Cold And Ruthless (Part 1)

"Kill him already! Are you blind? He's right in front of you, and you still can't see him!" the masked man roared in rage.

Avery, watching their absurd antics, looked on with amusement. His eyes sparkled with mirth, clearly entertained by their reactions.

If his past adversaries had been present to witness this scene, they likely would have paused to mourn for the Court of Owls and perhaps even offered a shred of cheap pity.

No one on that world dared to oppose the young wizard named Avery anymore—and it wasn't just because of his power. To be fair, there were others on the same level of strength as him, though not many. The real problem was Avery's cunningness. This was the wizard who had once schemed to the point of orchestrating his own mentor's demise, whose malicious tendencies led him to break his foes psychologically rather than through sheer force.

No one could guarantee victory against this unpredictable and manipulative master of the wizard tower. Worse still, a loss would mean devastating consequences. Most people preferred to steer clear of him altogether, retreating far out of his reach.

For over two decades, the mundane and quiet life had done little to change Avery. And that was no surprise. The deepest imprint on a person's character always comes from the life they lived at the start. Subsequent experiences might tweak behaviors, but they rarely shift one's core nature.

The more capable and proud a person is, the harder they are to change. Avery exemplified this trait perfectly. For him, the only discernible change over the years was that he'd come to care for two people. Beyond that, nothing else about him had softened.

Batman, in his own way, was the same. No matter how many voices criticized him for his refusal to kill, he remained steadfast, never wavering under the weight of public opinion.

Now that Avery understood his own feelings, he was willing to lend Batman some help in reshaping Gotham City. But if Batman chose not to ask—or outright rejected him—Avery wouldn't go out of his way to do anything extra. Mercy wasn't a quality he had cultivated in abundance.

Take, for example, the members of the Court of Owls standing before him now. He felt not the slightest shred of pity for them. And as someone accustomed to wielding authority, Avery was no exception to the principle of delivering on a promise he once made.

Today, the Gotham City's bridges were destined to hang with the wind-dried "jerky" of many fallen men.

Hearing the furious shouts of the masked man behind him, Avery chuckled softly. "Didn't you hear him? He ordered you to kill him."

As he spoke, he raised his right hand, where a staff over a meter long had mysteriously appeared at some point. The staff was intricately engraved with vine-like patterns, and at its tip gleamed a massive gemstone. As light refracted through the gem, it emitted a dazzling, multicolored glow.

Under the terrified gaze of the man in charge, Avery lightly tapped the staff twice in his direction and said, "He's right over there, isn't he? You see him? Go on now."

"What?!" The Court members' already anxious and uneasy state ignited into full-blown panic. None of them had expected Avery to turn his attention to them so quickly.

Before their very eyes, the Talons froze momentarily in place, then, as one, turned their heads to fix their icy stares on the Court members. In this instant, the haughty, self-assured people who believed they controlled everything finally experienced a flicker of understanding—a taste of what it meant to be toyed with, utterly at someone else's mercy.

Because in that moment, they had become the ones being controlled.

To the Talons, the figures in their sights varied. Some locked eyes on the man seated at the center of the table. Others targeted the elder to his right. Still others turned toward a blonde woman at the side. And yet, to the Court members themselves, it seemed as though the Talons all had their eyes trained on the same target: Avery, the white-haired man in his pristine robes, who appeared to be beckoning them with a mocking smile.

Driven by the command to kill their enemy, the Talons didn't hesitate for a second. They surged forward to attack.

"No! I don't want to die!"

"Make them stop! I'll give you anything you want!"

"Do you even realize what kind of consequences this will bring?"

Pleading cries, curses, and desperate promises of wealth and power filled the room. Yet the man in gold-trimmed white robes remained unmoved. He simply stood there, watching silently, as though the scene before him was no more significant than a patch of wildflowers or weeds by the roadside.

Everything in his view seemed trivial and inconsequential.

Before long, the room fell into complete silence. Broken corpses lay scattered everywhere, and thick, dark blood dripped slowly from the edge of the table. Eventually, a droplet landed on the face of a blonde woman.

Her mask had fallen off in the chaos as she attempted to evade the carnage. She was the only survivor among the attendees, apart from the manipulated Talons and the instigator of the massacre.

Why had she been spared? Who could say? Perhaps Avery had deliberately chosen to leave her alive, or maybe there simply weren't enough Talons to target everyone present.

The woman slowly raised her head, revealing a youthful and stunningly beautiful face. Her expression reflected the lingering shock of having narrowly escaped death. Gratitude and disbelief gave way to a cascade of conflicting emotions as she gazed at the man across from her—the striking figure in gold-trimmed white robes who had orchestrated the chaos.

Why had he spared only her? Why was he still watching her? Could it be that...

Recalling her past triumphs in the realm of love, the woman, while not vain enough to believe in love at first sight, couldn't help but speculate.