Chapter 993: Battle for the High Tower (27)_1

By now, two-thirds of the mineworker slaves had lost their combat ability, and the casualties of the Demon Army were still unclear.

While everyone was crowded into a melee, no one would notice the casualties. But once the battle lines expanded and the ranks were dispersed, everyone would be forced to confront their current situation.

And at that moment, the crucial point was that having seen their disadvantage and the number of casualties, they could not retreat.

In the warfare of ancient armies, losing a third of your force in a short time basically meant the battle was lost. Such loss would crush the will of all warriors, leading to a cascade-like defeat.

Often, not many people died in ancient warfare because the front lines could tell the tide of the battle within just a few minutes.

Once in a disadvantageous position, the will to fight is lost. If one man turns his back, others will follow, turning the battle into a rout. In the history of human warfare, true battles of annihilation are few and far between.

Batman was initially against extending the battle lines. He didn't believe that these slaves, upon discovering two-thirds of their comrades dead or incapacitated, would still have the will to fight and conclude the annihilation.

The torrent of people spread like a school of fish towards the east. After the battle lines had been fully extended, everyone realized what kind of bloody battle they had just experienced. Even the least intelligent slaves or soldiers could see the tide of the battle.

More Demon Soldiers were left, but they almost had no formation because they too had suffered many casualties. Once the battle lines were extended, their formation was shattered beyond repair. Such a formation no longer possessed any capability to resist on the battlefield.

However, the plight of the mineworker slaves was worse. The bodies of their comrades were scattered everywhere. Looking around, the sight of carnage was enough to make anyone's heart shatter.

Even Batman, who was human and arguably the most steadfast genius amongst his kind, felt dizzy in the midst of such a dense battlefield.

None of his own kind were amongst the dead, but sentient life, when faced with death, is always hit harder than they can imagine.

The battlefield fell silent for a moment. Then, from the middle of the battlefield came a howl. It was like the mournful wind blowing from the depths of the abyss, but it was also filled with the anger of erupting magma.

One after another, shouts of rage echoed across the empty battlefield, reverberating between the mountains of the mine.

Unparalleled sorrow, anger, and indescribable emotions hit like a punch, almost knocking Batman off his feet in the bloody air, even though he was unharmed.

What are they shouting?

What are they grieving for?

Why are they filled with rage?

Under Batman's incredulous gaze, the remaining mineworker slaves began to move. No one commanded them, no one taught them what to do, but they charged at the Demon Soldiers they once feared like they were possessed.

Batman stood there, motionless, like a million-year-old rock weathered by wind and frost on this vast land.

The bloodshed restarted, the fierce winds howled, and all the remaining slaves, with a rage and hatred Batman could not understand nor feel, fearlessly charged at the remaining Demon Soldiers.

In the previous drills, they had never shown such valor, even heroism.

Batman shook his head vigorously and took several deep breaths, trying to lower his heart rate, but his heart kept pounding like a ceaseless war drum.

Blood covered the only remaining sanity in his genius mind. At this moment, some sort of barrier was broken, and years of suppressed emotions were released.

Batman, always calm, composed, and strategic, rushed into the battlefield like a stupid demon.

His pitch-black cape was soaked with blood, the desire for slaughter consumed his reason, and when Batman finally stopped, he was surrounded by bodies.

Standing at the mouth of a half-mountain mine, Alfred saw Batman, covered in blood, slowly walking towards him. His black armor had turned dark red, he held a spear in his hand, and his steps were halting.

But in such an iron-blood tempering, the bat finally shed the residual warmth on its wings, pulled out its soft bones of indecision, and wore down the dull shell on its sharp claws. On the path to becoming a steel warrior, it took a new step.

Yet, Alfred took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and before Batman could see his facial expression, he tried to hide the pain and sorrow on his face, no longer wearing a kind smile as if looking at a child.

Alfred's expression gradually became serious. When Batman walked up to him, he reached out a hand.

Batman looked down, he saw the old, gnarled lines on the back of Alfred's hand, like the roots of a great tree, coming up from the snow-covered soil, paying tribute to the spring sprouts soon to emerge.

Batman extended his slightly trembling hand, clasping it with Alfred's. The never-growing master and the never-aging butler saw their own reflections in each other's eyes.

Having withdrawn his hand, Batman panted incessantly, his strength all but drained from the previous slaughters.

Alfred didn't say much, just moved aside to let Batman past. Silently, Batman walked by him and continued his upward climb, looking up at the huge eyeball at the top of the mountain. That's where the Rotting Heart General was, he knew.

Even Batman himself didn't know where he found the courage to take on a powerful demon of a general when he was almost devoid of strength. Nevertheless, he felt no fear, his steps unwavering.

Reaching the summit of the seventh mountain, Batman saw a powerful demon approaching him. It wasn't the Rotting Heart General, but an unfamiliar demon instead.

Batman prepared for battle, but unexpectedly, the demon extended a hand towards him and said, "You must be Batman, right? Someone would like to meet you. Come with me."

Relaxing his fist, Batman thought, well, this appears to be a demon that prefers godfather-style negotiations before battle.

Underneath the eyeball was a towering castle, the dwelling of the Rotting Heart General. Batman followed the unfamiliar demon, entering the castle door and moving through a long corridor before finally pushing open the main hall door.

At the center of the main hall was an extraordinarily long table, a common sight in gothic castles with chairs arranged in several rows. Large pillars surrounded the table, each with torches embedded into them. Curtains hung down between the pillars, and a long rug led up to a wall adorned with a fierce demon portrait.

However, behind the long table in the hall, Batman didn't see the evil dragon he came to kill.

Instead, he saw Shiller.

Yet, the scene before him brought more shock than drenched in blood on the battlefield.

Shiller sat at the head of the table. He was still wearing his suit and tie, but his body was covered in blood. A large buckle piercing through his collarbone trailed a long chain, making his appearance pitiful. However, his expression remained casual.

As if he was not injured at all, indulging in a holiday dinner with old friends. And indeed, he was enjoying a feast.

Batman saw a plate in front of Shiller, filled with some grilled meat that appeared to be tendons from an elbow joint.

Behind him, suspended from a large hook, was the Rotting Heart General, who had lost two arms and a leg.

A massive iron hook pierced through the Rotting Heart General's neck, suspending him from the ceiling. The wounds from his severed limbs were extremely neat, revealing no signs of a struggle during the severing process. Seven wounds in total, each piercing an artery, draining him of his blood cleanly. He resembled a pig that had been slaughtered precisely.

Shiller cut off the front part of the tendon with a knife, then further cut it into smaller pieces along the grain. He picked the chunks up with a fork and ate them. Batman instinctively swallowed some saliva.

He found his leg muscle somewhat unresponsive, and his brain warning him to run. But he came filled with questions and couldn't leave. In fact, he didn't know if he could.

After finishing a piece of meat, Shiller glanced at Batman and said, "You're here, sit down."

He spoke in a relaxed tone, teasing, as if greeting the last friend to arrive at a party.

Batman felt like he'd been doused with a bucket of cold water, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. His rising desire to kill instantly cooled down, and then, he smelled the enticing aroma from the food.

Batman moved to the first seat by his side. He hesitated for a moment but didn't sit down. Shiller tilted his head and looked up at him. In front of Batman, the strange demon that led him here laid a plate and cutlery.

Batman sat down after all. He leaned back, slightly lifting his head. Shiller ate another piece of food from his plate, revealing a smile. Its insanity felt too familiar to Batman.

But within a second, Shiller was back to normal. Batman blinked, and Shiller's smile flashed across his face again and disappeared.

"That wasn't your imagination," Shiller's voice resonated by Batman's ear as if accurately reading the thoughts in his heart. Cutting the meat, he said, "You must be curious about what I'm doing."

Shiller glanced at the huge buckle puncturing his collarbone and shoulder and said, "Recently, I've been injured quite a bit, which makes me appear rather pitiful. But I know you're not the type to kick a man when he's down and mock the victim."

Batman opened his mouth slightly, tasted the word "victim," and accidentally blurted out, "...Victim?"

Shiller nodded, set down his cutlery, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said to Batman, "Not a victim of a demon, but a victim of yours, Batman."

Batman stared into his eyes. Shiller revealed a smile again before saying,

"Let's start from our first meeting."