American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 262 Owl: It's time to strike hard!

Gotham's nights are rarely truly peaceful.

Especially the Upper East Side, an area known for its old money, galleries, and quiet streets.

Tonight, however, dignity was shattered by a sudden gas explosion.

In the city center square, a giant electronic screen broadcasts the Gotham Daily News on time. The same impeccably made-up anchorwoman reads her script in perfect diction:
"...Around 3 p.m. today, a serious gas pipeline leak caused an explosion on Oak Street in the Upper East Side, resulting in the destruction of three townhouses and varying degrees of damage to surrounding buildings."

"The fire department arrived in time, brought the fire under control, and rescued the residents."

"Unfortunately, one person was seriously injured and one person died."

"It is reported that renowned prosecutor Harvey Dent suffered severe burns."

"Preliminary police investigation has ruled out intentional acts. We remind the public to pay attention to gas safety..."

Irrelevant stock market information and weather forecasts scroll across the bottom of the screen.

The drizzling rain washed over the square's stone bricks, attempting to erase the marks of last night's raging flames.

Pedestrians hurried past with umbrellas, occasionally glancing up at the news with indifferent eyes before rejoining the crowd.

Ok…

Gotham is still the same Gotham.

Just like...

Deep underground in the city.

In that eternal circular chamber.

Twelve black candles burned silently on a bronze candlestick, their flames motionless, casting distorted shadows on the stone wall, making the enormous owl relief appear particularly eerie amidst the interplay of light and shadow.

The old man in the main seat wore a pure white mask that reflected a cold light in the candlelight.

He spoke slowly, his voice flat and emotionless through the magical manipulation:
"The gas explosion on the Upper East Side...you all saw it."

"..."

A dead silence.

But beneath the mask, their gazes met like unseen currents.

"Our people?"

A figure sitting on the right, whose mask was engraved with dark gold vine patterns, asked in a low voice.

"The Masked Company." The old man at the head of the table nodded slowly. His pure white mask remained motionless in the candlelight, only the shadows around his unfathomable eyes seemed to shrink slightly. "They will be our new beneficiary."

His flat voice echoed in the closed room, carrying an unquestionable decisiveness.

"Gotham's underground is too chaotic."

“The war between Falcone and Luther has muddied the waters. Those hyenas that depend on him have lost their alpha and have started tearing each other apart, even daring to covet things they shouldn’t.” He tapped the armrest of the stone chair, making a soft knocking sound. “Now is the time to gather our forces again.”

"Let order return..."

"Our order."

"..."

After a brief silence, voices of agreement began to emerge.

"Seconded."

"A new force is indeed needed to balance things out."

"Chaos breeds uncontrollable variables, which is detrimental to long-term stability."

"Back then, wasn't it you who spoke up?" A voice, clearly weary, spoke. His mask was even more archaic, like one from centuries ago: "Supporting and introducing those spineless dogs from Sicily..."

"Garante, Betinelli, Casamento, Inzellello, Panesa."

"They were hunted to the point of having nowhere to go in Italy, and we took pity on them and gave these spineless dogs a new place to gnaw on."

"We thought that the fierce alpha wolf brought in from the Old World would be able to tear apart the disobedient wild dogs and stabilize our territory in the shadows."

"And the result?" He paused, his tone revealing undisguised contempt: "When we got to Gotham, we only led the way for a century."

"Then the outsiders Falcone and Maroni treated it like a roadside tree and broke its spine."

“I admit it was a mistake in my decision back then.” The old man in the main seat readily admitted, then nodded slightly and took over the conversation, “Not to mention those complete idiots, Betinelli and his gang. They could even easily assassinate their own leader despite being heavily protected.”

"Not only that, those guys aren't even of one mind." The man sneered. "Panesa and Galant quickly divided up the vast family fortune left by that idiot Franco Bertinelli."

"Leaving behind only an empty shell and a name, reduced to the point that the Beretty family, far away in Italy, has to send someone to inherit it..."

"so."

The elderly man at the head of the table nodded, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "I hereby propose that we cease the ineffective investment in the old Sicilian forces."

"Concentrate resources to cultivate new, sharper, and more obedient 'knives'."

"Masked Company, as our underground manager in the new era."

A chilling atmosphere filled the sealed room.

The rise and fall of Gotham's underground over the centuries seemed to them nothing more than alternating numbers in the ledger and assessments of whether pieces were useful or not.

A moment later, a member sitting in the middle, wearing a relatively simple mask, slowly raised his hand.

"Well then, I have a question."

He spoke, his voice muffled by the mask, "Who exactly is this 'Black Mask'? We need to know his background."

"Black Mask?"

The old man in the main seat let out a very soft sneer.

"He is no one."

He stated, "He was just 'Black Mask'."

"..."

Old Deng started telling riddles again.
Everyone fell silent, their brows undoubtedly furrowed beneath their masks.

"What exactly is that 'black mask'?" Another voice asked, this time directing the question at the object itself.

The old man seemed to have been prepared, explaining calmly, "An ancient magical artifact. During its forging, a sufficient amount of amber gold was incorporated."

"It can not only perfectly conceal the wearer's identity and aura, but also transform a person... from body to mind, into a monster comparable to a superhuman."

"Its pure combat strength is roughly equivalent to... the sum of dozens of Claws."

"Dozens of sharp claws?!"

Someone gasped in a low voice, and the candlelight flickered.

Claws are a valuable asset accumulated by the court over centuries, yet now a single prop can create such a monster?

"What if...he's out of our control?"

Immediately, someone raised the most pressing concern, their voice serious.

A powerful weapon that cannot be controlled is more dangerous than a weak enemy.

"No, it won't happen," the old man replied, his tone certain.

This vague guarantee is clearly not convincing to everyone.

The group exchanged bewildered glances, unspoken doubts swirling in their silence.

It wasn't until a member who had been sitting in the corner and hadn't spoken until now that someone finally spoke up.

“Since we’re going to choose a new manager, why not pick one from the existing powers?” He paused, carefully choosing his words, “For example… the ‘King’ of the Iceberg Club.”

"He has established himself in Gotham and demonstrated sufficient ability and dominance."

"..."

Hearing this name that everyone deliberately ignored.

In an instant, almost all eyes were focused on the speaker.

The eyes hidden beneath the empty holes in their masks all conveyed the same message without any attempt to conceal it: Are you serious?

Keep in mind, their initial intention was merely to track down the king.
The pursuers couldn't even keep up for a kilometer before being left far behind.

His motorcycle seemed to be under some kind of incredible magic, as any tracker that came into contact with it would be instantly destroyed by an electromagnetic pulse.

Even magical items were completely useless.

No matter how you look at it, the underlying reason is...
"Perhaps" the member felt uneasy under the intense gaze, but still forced himself to add, "This could be the opportunity for us to cooperate with him, and with the 'parent' behind him?"

"cooperate?"

The old man's voice rang out, laced with undisguised sarcasm: "To cooperate with the guy who killed our Claws, imprisoned 'Owl' as a public spectacle, and made us lose face in front of all of Gotham?"

"Have you all forgotten the grudge from before?!" The old man's voice suddenly rose, still flat, but revealing a chilling anger. "We lost three precious court diviners because of this!"

"."

The group looked at each other in bewilderment once again.

"We are owls, and for centuries, profit has been our guiding principle."

"It's just a small loss. As long as there are enough benefits later, temporary humiliation... is something we can swallow." Someone cleared their throat and said, "Just bear with it."

“Absolutely! Absolutely!” someone agreed. “We are the owls.”

"That's right, I almost forgot who we are."

"Shut up, everyone!"

"I have something to say, listen quietly." The old man snorted coldly, suppressing the commotion in the room. "In my opinion, there is actually no connection between the two of them."

"We were all wrong."

"?"

As soon as this statement came out, everyone was shocked.

How could the thunderstorm that shook the entire city and the precise rescue operation be unrelated?

Faced with the crowd's confusion, the old man slowly revealed his 'insight': "Our people subsequently engaged in more covert intelligence trading."

"The man who brought the lightning has... a close connection with Martian Manhunter Ron Jones, who is also the Secretary of Defense, General Swanwick."

"How...how do you say it?" someone asked cautiously.

Could it be that they obtained information about the two fighting side by side?
"The fact that no information about it can be found within the DEO is the best proof."

The old man explained, "This means it was encrypted using the highest level of Martian technology by the Martian hunter, and only he has the access."

He let the information settle for a moment before continuing to offer his core deduction: "It seems that the so-called 'divine punishment' that day was actually Martian Manhunter asking him to intervene and suppress the out-of-control superhuman battle in Gotham that night, in order to prevent the situation from escalating beyond control."

"As for rescuing that 'king'... it was just something I did on the side."

He paused, his tone becoming even more matter-of-fact: "Otherwise, think about it carefully, what faction does Martian Manhunter belong to? Those Justice Society, the Guardians of the World, these 'big shots' living in the light, how could they possibly throw their descendants into the quagmire of Gotham to struggle and build some kind of Dark Club kingdom?"

"This is clearly a form of laissez-faire, even... a punishment that implies abandonment."

"If I were that powerful figure, my gaze would have already been set on the stars and the sea, rather than on this small pond of Gotham."

"Don't forget, our ultimate goal at this stage is to go international, to confront those immortals! To fight for the revival of 'God'!"

"..."

Silence fell again in the sealed room, but this time, the silence was no longer filled with doubt.

Rather, it was a sudden and enlightening realization.

Makes sense!
This explanation perfectly matched their understanding.

Strong people don't dwell on trivial matters; Gotham might really be insignificant in their eyes.

The so-called king was probably just a lucky young man with some ability, and his connection with that person was probably not as close or important as they had previously imagined.

snort!
Don't stay!

The flickering candlelight cast the shadows of the owls onto the stone wall, making them look like a chaotic dance of demons.
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PS: Two more updates today.

(End of this chapter)