Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics

Bruce, hiding in the ventilation ducts, watched Old Sirteck, dressed in a suit, enter the studio. He noticed that the bodyguards behind him weren't typical trained security personnel, as one wore a jacket with a cross on his chest.

Old Sirteck had indeed prepared for the Church's schemes. Bruce thought while peering through the scope, if relying on the Church, Old Sirteck might actually escape this ordeal.

Not long after Old Sirteck sat down, a commotion arose from the side entrance of the studio, and as staff went to investigate, a group of protesters burst in.

The three bodyguards brought by Old Sirteck were clearly meant to counter the Church. Although they might have achievements in mysticism, they clearly lacked experience in routine security work. Overwhelmed by the crowd, they were confused.

The bodyguards reacted slowly, allowing the protesting crowd to breakthrough the barrier at the entrance, and Ms. Theresa furiously charged onto the stage, grabbing Old Sirteck by the collar and pinning him to the ground.

Old Sirteck was stunned, obviously not expecting this turn of events. All his preparations aimed to counter an assassination from the Church, merely adopting a defensive posture like playing Tai Chi.

Instead, he was greeted by a flurry of ruthless punches.

As the saying goes, chaos can defeat experience—fueled by extreme anger and with their large numbers, the protesters charged the stage and began brutally beating Old Sirteck.

Although Ms. Theresa was a woman, there were several strong men among the protesters, one of whom swung several fierce punches at Old Sirteck.

Old Sirteck, already advanced in age and caught off-guard, had no strength to resist and was quickly knocked unconscious.

Unsatisfied, the protesters surrounded Old Sirteck, rapidly beating him until he was bloodied all over.

Bruce, thinking it was about time, aimed at the heads of the protesters and pulled the trigger.

However, this time, the bullet wasn't the usual blood-red but black gold, and predictably, it ended in colossal failure.

Bang!

The bullet grazed the head of the lead protester and blew a hole in the backdrop.

The gunshot served as a tranquilizer for everyone.

But after a few seconds of silence, more screams erupted. Ordinary staff frantically dodged while protesters sought cover fearing for their lives, but the journalists rushing in captured everything.

A bold female journalist, hiding behind a chair, exclaimed, "Sirteck is shooting at protesters! He's shooting at protesters!! Ahhh!!"

Bruce fired five or six shots, aiming each at vital spots, but due to consistent failures, he missed every shot, sketching outlines around the bodies.

He then fired another dozen shots until police stormed in, after which Bruce retreated from the ventilation duct, murmuring, "Thanks, Nya, I've paid for the publication of the novel."

"Deal's a pleasure," said Nya.

Amidst the chaos, Bruce swiftly exited the TV station, got into his car, tossed the gun behind, and sighed in relief.

"How did it go?"

"Almost perfectly executed," Bruce replied. "At the least, he's paralyzed."

"He didn't die? Will our employer pay?"

"Of course, he will. Not only did we avenge him, but this will also severely affect Sirteck's stock prices. We'll get the bonus."

By noon, the explosive news had spread across the East Coast. Although all protesters were arrested, Old Sirteck remained comatose from his severe injuries.

The reporters, having captured everything, highlighted that any gun expert could see the sniper aimed to kill, yet the protesters were incredibly lucky.

Some, aimed at the head, miraculously tripped—bullets whizzing by their ears; others, targeted at the heart, bent down to strike another, narrowly avoiding death.

Reporters depicted this as one of Old Sirteck's crimes since he was the only one with a motive to attack the protesters.

Moreover, with previous public relations staff whispering about Old Sirteck's dissatisfaction with those lowering his polling satisfaction, all media were sparking rumors that Old Sirteck hired a hitman.

Most importantly, having severely offended nearly all his competitors recently, they all took this chance to kick him while down, including several insurance industry magnates from neighboring states—powerful figures who, within a day, transformed the narrative.

As Bruce anticipated, the wealthy employer not only didn't dock their pay but also awarded an extra ten thousand dollars, praising their workmanship.

If Old Sirteck died, his inheritance undoubtedly would pass to his sole son, as no one knew that Greed was already dead.

But if the father survived, inheritance processes would be delayed, preventing the heir from swiftly taking over the business and offering competitors a chance to undermine him.

Businessmen prefer chaos over calm, and Bruce's wealthy employer was no exception; killing Old Sirteck would only bring relief, but keeping him in a critically injured and comatose state meant more opportunities to meddle.

Having been paid, Bruce entered an abandoned house, located a computer, and began gathering information through less than legal methods.

The Pale Knight watched from the sidelines, but he felt no surprise anymore.

He had discovered that Bruce, ever the disappointment, excelled in misbehavior. He danced around moral boundaries and stretched the limits of the law as far as he could.

"You say he's not Batman, yet he excels in both literature and martial arts. You say he is Batman, yet he excels in fields Batman doesn't involve himself with."

The Pale Knight was genuinely curious about how Bruce had turned out this way.

Soon, Bruce had unearthed some relatively secretive information, mostly through flight routes and airspace communications. It seemed a team from the Holy City might be nearing Faralines.

"People from the Pope's side?" he muttered to himself in confusion but quickly shook his head. It was public knowledge the Pope was nearing his end, and judging by his condition, Bruce felt he wasn't feigning illness. The old man was unlikely to come all this way.

Aside from the Pope, that only left the Great Prophet. The Great Prophet had indeed gone to Faralines, likely to address the calamity that had befallen the place.

Based on the information, Bruce deduced the prophet had brought around a couple hundred people. After some thought, he said, "With the Pope's days numbered, if the Great Prophet takes over the Church, it'll be tough to overthrow."

"You want to overthrow the Church? Is that the victory condition?"

"Not exactly, but I promised a friend I'd help publish a book." Bruce said, "The Church won't allow its release. So, to publish it, we'll have to overthrow the Church."

The Pale Knight knew all too well that the Church was no benevolent force, so he asked, "What's your plan?"

"Old Sirteck should be waking up soon. He won't suspect it's us; he'll think it's the Church's retaliation."

"You want to set them against each other?"

"Exactly, but right now the Great Prophet is too powerful. We need to remove some of his leverage."

Bruce picked up a doorplate from the side and tucked it into his coat, then said, "Let's go, back to Faralines."

Shiller and Batman advanced through a passage in the cave, unsurprisingly aware that the Church knew about this underground cave. They had conducted a basic search inside.

But due to the cave's crisscrossing layout and the cabin's remote location, their search was ultimately fruitless.

Carefully evading capture, Shiller and Batman headed towards the lighthouse.

"Are you sure you can handle the lighthouse's electrical systems?"

"Of course." Batman said, "Joker's electric shock equipment was modified through the lighthouse's electrical systems. I inspected it before. It can easily be damaged beyond repair."

He glanced at the box in Shiller's hand and then said, "If, as you say, this thing can summon a monster in a lightless environment, what about the lighthouse windows?"

"The lighthouse is large, the light from the windows is too limited, and importantly, it's too close to the dock."

Batman immediately remembered the dock's situation. After they had sunk a ship and directly hit those resting Deep Divers on their heads, the fog at the dock had thickened.

The fog gradually spread near the lighthouse, and Batman recalled that in such fog, the spread of light was exceedingly limited.

If the fog completely enveloped the lighthouse before nightfall, the moonlight would almost be ineffective.

If they cut the lighthouse's power after that, most of the lighthouse would surely be plunged into pitch darkness.

"Aren't you worried that the monster will kill the Great Prophet?"

"He's not that weak, but if it unfortunately happens, it's just his bad luck." Shiller thought for a moment then said, "Remember the curse you mentioned earlier?"

Batman nodded and asked, "Do you have a new theory?"

"There are two possibilities regarding the curse; either all of us got cursed after coming here, or we were attracted here because we are cursed."

"It sounds like you think it's the latter."

"Exactly." Shiller's tone deepened, "Someone orchestrated this, gathering us here at this moment."

"For what purpose?"

"What do you think? When people with a specific attribute are gathered at a particular time, what could it be for?"

"It reminds me of Black Magicians." Batman said, "They would find people with the same attributes for sacrifices."

"Exactly, and if someone orchestrated all this, they might have been preparing since the tragedy that befell Madeline's family many years ago."

"Do you think it was the Great Prophet's doing?"

"Perhaps, but all I know is that it definitely involves the Church."