Chapter 2105: The Knight's Terrifying Soul Night (47)_1

Superman stood in the darkness, his body emitting a metallic glow. His muscles were tense, like a statue forged from steel, each strain of muscle engraved with his current rage.

Batman was not in his bat suit, but his figure in the dark corridor resembled a shadow in the night sky. His eyes were deep, cold, with a hint of bloody intent to kill.

The two guardians of the cities stood in the narrow hotel corridor. A gust of cold wind blew through the open corridor window. Just as the heat ray lit up, Batman, like a black lightning, fearlessly dashed into the shadows where the laser could not reach, towards Superman.

Superman's fist carried the Power of Thunder, but before Batman could get close, it targeted his weak spot. Batman, taking advantage of the wall's corner to conceal his movement, agilely dodged Superman's attack, like a bat skillfully somersaulting in the air to land.

Whoo, whoo, whoo...

Three more Batman darts. Superman, rooted in place like a mountain, stood firm, but his posture showed no sign of weakness.

As Batman approached again, Superman suddenly stretched out his arm, catching Batman's wrist at a speed that the naked eye could scarcely see, and then threw him straight out.

The huge sound of the sonic boom woke almost all the guests in the hotel. It was just one of Superman's forward moves. He appeared at Batman's side, and before Batman could react, he lifted him up and threw him to the other side of the hotel.

"Ugh…Cough…"

Batman, lying on the ground, wheezing heavily, his strong willpower enabling him to rise even with three broken ribs, a collarbone, and even a shin bone on one side.

"You're venting." Batman, with his trembling hand, wiped the fresh blood from the corner of his mouth.

"If I vent with my fists, you would be dispersed into atoms," Superman said gravely.

"You have unreasonable expectations of me."

"We all do." There was a trace of sadness and anger in Superman's tone, he continued, "When I first heard of someone defending justice in a dark city like Gotham, I thought I found a role model and a benchmark.

"When I came to Gotham and saw no order, I knew it wasn't your fault. As long as you did it, even just said it, it's good. The people to blame for no change are the criminals, not you."

"But what's happening now?" Superman raised his voice, very angry, "You didn't even protect your family. You don't know how disappointed and angry I was when I saw that photo."

"If you wanted to train them to be Batman's assistants, then protect them as much as you protect your own secret identity. If you treat them as children, don't involve them in this mess."

Batman, staggering, rose to his feet and leaned against a wall, looking up at Superman, "Are you judging me?"

"I don't have the right to do so, but I do have the right to investigate the whole truth and make it public, whether it benefits you or not."

"I'm trying to do the best thing for them, and you're foolishly stopping me."

"The best thing now is to tell me the truth." Superman took a step forward, "I saw you knock someone out in the storeroom and recover his fingerprint information. I know you don't value procedural justice, but I need to make sure you won't do anything you regret."

"My mind is clear…"

Bang!

When Bruce woke up, he found himself tied to a single couch in a hotel room, the couch firmly fixed to the floor by some force.

Clark sat on another single couch, across from him, a small table between them. On the table was a video recorder, the kind journalists often use.

The wounds on his body hurt, but not enough to incapacitate him. Batman realized this fracture wasn't as tough to endure as usual.

He guessed this might be due to the mysterious parasite inside his body. At the same time, he wondered if this parasite could help him get out of his predicament.

Looking at the pitch-dark sky outside the window and the time indicated on the wall clock, Bruce realized that by now, almost all the printing houses of the East Coast, even all of America, must be working overtime, and most of the newspapers with those news stories must have already been printed.

Like a loaded cannonball, in no more than two hours, the bombardment of public opinion would be everywhere, but he was tied in a room, unable to go anywhere.

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed.

"I'm running out of time, Clark. Let me go."

"We have plenty of time." Clark adjusted his glasses and said, "I just need to know the truth about this whole thing. Answer my questions, Bruce Wayne, and there will be no injustice."

Bruce leaned back slightly, allowing his arms tied behind the chair not to be too stiff. He sat silently in his place. The hot blood of fury being suppressed felt like a bucket of cold water thrown over him, as if he was making a confession in front of the sun.

"You want to know if I abused Robin," Bruce spoke before Clark could, "And I know that every catastrophe that happened to them was more than an accident."

Clark still stared at him with that serious gaze, causing Bruce to feel an odd moment of trance. It felt like he was confessing before the sun.

"Jason and I had a quarrel. He ran away from home and was kidnapped by an extremely dangerous super criminal. He was tortured for a year, and I couldn't find him."

"In the illusion that the super-criminal gave me, I saw Jason suffered from various tortures including but not limited to cuts, stab wounds, burns, even skinning."

Clark was shocked.

Then, an immeasurable rage engulfed him, and in the gaps between the roaring anger, he heard Bruce say: "One of the culprits is already dead, and the other one is sitting in front of you, so now, tell me, Clark, have you come to judge me?"

Clark felt his last shred of sanity was about to burn away, but a particular image flashed before his eyes and brought his senses back slightly.

He stood, towering over a bowed Bruce, and said in a voice so low he could hardly believe it was his own: "I went to find him first, Jason Todd, but I didn't see any hatred for you in him."

Clark remembered Jason's expression at that time. When they talked about Jason's relationship with Batman, Jason's expression was complex. Clark couldn't say it was a positive emotion, but it wasn't entirely negative either.

Under circumstances where Clark didn't know about this, he would have thought it was just some reasonable and normal resentment. Still, when he knew what kind of torment Jason had suffered, he thought this emotion was the closest to love - forgiveness.

Clark gave a subtle nod to the side, murmuring to himself: "If you dare to tell me that he ran out on his own, I'll throw you out of the window."

Then he sat back down heavily, pursed his lips and turned his head. His lips twitched sporadically, and the muscles in his neck trembled slightly, seemingly unable to accept this reality.

"You're insane, Batman, how are you going to explain this? You're always in control of the situation, but such a big mistake happened, and the victim happens to be your own child."

"It's more than that." Bruce lowered his eyelids and said, "I had a whole year to make up for it, but I didn't."

Clark's fingertips started to tremble.

Suddenly, he remembered something, looked at Bruce with furious eyes, and said: "Then after you reunited with Jason, you punched him in the eye, injuring half of his face."

Bruce silently nodded in agreement.

A powerful blow landed on the side of Bruce's face, knocking out two of his teeth and likely fracturing his cheekbone. Still, for Superman, containing his strength probably took more effort than the punch itself.

Bruce spat out a mouthful of blood to the side and, with great difficulty, raised his head and coughed a few times to regain his breath.

"Do you feel pain? Batman?" Clark asked.

"Of course he does."

Another hoarse voice sounded at the door. Clark looked up to see the figure of Jason at the entrance.

He knew that Jason wouldn't be unconscious for long, but he did not expect him to return so quickly. Clark stood up, looked at Jason, and said, "You shouldn't be here."

"Did I interrupt your interrogation?"

"I'm not interrogating."

"Then you're venting."

Clark held his tongue as Jason stepped forward. He still appeared taken aback to see the terrible state Batman was in.

Half of Batman's sweatshirt was soaked with blood. Judging from the seepage, it seemed his wound on the arm had reopened.

He had broken several ribs, without a doubt, and had internal injuries. He probably ruptured his liver as well, his mouth full of fresh blood, his face pale.

"Batman was never messed with like this." Jason looked at Superman and said, "Except in my dreams."

Clark sighed, frowned and said to him, "Get out, Jason, I must talk with him. I want to end this... "

"I think we should be fair." Jason finally managed to interrupt Clark. He said, "Whether I was traumatized by Batman isn't for you to determine, because you're just a reporter, not a professional doctor."

"Even if you want to take Batman to court, before the trial, specified doctors will examine us, including checking for any traces of sexual assault, physical and mental abuse, mind manipulation, and oppression."

"If you insist on procedural justice, then this step of appraisal is necessary. If any traces exist, you may then conveniently throw him out of the window."

Clark silently watched Jason's resolute expression for a long while, at least half a minute.

He looked again at the silent Batman, who had lowered his head as if resigned to his fate, then finally spoke.

"I don't know if you're trying to protect Batman through these means, but one thing is clear, I will not ask any doctor who could be swayed by Wayne Enterprises to appraise you."

"You should know then, there's hardly a doctor in the world who isn't swayed by Wayne Enterprises. They can offer incentives that anyone would find enticing."

Clark retreated two steps and said, "Coincidentally, I happen to know one, I'm going to bring him over right now."

Jason smirked and said, "As you wish, I want to see just how upright and professional he is."

A few minutes later, when Jason saw Shiller appear at the door, he looked like he'd seen a ghost.