly recruited "talents," some sitting and some standing, all focused their attention on Dior as he entered.

The man with the electric charm looked at her with fervent adoration.

Arnold Edgeson remained expressionless.

Scandal Savage slowly snapped the cleaned wrist blade back into place, his amber eyes calmly meeting Dio's gaze.

Dior waved his hand casually.

Rocman immediately understood, bowed slightly, and silently left the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

After a moment of silence, Dio finally spoke. His voice was not loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly, carrying a kind of worldly-wise indifference:

“On the land of Gotham stand the Wayne, Kane, and Elliott families, three families that have been entrenched here since the founding of Gotham, like ancient tree roots entwined around the land.”

"And there are also emerging forces like Theonis, trying to take a slice of the power pie."

He paused slightly, letting the meaning in his words settle for a moment.

Then it turned to the shadows underground:

"Gotham's underground is divided by the two giants Falcone and Maroni, as well as the five Sicilian families, led by the Galant family, who stick together for warmth. They are like vines that entwine the dark corners of the city."

“And people like you who possess… ‘special talents’ should be treated as honored guests, receiving generous treatment and considerable autonomy, regardless of which side you choose to side with.”

"so."

His tone abruptly changed, his voice revealing a cold sharpness:
"Now, please give me a reason—"

Why choose the iceberg? Why choose...me?

And he was the first one to catch Dior's eye.

The man with the electric shock trembled slightly as he took a step forward.

Taking a deep breath, with an almost chanting tone, he began to speak:
“Those self-righteous fools nailed me to the cross.” His eyes became vacant, as if he had traveled back in time to that day. “They laughed at me, threw mud at me, and then… they ran away, leaving me there alone.”

"Because...an ominous light appeared on the horizon!"

His tone suddenly rose, filled with dramatic tension:

"They're meteorites! They crashed into the cornfield, and the closest one exploded less than a hundred meters from where I was!"

At this point, he suddenly raised his head, his fanatical gaze fixed on Dio as if looking up at a god: "But I did not die! I was reborn! It was God! He brought a 'miracle' to save me! It did not let me die under the meteorite."

"Even after I was in a coma for several years, I was granted the power to control electricity!"

He spread his hands, tiny arcs of electricity dancing on his fingertips, reflecting on his devout face.

"And now, I've found it!"

“I have finally found the ‘God’ who has given me all this! I have come here to offer my life and strength to you, my King! This is my reason!”

The man with the electric shock breathed excitedly, waiting for the 'god's' response.

Cornfield... cross... meteorite...

A fragment of almost forgotten memory surfaced in my mind.

Dio narrowed his eyes slightly, scrutinizing the man before him who had gained abilities due to a mutation caused by meteorite radiation.

Only then did he superimpose the fanatical, distorted face before him onto the cowardly young man in his memory, who was trembling with fear and tears streaming down his face.

He nodded slightly, his face expressionless. I hadn't expected this...

A henchman who survived because of his casual act, was mutated by the Kryptonite meteorite, and eventually worshipped him as a god and came to serve him.

presumably…

Is this the joy of a bountiful harvest that my father spoke of?
He didn't reveal the past, but simply accepted the fervor.

What he needs are tools; why those tools are loyal is irrelevant.

"very good."

Dior's voice broke the silence, pulling the man from his excited memories back to reality, "John Jeremy? Right? I received your 'faith'."

"Your codename from now on is 'Arc'."

As he spoke, Dior's gaze shifted to the next person, and he gestured for Arnold Edgeson to begin.

The pressure in the room is subtly shifted.

Arnold hesitated for a moment, seemingly organizing his thoughts, then raised his eyes and said to Dio in an almost solemn tone, as if stating a fact:
"You are evil."

"?"

Jeremy, standing nearby, was furious, feeling that his faith had been most severely blasphemed.

"How dare you—!"

He growled, raising his hands abruptly, and blinding blue arcs of electricity crackled once more, about to shoot towards Arnold!

"Stop."

Dior didn't even turn his head; he merely swept his indifferent gaze over, and the invisible pressure extinguished the electric sparks in Jeremy's palm.

He was left frozen in place, only able to breathe heavily with resentment and glare angrily at Arnold.

"Is this why you came looking for me?"

Dior then wore an expression of great interest.

Arnold nodded, his expression remaining rigid.

"I have dedicated my life to getting rid of and eliminating evil."

"Because of everyone I've ever met."

"Greed, violence, hypocrisy. Their souls are all more or less entangled with 'evil' that disgusts me. I have tried to stay away from people, but evil is everywhere."

His logic began to exhibit a perplexing distortion.

"what about me?"

Dior asked with a hint of mockery, wanting to see just how far this man's thinking could go.

Without hesitation, Arnold's answer was clear and certain:
"In all of Gotham, you are the most evil, the most profound, the purest one I could see in a fleeting glimpse."

"You are like a black hole, an abyss that gathers all the darkest elements."

"Oh?"

Dior quipped, "So why aren't you running away? Instead, you're moving closer to me?"

However, Arnold's answer was still chillingly logical:
"Because... your evil is too powerful, too dazzling."

"So, as long as someone is around you, within your 'iceberg of evil,' everyone else becomes... insignificant, even 'clean' in my eyes."

"Their petty evil is completely covered up and swallowed up by your existence."

"This place is, for me, the 'purest' place."

“I feel safe here, within your territory.”

What kind of mental illness is this?!
Jeremy listened in stunned silence, his brain barely able to process the bizarre yet self-consistent logic.

He thought he was already somewhat mentally unstable after sleeping for so many years, but he never imagined there could be something even more insane.
And this guy actually dared to call his 'god' evil again and again!

Anger surged through his limbs like an electric current, but he forced it down, his gaze fixed on Arnold as if he wanted to burn him through with his eyes.

Dior, however, did not get angry at such blasphemy. Instead, he let out a soft laugh that seemed to come from the bottom of his heart.

"very good."

Dio looked at Arnold with the same gaze one would give a work of art with a clever design. "I acknowledge your... 'eye' and your logic. Very interesting."

He paused, then announced:

"From now on, your code name will be 'Slaughterhouse'."

After speaking, he turned his gaze to the last person.
Scandal Savage.

Now, it's the woman's turn who claims to be 'hard to kill'.

Sensing Dio's gaze, Skander remained expressionless, calmly returning the look, his narration almost stingy:

"I had just arrived in Gotham, at the dock. Someone handed me a flyer."

She paused, seemingly finding the reason sufficient.

"It says... 'Gotham's Golden Phantom,' seeking thugs."

"So," she concluded, "I've come."

"..."

An eerie silence filled the room.

Gotham's golden phantom?
"."

Cobblestone, that idiot.
How dare they print such a shoddy scandal into leaflets and distribute them everywhere?!
However, Dior quickly suppressed this momentary unease.

He scrutinized Skander.
This woman clearly didn't care about these empty titles; she only saw an employer who could provide goals and rewards.

This extremely pragmatic attitude is itself a value.

"very good."

Dio hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

"Since that's the case, then from now on, your codename..."

“Let’s call it—'scandal'.”

Scandal nodded without blinking, simply nodding slightly, as if accepting a perfectly ordinary label.

Thus, the codenames for the three were established.

Electric arc, slaughterhouse, scandal.

His gaze swept over the three people with their very different styles.

“The three of you,” he announced, his voice echoing clearly in the room, “from this moment on, you shall obey my every command.”

"I need your presence, like the iceberg beneath the surface, the unknown foundation of this club, and also its most deadly spike."

As he spoke, he also gave the group a simple name:

"From now on, you will be called—'The Secret Trio'."

Finally, he made a promise and drew a red line:
"In return, as long as you are within the iceberg area, you are free to enjoy everything that this place has to offer."

"Fine wine, delicious food, and money."

"Of course, all of this is predicated on... within the limits of my rules."
-
In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Gotham City outside the window was completely shrouded in night, neon lights outlining the silhouette of this sinful city, and the spire of Wayne Tower in the distance was faintly visible in the smog.

Dior looked down at the territory he was trying to bring under his control.

The city's dazzling lights were reflected in his eyes.

Behind him, Rocman stood like his most loyal shadow, a step behind him with his hands at his sides.

After a moment of silence, Dio suddenly spoke, as if asking a casual question, his voice sounding somewhat ethereal in the empty room:
"Rocoman, tell me... does man define evil, or does evil define man?"

Rocman clearly hadn't expected to hear such a question.

A look of confusion flashed across his face, then he fell into deep thought, his brows furrowed.

Dior didn't urge him, but simply looked out the window quietly.

He stretched, preparing to sit down in the chair specially made for him, to enjoy this moment of peace and control.
buzzing...

The private cell phone in his pocket vibrated at an inopportune moment, breaking the silence in the room.

Dior frowned slightly and took out his phone with some impatience.

I glanced at the caller ID.
Father?

He cleared his throat, immediately swiped to answer the call, held the phone to his ear, his gaze still fixed on the Gotham nightscape outside the window, a surge of heroic spirit rising within him.

Perhaps it's time to find the right opportunity to confront my father.
This showcases the business he has built in Gotham.

You might be surprised, you might feel helpless.
But in the end, people will understand his choice and the responsibility he bears...

However, the urgent sound coming from the receiver completely shattered his reverie:

"Dio, are you back yet? If you are, hurry back and bring two cans of milk powder! Dante and Virgil's food supplies are exhausted! The situation is very urgent. Your Uncle Jonathan is already talking to Bruce about whether they can milk the cows and make milk powder from it!"

"..."

Dior held up his phone and remained silent for a moment.

“…Okay, I understand.”

He finally answered in a calm tone devoid of emotion and hung up the phone.

Then he slowly turned around and looked at Roccoman, who was still pondering the problem.

"Rocoman".

“Mr. Dior, please speak.”

Rochman immediately freed himself from his philosophical dilemma and responded respectfully.

"The time has come. Issue the first mission to our 'secret trio'."

"This is a test of their ability to 'integrate into the world' and 'carry out covert missions.' I don't want to see any...unnecessary attention or accidents."

Rocman's spirits lifted, and he replied with full concentration, "Yes! Please give your orders!"

Dio looked at him and said, word by word:

"Go buy two cans of baby formula, the Wayne brand."

"..."

"?!"

(End of this chapter)