American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 258 War Games
Kent Farm.

The lights were still on, filled with the warm aroma of food and the lively sounds of family reunions.

The long wooden table was laden with the sumptuous dinner that Martha and Jonathan had prepared.

Perfectly roasted ham, a mountain of mashed potatoes, green beans drizzled with rich meat juice, and a steaming hot apple pie straight from the oven.

Looking at my family members sitting around the table.

“The picture shows Paradise Island,” Locke said, taking a sip of his juice. “It’s also the legendary Kingdom of Women.”

The table fell silent; even Dior paused in his cutting of food.

"I helped them resolve a minor problem by rescuing their Queen Hippolyta and Princess Diana from a... well... not-so-friendly 'mirror world'."

His tone was calm, omitting the dangers and twists and turns involved.

“As a thank you gift,” Locke said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “they gave me two griffins. The two big ones you saw today.”

"Wow—"

The dining table erupted in chaos.

"Wow—! Daddy saved the Queen and the Princess!" Salafir was the first to cheer, clapping his little hands until they were red. In his simple understanding, this was simply the best fairy tale, "Just like a knight!"

Jonathan looked on incredulously: "Paradise Island... Amazon warriors... Is all this real? I thought it was just a myth!"

Dior put down his knife and fork with a crisp sound.

His red eyes looked at Locke, and a smile curved his lips: "Father, the price you're paying for this 'help' is probably not small, is it?"

He succinctly pointed out the simplification in Locke's narrative.

Locke smiled and readily admitted, "The process was a bit... complicated. But the result was good; we have two more powerful guardians, and..."

He paused deliberately, his expression transforming into that of a shrewd businessman who had just amassed a fortune.

"One male and one female can reproduce."

"The guardian beast of the Kent family for generations has finally been found."

“Actually, I’d rather have a Gundam that can reproduce,” Jonathan complained. “Those two griffins must eat a lot; I feel like they could eat a whole cow of ours every day.”

After dinner, Kent Farm quickly began settling the new members in.

Clark and Locke, along with the enthusiastic Salafir and the still somewhat wary Kayla, headed towards the barn to address the practical issues of the griffins' habitat, food sources, and how to coexist peacefully with the farm's existing animals.

Ron Jones stood in the shadows of the porch.

Watching this busy yet vibrant scene, a barely perceptible hint of relaxation flashed across his usually serious face, that of General Swanwick.

He yawned softly, preparing to quietly return to his post at the Ministry of National Defense.

Even though there's nothing much to do, I still have to go back and say hello.

However, a voice called out to him.

"Mr. Rong En".

Rong En paused, turning his head in surprise.

Dior was leaning against the door frame, his hands in his pockets, his red eyes gleaming calmly in the night.

He's looking for himself?

That's quite a rare thing.

Rong En adjusted his posture and forced a friendly smile, though it still looked somewhat stiff.

“Dio…” he began, his voice steady, “Do you know why Martians never attend parties on Earth?”

Dio: “…”

Is starting with zero frames a lame joke?
He remained silent for two seconds, but ultimately, out of politeness to his father's friend, he followed the other person's script and asked, "Why?"

“Because they’re worried,” Ron revealed the answer in a serious tone, “that they’ll be seen as the ‘little green man’ at the party.”

A cold night wind blew through the porch, carrying a touch of desolate chill.

Dio raised a hand to rub his temples, his tone tinged with disbelief: "Mr. Ron, my father... he never said that your jokes were really that lame?"

“Quite the opposite.” Ron tilted his head and said seriously, “Locke recently commented that my sense of humor… ‘has improved; at least I can make people realize it’s a joke.’”

"This should be considered positive feedback."

Dior felt as if a thousand alpacas were stampeding through his mind.

Could it be that…

As old Deng got older, his taste started to resemble that of Uncle Jonathan, who liked to tell corny jokes at the community center.

He began to worry about his father's life in his later years.

Seeing Dio's indescribable expression, Ron seemed to realize that his 'humor' might have gone astray.

He resumed his usual poker face and asked in his calm, even voice, "So, Dior, what do you want with me?"

Concealing all his emotions, Dior pulled an inconspicuous little object from his pocket.

“There is indeed something, Mr. Jones.”

He said meaningfully:

"After all, some of the 'contamination' coming from beneath Arkham isn't just a Gotham problem, is it?"

"."

He took the unassuming black USB drive from Dior's hand.

Rong En closed his eyes, but then suddenly opened them a moment later.

A sigh appeared on that face that had never changed in ages.

"Did you get it from Gotham?"

He cut straight to the point: "Where is the 'messenger' who brought the USB drive?"

Dior's answer was concise, devoid of any superfluous emotion: "Dead."

"Finally, it is said that whoever obtains this USB drive must hand it over to the DEO, and should not trust any other organization."

Rong En was silent for a moment.

A fleeting pity crossed Calvin's eyes, like a spark extinguished in the deep sky.

He exhaled a breath of stagnant air, his voice lowering as he said, "He's a good man, and a good subordinate..."

The two looked at each other in silence until Rong En sighed:

"The information currently available to the DEO indicates that the Kamora family on Kamora Island is secretly funding these taboo studies that are taking place all over the world."

He deliberately emphasized the phrase "spread throughout the world":
"That is, the Arkham application project involved in the USB drive you have, also known as 'Black Diamond'."

"Not just in Gotham, but also in Metropolis, Washington..."

"Their presence can be seen in many places."

He paused, then his next words were even more earth-shattering:

“But we can’t find any conclusive evidence that directly points to them. In fact, I think…” Ron’s voice was unusually grave, “the military, high-ranking government officials, the Sky Eye Society, and even within my own DEO…”

"They may have already been infiltrated, with their people involved, or they may be bound by their interests."

His gaze fell on the USB drive in Dior's hand, as if he could see through the plastic casing to the intricate dark network behind it.

"And that sacrificed 'messenger'," Ron finally revealed the core secret, his voice calm but tinged with helplessness, "was a DEO intelligence agent whom I personally arranged to infiltrate the Sky Eye Society."

Dio: “…”

His facial expression became extremely interesting.

Spy planting in his own home?

What an utterly absurd operation...

He couldn't find the right words to describe the absurdity, and felt a surge of helplessness that left him speechless.

Seeing Dio's speechless expression, Ron seemed to guess what he was thinking and could only add, "That's how it is on the battlefield many times. Trust is a luxury."

He raised his eyes, his gaze filled with a helpless certainty.

"And as it turns out, his concerns and my guesses were not wrong."

Rong En said in a low voice:
"His insistence that this thing be delivered to the DEO, rather than to the Sky Eye Society, which in itself shows that... he suspected problems within the Sky Eye Society until the very end, and may even have... touched the core."

Upon hearing this, Dior let out a sarcastic snort, crossed his arms, and leaned against the door frame.

“Mr. Ron Jones, allow me to remind you.”

His tone was almost harsh and blunt: "Your current identity is the Secretary of Defense of the United States of America, and also the head of the DEO (Department for Paranormal Operations)."

“Legally speaking, the vast majority of the country’s coercive apparatus and intelligence networks are under your authority. I cannot understand what kind of shackles could bind your hands and feet?”

Rong En remained silent for a moment.

He slowly shook his head; it wasn't weakness, but rather a profound understanding of the operating logic of complex systems, and…

A form of self-restraint.

"Dio, power is not a hammer that can be wielded at will."

"It is a huge and intricate spider web, full of mutually restraining forces. My position means that I have to follow more rules than anyone else, and I am more constrained than anyone else."

"Many times, what I need is a chain of evidence, procedural justice, and legal grounds that can convince all parties, not..."

He paused, not continuing, but his meaning was clear.
It wasn't through his personal power as a Mars hunter that he forcibly wiped everything off Earth.

“Playing power games is not my forte,” he calmly concluded his statement. “Maintaining order and balance is.”

“You are bound by the rules you believe in, Mr. Ron.” Dio’s voice was cold, like Gotham’s rain. “Rules are a shield for the weak to protect themselves, but for the strong, they are nothing more than chains to bind themselves.”

His gaze was sharp as he stared directly at Rong En.

"Your power is enough to transform you into the most precise scalpel, directly scooping out all the maggots from the rotting flesh. Why should you care about the rules set by the maggots?"

His words carried an undisguised, cruel logic. In Dio's view, possessing power superior to mortals yet choosing to stumble through the quagmire of bureaucratic rules was a tremendous waste and an irresponsibility towards his subjects.

Ron stared at Dio, and he could feel the uncompromising, almost dictatorial efficiency-first mentality in the other's words.

He did not get angry, but calmly retorted:

“Precisely because I possess such power, Dior, I need to have even greater respect for the rules.”

“Once I set this precedent, arbitrarily judging ‘rotten flesh’ and ‘maggots’ based on my personal will and power, then next time, can those with power also use the same reasoning to judge Kent Farm as a ‘threat’? And to judge you and me as ‘unstable factors that need to be eliminated’?”

"Power needs boundaries, Dior."

"Absolute power without rules will ultimately lead to destruction, whether it is the destruction of enemies or the destruction of everything that one cherishes."

"After the destruction of Mars, Earth became my second home."

"What I seek is a world where basic order and justice can be maintained through the system itself, even without any powerful beings above the masses."

"This is the truly solid foundation."

Listening to this grand discourse on power and rules, Dio let out a snort, but he did not utter another word in rebuttal.

Ideological debates are not the focus at this moment; he is more concerned with practical issues.

So he brought the topic back to its original point:

"So, what exactly is this so-called 'black diamond'?"

Rong En nodded. He didn't take any physical files, but slowly raised one hand, palm up.

With a slight thought, a mass of dark matter, seemingly capable of absorbing all light, was projected above his palm, condensing into a flawless black sphere about the size of a fist.

It lacks the sharp edges and brilliance of a diamond, possessing only a pure darkness, like a miniature black hole, seemingly capable of swallowing even one's gaze.

Dio's gaze was fixed on the floating nothingness, his mind preoccupied with something unknown.

"It is not a diamond in the literal sense."

Ron's voice broke the oppressive silence of the darkness, "Based on the limited intelligence we currently possess, the most dangerous and alluring characteristic of this aggregate material named 'Black Diamond' is..."

"It can bestow upon any ordinary human being who comes into direct or indirect contact with it a form of unpredictable and highly unstable supernatural power."

Dio pulled his thoughts from that ominous darkness and nodded.

The video clips on the USB drive had left a deep impression on his mind. The strange abilities displayed by those desperate experimental subjects after coming into contact with the energy emanating from the black diamond, and their horrific fate of disintegration, had already explained everything.

"The outpost beneath Arkham Asylum."

Dio spoke up, "What do we do now? After all, that's Gotham."

My Gotham.

He added silently in his heart.

Rong En withdrew his hand, and the unsettling energy projection in his palm vanished instantly, restoring the light and shadow under the porch to normal.

"Captain Comet, also known as Mr. Adam Black, went to investigate in person last night after communicating with me."

He replied, "The core experimental area in Arkham that is directly related to the black diamond has been completely cleared out. All equipment and data have been transferred. The site was handled very professionally, leaving no valuable clues."

He looked at Dior and gave a preliminary conclusion.

"As it stands, this lead to Gotham has been cut off. You can... relax for now, Your Majesty."

Dio's lips twitched as he listened to Ron's calm and unwavering "King".

He snorted, which was his response to the title that was hard to tell whether it was a joke or an acknowledgment.

Upon seeing this, Rong En's lips curled up slightly more than usual.

"Speaking of which," he changed the subject, like an uncle concerned for a younger generation, "...aren't you going to tell your father about your 'career' in Gotham?"

"It's just some minor skirmishes."

Dio raised his chin, his tone arrogant, attempting to downplay the dark kingdom, "Nothing is worth disturbing him."

“Gotham, that’s never been a place for small-scale battles, Dio.” Ron chuckled softly. “You’re only sixteen.”

“I know you’re not an ordinary child, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re at the center of a storm.”

"That city..."

"The sins and chaos that have accumulated over the centuries are not so easy to restore."

His words did not contain any accusation; rather, they sounded like he was stating an objective fact.

Dio raised an eyebrow; this was somewhat unexpected.

This Martian manhunter, who represents the side of light and justice, seems to have a peculiar... tacit approval of his actions in establishing a dark order in the shadows of Gotham?
"Gotham has always been the most difficult thorn to be removed in our, and indeed the entire American security system."

Ron continued, listing the cold, hard statistics: "Over the past five years, Gotham's high crime rate has been 870 percent of the national average, and the number of cases involving supernatural or unusual phenomena has been increasing exponentially every year. Police attrition rates, official corruption rates... these figures are alarming."

"It's like a malignant tumor that keeps spreading, where conventional law and order are almost completely ineffective. Sunlight can't get in, and rain can't clean it up."

He paused, then looked calmly at Dio: "So this is why Director James Gordon, a rare person who sticks to his principles, is now 'enjoying' working with you, right?"

“Based on the data I’ve recently seen, in the core areas of your influence, especially after you took control of Oswald Copport’s Iceberg Club and indirectly connected with Falcone…”

Rong En spoke in his usual calm tone: "...In the area you control, street violence has decreased by 80 percent, and although the pattern of economic crime has changed, the total amount has slightly decreased."

"Under your control."

"Based on deterrence and the exchange of interests, 'order' is sprouting, breaking through the soil of chaos."

"You have taken control of the Penguin, one of the four major houses on the surface of Gotham, the last representative of Oswald; you have connected with the Falcone, the 'Rome' family of Gotham underground."

This guy…

Is this a comprehensive, all-encompassing surveillance of oneself?
Surely they know all about the Iceberg Club's daily revenue and the attendance records of their secret trio?

Dior was speechless, as if the sand table he had carefully built was nothing more than a landscape in a transparent glass tank in the other person's eyes.

Ron seemed oblivious to the cold glint in Dio's eyes.

“Practice makes perfect, Dio. I’m not some pedantic person who just holds onto rulebooks and spouts theories.” He readily admitted, his vision far-reaching. “My previous theories about power and rules were more applicable to the construction of order at a macro level. But in Gotham…”

He paused slightly, his gaze seemingly piercing through the night on the farm.

It was cast into that distant and dark city.

"...On that seemingly cursed land, the conventional order had long since collapsed, and the light of the law could hardly penetrate the dark clouds that had accumulated for a hundred years."

“There, sometimes… you have to add a little ‘local flavor’.”

"I can't deny it."

"Only this unique and distinctive order can allow Gotham to shine a glimmer of light out of the darkness."

His words carried a heavy sense of approval, and his gaze refocused on Dior, his eyes no longer merely observing, but rather conveying an assessment and conclusion:
“And in you I see a possibility, Dio. A hope to establish that kind of ‘order’ on the ruins of Gotham.”

Rong En's voice was soft, but every word was clear:
"Although it is based on deterrence, interests, and an iron-fisted order in the darkness..."

"...But in any case, it's better than the utter chaos and disorder that Gotham has experienced for centuries, which has completely spiraled out of control and devoured everything."

These words, spoken by a pinnacle figure representing the camp of light and justice, carried an astonishing frankness.

It is not praise, but a pragmatic judgment based on harsh reality, stripped of all moral embellishment.

Ron acknowledged the effectiveness of Dior's method.

Even if this method is far removed from the 'ideal order' he pursues.

Hearing Ron's "approval," Dior's eyes gleamed.

He did not feel smug about this tacit approval from someone in a high position; instead, he slightly raised his chin.
“I’m only sixteen, Mr. Ron.”

He deliberately emphasized his age, as if to remind the other person, and also to remind himself.

This so-called order still has a long road ahead and many uncertainties.

The faint smile on Rong En's face did not fade:

"But the game you've set up, the people you've recruited, the rules you've established... it doesn't seem like a game a sixteen-year-old boy might play on a whim. You seem to have been preparing for a 'war' to reshape the order all along, haven't you?"

"That's still a long way off."

Dior interrupted coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He had already mentally rehearsed the dark chessboard of Gotham countless times, but the true endgame was still far off.

"is it?"

Rong En shrugged, then surprisingly made a rather strange suggestion:

"In that case, why don't you come up with a temporary code name for this... ongoing 'event'? I might be able to find some time to enter it into the DEO's archives, which can be considered a kind of... official note for the current situation."

Dior was silent for a moment.
What official code name should we give to this dark power game?
The feeling was so absurd, yet it possessed a fatal allure.

It's as if he wrote the history of Gotham.

He was silent for a moment, seemingly sifting through the words in his mind.

In the end, only two simple words came out:

"War Games".

He paused, then added a more straightforward explanation:

Gang warfare.

In his view, no matter how glamorous the packaging, the current power shift in Gotham is essentially a gang war on a larger scale with more bizarre participants.

He was simply the player who tried to set new rules and ultimately win all the chips.

Rong En nodded slightly: "War Games...gang warfare..."

He repeated it, then raised his eyes and looked calmly at Dio.
"Very good codename. Well then, I wish you victory in the 'War Game'."

"Dior."

"Don't let your father worry."

(End of this chapter)