American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 273 Penguin: I'm going to rot in the warehouse!
Iceberg Club, 44th floor underground.

The walls here are not walls at all, but special pressure-bearing glass that is several meters thick.

Beyond the glass lay solid, deep blue ice.

A chill permeated the air through the glass, making this secluded room resemble a luxurious crystal coffin.
It was cold and quiet, completely isolated from the hustle and bustle of the upper-class clubs.

Oswald Copport, the Penguin.

He was currently deeply seated in a high-backed chair.

Fat fingers held an expensive cigar, its smoke swirling and mingling with the chill emanating from the surroundings.

He had never looked so radiant since being forced by the newly crowned 'king' to completely relocate the center of power from the surface to this dark underground kingdom.

On that round, fleshy face, the smiles piled up almost completely drowned out those small eyes sunken deep in the flesh.

"lark"

He took a deep drag on his cigar and exhaled a comfortable smoke ring.

His voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement:
"Say it again! I want to hear this beautiful music again!"

The lark nodded slightly and said calmly:

"As per your instructions, we sold a batch of untraceable American equipment at a low price to a 'Masked Company' base in the East District through a third channel."

"Included with the goods is accurate intelligence that Black Mask urgently needs regarding several secret warehouses of the Falcone family and a smuggling route."

She paused and continued:

"At the same time, we sold another batch of obscured, old but heavily armed Eastern European weapons to Carmine Falcone's cronies at a price 30% higher than the market price."

"And 'inadvertently' revealed to them a recent, insignificant personnel reshuffle at 'Masked Company' whose timeline had been altered by us."

"These transactions alone earned us one-tenth of last year's total profit."

As Copeport listened, his smile grew wider and wider.

Finally, it turned into a hearty laugh, which echoed in the cold space, making it seem particularly eerie.

He pounded on the armrest of the chair.

"Good! Good! Good!"

"Let them fight! Let them bite each other like dogs! Let that old dog Falcone and that cowardly madman in the black mask fight to the death!"

Overwhelmed with smugness, Copeport swayed his obese body as he stood up from his chair, a cigar between his fingers, and waved the other exaggeratedly, reciting a poem he had altered to fit the occasion in his peculiar tone.

The poem is from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.

This moment, however, is filled with the smug satisfaction of schemers:

"My dear Dior, the mistake is not in fate."

"But it lies with ourselves..."

"It's about our own attitude towards fate."

He puffed out his round belly and opened his arms as if embracing the entire ice cave.

"Now, I am the moon that stirs up the tides."

"Let these arrogant ships be drawn to my gravity~"

"They collided with each other until they sank!"

After he finished singing, he closed his eyes in rapture.

It was as if he wasn't the gang leader huddled under the ice.

Rather, they are the penguin emperors who strategize and control their destiny.

The ultimate pleasure naturally requires the strongest liquor to enhance the experience.

Cobblestone picked up the chilled vodka beside him, tilted his head back and took a big gulp. The spicy liquid burned his throat, but it only made him more excited.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then changed the subject, asking about another crucial matter concerning the lifeline of his underground empire:
"How's the arms train deal going?"

Arms train
A train carrying heavy equipment that has been retired by the U.S. military but is still incredibly powerful.

A military train secretly passing through the suburbs of Gotham City late at night!
After all, as the underground war in Gotham continues to escalate, weapons, especially heavy firepower, have transformed from hard currency into strategic resources that determine life and death.

Market demand is growing exponentially, and even long-established arms giants like Copperfield are running out of stock at an alarming rate, barely able to satisfy the insane appetite for food.

Thus, tempted by both enormous profits and the desire to consolidate power, Mr. Oswald Coppert made an extremely bold, even insane, decision.

He stole it!

Skylark's expression was stern as she gave a concise report:

“Although Gordon’s police force had increased patrols along the railroad line, causing initial obstacles for us, we used our years of knowledge of the Gotham Railroad system and the key personnel we had bribed in advance to create a 15-minute ‘regional signal failure’ at a predetermined location.”

"Those fifteen minutes were enough for our men to unload the 'cargo' from all six carriages before the military personnel escorting the train could react and try to organize an effective resistance."

"And they evacuated the scene before they could restore communication."

"The whole process was clean and efficient."

Cobb listened, his chubby fingers tapping on the glass tabletop.

It made a crisp sound, and a satisfied smile appeared on its face.

"Six carriages... Excellent!"

He could almost see how those brand-new automatic rifles, rocket launchers, and perhaps even heavy machine guns would arm his men, how they would unleash an even more terrifying metal storm on the streets of Gotham, and how they would bring countless riches back to his icy abyss.

“Gordon…and those idiots who think they can control Gotham,” he chuckled softly, taking another sip of vodka, “think they can just guard the streets?”

"Times have changed... True power lies in who can control the throat of this city, whether it's information or... the teeth of war!"

He became more and more cheerful as he talked, his obese body swaying comfortably in the chair.

Then he raised his glass high, as if to salute some unseen object, his voice filled with schadenfreude:

"Speaking of which, we have to 'thank' our high and mighty 'King' for this! Hahahaha!"

“Think about it, Lark! In the past, when we did this kind of ‘big business,’ weren’t we always on tenterhooks?”

"We have to guard against double-crossing, and we also have to worry about the GCPD's 'police dogs' that won't let go once they smell something."

"But now? Because there's that 'king' above us, everything is different!"

“Falcone and Black Mask, those two idiots, are obsessed with each other now, they wish they could rip the other’s guts out! Gordon? He has to devote most of his energy to maintaining that fragile ‘order’ and preventing those two from setting Gotham on fire!”

Cobbett smugly hummed and tapped the expensive solid wood tabletop with the bottom of his cup:
"They're playing a game of black and white, tearing each other apart, but before they actually overturn the table, they both have to think twice—whether they'll anger the one sitting on the ice throne!"

"That ridiculously powerful 'third-party' king!"

He tilted his head back and drank the rest of the vodka in his glass in one gulp.

In this dark and cold underground kingdom, he
Oswald Copport!

He is enjoying the protection of his biggest 'opponent' and biggest 'partner' while committing the most outrageous crimes.

The pleasure derived from this misalignment made his entire body of fat tremble slightly with excitement.

But just as he was excitedly planning how to use this newly arrived batch of arms to further drive up prices and stir up trouble...
A faint electrical static was detected in the communicator in the lark's ear.

Her eyes flickered, then her gaze went blank, as if she were listening to something.

Copperfield noticed her unusual behavior and cast an inquiring glance at her.

Lark did not respond immediately. She seemed to be exchanging a few words silently with the other end of the communication. Her lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.

After a moment, she looked at Cobblestone, her tone calm.

But the content made Copport sit up straight instantly.

"Boss, we just received a message."

Lark calmly reported, "Our informants planted around the Falcone family have sent unconfirmed intelligence that members of the Falcone family are secretly contacting Black Mask at several locations with relatively weak defenses but which store large amounts of non-core resources."

"The movements were very cautious, like a test."

"Meanwhile, on Black Mask's side, his 'White Mask' and 'Flower Mask' left their main stronghold and their whereabouts are unknown. However, some people saw their vehicles last appear near the abandoned church area close to the port. Then, a third-party vehicle whose identity we do not know appeared and disappeared."

Copeport's smug smile began to freeze.

Weak defenses, supply depots... a probing attack?
Core cadres, secret meetings, third parties…

etc.
"Lark, what's the status of the heavy weapons we sold to Black Mask before?"

“I have no recollection of it.” Lark pondered for a moment. “There seems to be no intelligence to prove that he used that batch of goods.”

Copeport's heart skipped a beat.

These movements may not seem like much when viewed individually, but when combined, especially against the backdrop of the two sides seemingly locked in a fierce battle, they appear extremely strange!
He suddenly jumped up from the sofa.

So excited was he that his obese body swayed, knocking over the glass of vodka beside him, spilling expensive vodka onto the luxurious carpet without him even noticing.

“No… No!”

His voice was slightly distorted, and his small eyes were filled with panic.

"They...they don't intend to fight to the death!"

He seemed to have finally figured out the key point; his voice suddenly rose, becoming sharp and piercing:
"Oh no! They want to negotiate!!!"

"No! Absolutely not!"

Cobbard slammed his fist on the table, making the ice bucket on it bounce. "Lark! Listen! Use all our informants! All our spies! Investigate at all costs!"

"I need to know the exact time, place, and people involved in their contact! Even if it's just a rumor, a vague figure, I need to dig it out!"

"Quickly! We have to stop them! We have to ruin this before they reach any of those damn deals!"

He was panting heavily, pointing outside as if to his mountain of munitions depot, his voice tinged with a desperate sob:

"otherwise……"

"Otherwise, all the treasures we spent so much money and effort to acquire will just rot in the warehouse!!!"

"If we both end up like this, we'll both rot in the warehouse!"

the other side.

Deep within a magnificent mausoleum belonging to a long-deceased family on the edge of Gotham.

A few flickering candlelight were the only source of light here, barely illuminating the five somber faces sitting around an empty stone coffin.

They were once the invincible Sicilian League in Gotham's underworld.

However, they have been overshadowed by Falcone and Maroni for nearly a century.
Five unlucky guys were thrown into disarray by the rise of Black Mask.

"Shoot-"

The head of the Panesa family.

An old man with gray hair.

He stubbed out his cigar on the cold stone coffin lid in frustration.

He himself had narrowly escaped from a crossfire less than three hours earlier.
"Beretti"

Panesa's voice was hoarse, still carrying a lingering murderous intent, "Can your men still contact the East End dockworkers' union? I need a new route, immediately!"

The head of the Beretti family, a pale-faced middle-aged man, who had been named, simply shook his head stiffly upon hearing this. "I can't help you now."

"Nobody in the East District listens to us anymore."

"So we're just going to let it go like this?" The representative of the Galant family suddenly raised his head, his face contorted with pain. "My three best 'mules' are still lying in the hospital!"

"My arm..."

"The doctor said it will take six months to recover! You're telling me there's nothing we can do right now?!"

He survived a car bomb attack at a restaurant five days ago.
The attackers were unidentified, but their methods displayed the reckless madness characteristic of those under Black Mask's command.

"if not?"

The head of the Casamento family, a man with rings adorning his fingers, gave a bitter, dry laugh, patting his round belly forcefully. "My three casinos! They've been visited four times this month by those masked men!"

"The customers were terrified and ran away with their tails between their legs. This month's income is worse than during the damn Prohibition era in our family history! We're about to starve!"

"Alright... everyone, put away your resentment for now..."

The last to speak was the head of the Inzerilo family. He was relatively young, but the restlessness and fatigue between his brows were no less than those of the others.

“Complaining won’t solve anything, Casamento. We’re like rats trapped in a cage now. The old lion Falcone hasn’t fallen yet, and now that viper Black Mask has crawled in… We have to do something, otherwise…”

"Do something?"

Casamento abruptly interrupted him, his fat face trembling with agitation. He extended a finger adorned with a large gemstone ring, pointing first at Panesa and then at Galant, whose arm was in a sling, his voice shrill, "In the end, isn't it all because of you!"

"If you hadn't been so blinded by infighting over those few run-down streets back then, killing Franco, would our Sicilian Union be in this state now?!"

His words were like tearing open a bloody wound.

Panesa stopped abruptly, her face turning ashen.

"You bastard!" Galant spat out through gritted teeth, "Back in your day, Casamento... didn't you also make a fortune by informing on others and stabbing them in the back?!"

"enough!"

The last to speak was the Beretti family member. He gave a low shout, cutting off the argument that was about to escalate, then looked around at everyone and said coldly, "What's the point of arguing about these old grievances?"

"Our ancestral home in Sicily..."

"Recent reports indicate that they are very dissatisfied with our consecutive losses in Gotham."

"They believe we have tarnished the family's honor..."

“Funding, manpower, all aid is decreasing.” He paused, then stated a more brutal truth: “They think we… are already a burden.”

"Well, since that's how it is!"

Casamento spread his hands, with a defiant and angry look, "Are we still going to wait here to die? Let's run away together and go back to Sicily!"

"At least there's still ancestral property there, and we can still survive! Those guys who point fingers at headquarters have no idea how terrifying Gotham is!"

"run?"

Inzerlo let out a short, cold laugh.

He stood up, the candlelight casting a dim, half-lit glow on his young face, now clouded with gloom.

Where else can we run to?

His voice carried a resigned despair, "You think those 'big shots' who supported us and promised us Gotham... those eyes hiding in the shadows..."

"Will they allow us to leave Gotham alive, taking its secrets back into the sunlight?"

His gaze swept over every surprised and uncertain face, and he said, word by word:

“They are watching us die! When we chose to leave the soil of Sicily and set foot on this cursed land of Gotham, it was destined that our roots would have to be planted here, either growing into towering trees or... rotting in the mud.”

"Go out? Go back to Sicily? Don't even dream about it."

His words were like the final coffin lid, completely extinguishing any lingering hope of escape.

This led to a suffocating stalemate in the discussion.

They both hated the Falcone family's oppression and feared the Black Mask's unbridled madness.
They were once one of the most formidable rulers of Gotham's underworld, but now even the most basic survival has become an unattainable luxury.

"Now that things have come to this... we must..."

"Um?!"

Beretti's words, which broke the silence, came to an abrupt halt.

Not only him, but the other four also noticed something was amiss.
The rain was still pattering outside.

But a chilling silence suddenly enveloped the entire cemetery.

The instincts honed from years of walking on the edge of life and death sent chills down the spines of the five leaders!

With almost no communication, weapons appeared in their hands simultaneously.

Five pairs of eyes, ten gazes brimming with ruthlessness and murderous intent.
They were fixated on the heavy stone door.

one second.

two seconds.

But nothing happened.

The stone gate remained completely unmarked.
"Whoosh-"

A barely perceptible whooshing sound came from overhead!
Five people looked up!

Then they saw a supple, boneless figure descend silently from the top of the tomb, like an upside-down bat, and hover lightly above their heads.

The candlelight was dim, only enough to outline the other person's dark combat uniform that fit snugly.

And those cold eyes, looking down at them from the shadows as if sizing up prey.

"who are you!"

Panesa reacted the fastest, habitually shouting coldly.

Without waiting for the other party to speak, he instinctively raised his revolver, aimed it at the figure, and pulled the trigger!
Shoot first, then talk!
"boom!"

The muzzle flashes disappeared in the dim light, and the deafening gunshots echoed in the enclosed space!

But what happened next made these five gang leaders, who were used to bloodshed and death, break out in a cold sweat!
Facing the whistling bullets.

The upside-down figure didn't even dodge significantly.

With a flick of her wrist, a dark glint of light flashed as she met the bullet!

"clang!"

A clang of metal rang out!
The brass bullet was cleaved in two by the seemingly ordinary dagger, falling limply to the dusty stone ground with two soft thuds.

It...it cleaved through the bullet?!

The leaders of the five families, including the most ruthless Panessa, were all frozen in place.
This is not something a human could do!
This is a monster!

"iceberg."

She uttered a name.

Then, after a pause, he stated the purpose of his trip:

"I've come to deliver a message."

(End of this chapter)