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🕑 Added 2025-07-09 16:35:25 +0000 UTCChapter 198: But Is It Worth It?
"Today marks the fourth day Deathstroke and Deadshot have been battling it out in Gotham City. Thank goodness, we're finally getting word that this absolute disaster has been contained. Just moments ago, Batman took both of them back to prison. We can finally breathe easy for a while."
"Yeah, yeah, Batman successfully stopped two criminals, and Batman's a hero again – but at what cost? Is any of this worth it?"
"Frank, what are you trying to say?"
"Four days, Bill, a full four days. These three incredibly dangerous psychos have been treating Gotham like their playground, turning any district into their battlefield. Add in that perverted bike guy, and you've got four complete lunatics basically playing Mahjong together. I know Kite Man saved a lot of people, so setting him aside – do you have any idea what Gotham's been through these past four days? Central Station got shot up, buildings in the Park District were blown up. Everywhere they went, bullets followed!"
"Hey! Batman managed to drive them out to the no-man's-land to fight! Only a dozen or so Gotham citizens were injured, with no fatalities! That's a miracle considering the circumstances!"
"Good grief, that's only three of them. One from the Joker, one from the Riddler, plus Batman one... and they've already thrown Gotham City into chaos. Do you know how many other psychos the Joker and the Riddler still have? Do you know how many casualties the mercenaries working for them cause every single day? Do I need to list them for you? When that crew starts fighting, Gotham's got a lot more days of hell ahead."
"So what do you want to do? Hand Batman over and hope the psychos take pity on us?"
"End the war! The focus right now is ending the war! We're outside the combat zone right now, but it's still a meat grinder in there! And even if federal special forces came in, they might not be able to stop those lunatics!"
Commissioner Gordon heavy-heartedly turned off the news footage playing on his phone. While the host named Frank was incredibly irritating to listen to, the unfortunate truth was, he wasn't wrong.
He lifted his pipe and took a puff. The massive Bat-Signal cast its silhouette against the light, shooting a beam straight into the night sky from beside him.
"You wanted to see me."
Batman emerged from the darkness. As always, he arrived without a sound.
"Did you hear what they were saying on the news?" Gordon asked.
"The cost."
"No, not the cost, or the psychos," Gordon shook his head. "Those are just opinions. The point is the facts."
"Federal special forces."
"Exactly. They just gave me the intel. The federal special forces intel."
"They've already come."
Gordon paused, looking at Batman, then replied, "Yeah, they came."
"While I was fighting Slade and Floyd."
"Right, that's when it happened. They arrived silently. Two special forces teams, the elite of the elite, operating simultaneously. One went into the East End, one into the Upper West Side."
"They're only telling me now, saying they were here to 'clean up the GCPD's mess'."
"But something went wrong."
"..." Gordon was silent for a moment, glancing at his watch. "It's been twenty minutes since the operation started."
"Just a moment ago, the team on the Upper West Side went dark. Now... they're gone without a trace."
At that moment, Commissioner Gordon's phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID – it was a colleague from the precinct – and answered the call.
"Commissioner, someone's trying to reach you. They called your desk line – it's the Riddler."
Gordon and Batman exchanged a look, then Gordon quickly rushed to his office.
"Commissioner Gordon?"
"Riddler, what do you want?"
"Just wanted to remind the GCPD not to litter carelessly." The Riddler replied calmly from the other end of the line. "Dealing with them took quite a bit of effort, but regardless, I've decided to uphold the rules of hospitality."
"Commissioner Gordon, any location in the East End is ready for your visit at any time, and I am ready for you to come in and 'clean up that mess' at any time."
Hearing this, Commissioner Gordon couldn't help but clench his fist. These were the exact words the federal special forces had used when talking to the police department earlier. Knowing this phrase meant the Riddler had advance knowledge of the special forces' movements.
A dial tone sounded from the phone. After delivering his unilateral notification, the Riddler simply hung up.
Ring, ring—
Commissioner Gordon frowned. Immediately after the Riddler's call, his cell phone rang again, giving him a bad feeling.
"Hello?"
"Gordon, the operation failed. The team on the Upper West Side was completely wiped out. That bastard Joker contacted us using their comms."
Commissioner Gordon sighed. He hated that he could always guess these bad things would happen.
"What did he say?"
"He said he wanted to buy some camo uniforms a couple of days ago but couldn't find any, said..."
As the speaker said this, their teeth ground together audibly, clearly seething with rage.
"He said thanks for the camo uniforms."
Commissioner Gordon was silent.
Later that evening, at Wayne Manor.
Bruce Wayne silently watched the Bat-Signal in the sky, saw smoke rising and gunshots ringing out in the Park District, and saw Kite Man flying overhead.
I have ways to deal with those guys, he thought to himself. Penguin, the Ventriloquist, Killer Croc... I can beat them, but I need time, and Gotham City is running out of time right now.
Every minute, every second, while Batman was tied up fighting those supervillains, the soldiers hired by both sides were battling and killing each other all over the city. And relying solely on Kite Man or Cody wasn't enough to save that many people.
I have to do something, he thought. What Batman can't do, Bruce Wayne will try.
"Alfred." He suddenly turned to look at the old butler beside him. "I intend to arrange a dinner party."
A look of surprise immediately appeared on Alfred's face. "A dinner party? Oh, certainly, I'll arrange it for you – but whom do you intend to invite at this time?"
"Well, when I was a boy, my mother once said that when you're lost, having dinner will do the trick."
"Back then, I'd argue, 'What's so special about dinner? We eat it every day, but it doesn't feel like it holds any magic.' Mother would say, 'Bruce, not just any dinner, a traditional, nine-course French meal'."
Hearing this, Alfred's face showed a knowing expression.
"It's not just about eating, but the art of eating – sitting at the table, taking the time to understand your food, and taking the time to understand the guests you've chosen to invite, the people you share the meal with."
"If you do it right, properly and courteously, well-prepared and skillfully executed, then that dinner will save you from being lost."
"Of course, Master Bruce," Alfred said. "I will arrange this dinner party for you."
"Please rest assured."
Chapter 199: The Riddler Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Place
Elegant and ornate candlesticks were lit, and vibrant, fresh fruit baskets graced the table. White-gloved hands meticulously polished the sterling silver cutlery with spotless white silk cloths – soup spoons, carving knives, dinner forks, and high-stemmed wine glasses – all looking clean and refined against the pure white tablecloth, shimmering under the lights.
"Mr. Wayne, everything is prepared."
"Excellent, Alfred. Please show our guests in now."
Seated on one side of the long, pristine dining table was a guest with pale skin, wearing a strikingly formal and elaborate suit. On anyone else, it might seem like an outfit specially chosen for Gotham's wealthiest man's dinner party, but for this guest, it was simply how he always dressed.
The Penguin, the Ventriloquist, and Mr. Freeze stood behind him, warily watching the four individuals across the table.
The Riddler still wore his signature green suit with an open chest, a relaxed smile on his face, a stark contrast to the Joker's downturned, world-weary expression. Behind him were Killer Croc, Crazy Quilt, and Poison Ivy. If things really kicked off later, he definitely had the advantage in terms of sheer power.
Two-Face was originally supposed to come, but he'd told the Riddler he was sick of these high-society shindigs and already had a gutful of rich guys like Bruce Wayne. He suggested sending someone who knew how to stay alive and escape instead, someone who could even drag you back if you ran into the Batman.
So, the Riddler brought Calendar Man along.
Bruce Wayne, sharp in his suit and tie, sat at the head of the table, quietly observing the guests on either side of the long table. Alfred, in his own formal attire, stood calmly behind him.
The first course was the appetizer, a cold starter.
The plate held slices of baguette, President butter, and some decorative vegetables, the red and green a pleasant sight.
However, the Joker didn't even glance at his plate. He immediately launched at the Riddler without preamble: "You're a piece of crap."
Bruce didn't say anything. He looked at the Riddler, who was slowly and deliberately buttering his bread, enjoying the appetizer. Hearing the Joker's remark, he simply burst into hearty laughter.
The Joker's face was grim. He couldn't smile now; he could only watch the Riddler laugh, which just annoyed him more.
Calendar Man looked at the butter on the table, a little curious if it tasted good.
The second course was steaming hot soup.
"Gentlemen, if you'll allow me to interrupt for a moment," Bruce said smoothly, holding his spoon. "While I appreciate the jokes and riddles, we have important matters to discuss tonight. My city – our city, the city the Wayne family would give their lives for, Gotham City – is suffering greatly in this current war, just as all of you here are suffering in this conflict."
"And we are gathered here today precisely to find a way to end this suffering."
Just then, the third course arrived: fish seared to a perfect crispy skin.
"Edward."
The Joker, holding his knife and fork, looked across at the Riddler. "Have you ever had to cut someone's head off... I mean, while they were still alive?"
"Oh," the Riddler replied casually, putting a piece of golden-brown fish into his mouth. "Sometimes, yes."
"Did you ever notice that a person's last twitch doesn't mean their last moment of life? After that, after their final struggle, they're still alive, watching you. And then a little while later, I mean, after a certain amount of blood loss, that's when they really die."
The brutal description made Bruce frown slightly. He couldn't help but look at the Joker and ask, "Is this a joke?"
"I don't know, is it?"
Growl
The Riddler, who was about to speak, paused. All three glanced at Crazy Quilt beside them. His dark robe and mask hid his expression, but everyone was sure that sound had come from him.
Noticing everyone looking at him, a sheepish voice came from beneath the mask.
"My bad, didn't eat before I came. You guys carry on."
The Riddler sighed.
"Mr. Wayne, the Joker is trying to explain to you that your way of solving problems is absurd," the Riddler said. "According to him, in that moment of calm observation after a person stops struggling but before they stop thinking, there seems to be a lot of meaning."
"In other words, when faced with the end, people stop fighting and struggling. Whether it was for a result, an answer, or a goal, in that moment, none of it matters anymore. All in all, he believes this proves that all answers and results are meaningless, like a dream, like a fleeting illusion. In the end, the only things that are truly real are that knife and that fatal slash."
The Riddler sneered slightly, summarizing, "This is, of course, an absurd point of view. But he'll probably insist... that it's his point of view."
Hearing his summary, the Joker's face darkened even more. He simply threw the fish knife in his hand, wanting to prove his point immediately with the Riddler's life.
Of course, it was fine if he didn't die; he just wanted to throw it anyway.
The Riddler immediately assessed that the flying knife was aimed at his face and calmly extended his hand. He wasn't a purely intellectual criminal who couldn't hurt a fly; he could easily catch the knife.
"Boss, watch out!"
Just as he was thinking about how he would mock the Joker, a hand shot out from behind him.
Clink!
Thud!
The first sound was the knife being knocked off course, and the second was the sound of the knife embedding itself in a shoulder.
"Boss, are you okay?"
The expression on the Riddler's face froze. Now, with the Joker's knife sticking out of his shoulder and his subordinate's concerned voice in his ear, he felt caught between a rock and a hard place.
What the hell did you swat?! I had it!
Damn it, miscalculated. If things really do get physical later, he only has two reliable guys under him. He might not have the advantage after all.
At the same time, Killer Croc behind him bared his massive claws and fangs, vines sprouted around Poison Ivy, and Calendar Man stepped back two paces, raising his large shield.
Across from them, the Penguin behind the Joker raised his umbrella that could fire bullets, Mr. Freeze raised his freeze gun, and Scarface, the dummy on the Ventriloquist's hand, raised a pistol.
"I thought this was going to be a friendly chat, but in the end, it comes down to brute force!"
"Better say your prayers now, you creeps!"
Bruce sat quietly in his seat, trying to control his expression. He knew Calendar Man was good at stirring things up, but he didn't realize he was this good at it.
He looked from one side to the other, then said, "Alfred?"
Alfred replied calmly, "Yes, Master Bruce."
"This fish was prepared quite astonishingly, but it seems our guests don't quite have the appetite for it."
"Please see to Mr. Edward's bleeding, bandaging, and medication. Mr. Joker, this is my dinner party, and I would appreciate it if you refrained from such actions in the future. It is quite rude, very rude indeed."
"Now, let's clear these things away and prepare for the next course."
Chapter 200: The Argument of Two Madmen
The fourth course arrived at the table – the main course for the evening.
Snow-white fish was the white meat, while tender, juicy steak served as the red. A sprinkle of green parsley garnished the plates. White wine accompanied the white meat, while red wine was served with the red.
Alfred skillfully carved the steak. Behind the Riddler, Mazhaodi’s gaze went right over the bandages on his shoulder, fixed on the meat, which dripped with juice with every cut.
He took a sharp breath.
The Riddler's hand unconsciously touched the gun at his waist. It was clear Alfred had treated his wound expertly; his right hand was still mobile.
"Based on what I gathered from my conversation with Commissioner Gordon," Bruce began, "your conflict, as I understand it, primarily revolves around... Batman." He paused. "Evidently, the Commissioner was reluctant to share more information about him, which is a shame. He and this dangerous fellow seem quite close."
Bruce paused again, then addressed the two men at the table. "But I'm not Gordon. I'm a concerned citizen of Gotham, and I just happen to be quite wealthy."
"Anything you say here is completely safe. On the contrary, through honest conversation, we can find the truth."
"And with the truth, plus some personal funding from me, we can ultimately find peace."
"So, gentlemen, if you'd be so kind, answer me one question: Why Batman?"
A smile played on the Riddler's lips, while the Joker wore a serious expression.
"Oh, yes, Batman. Batman is something of a... trouble..."
"Precisely, my pale friend. Yes, he is trouble."
Picking up a piece of fish with his fork, and taking a sip of white wine, the Riddler continued, "If you ask me, I'd capture him – his friends, his family, everyone he loves in the world – line them up before a long, deep pit, with Batman tied at the bottom."
"He'd look up, watching helplessly as I shoot them one by one through the head, their bodies tumbling down to struggle on top of him."
"Then, I'd look down into the pit, point the gun at him, and once he was covered in their blood, he would understand me. I would have solved the puzzle of who he is, I would have unearthed everything about him, I would have known everything about him, I would have utterly defeated him, utterly dominated him."
"It would be like taking apart a riddle box, dismantling everything about him piece by piece. And he would be the most spectacular, the ultimate core of the answer."
By this point, the Riddler's emotions had soared to near frenzy.
"Then, I'd say, 'I've prepared the greatest riddle, Batman. Guess what... Before he could hear it, bang! And he'd be dead."
Bruce's face remained impassive. He looked over at the Joker.
"Sounds interesting... but not my style. I'd choke him."
The Joker speared a piece of red meat and put it in his mouth. "I'd feel it, with my palm, my fingers tracing every tendon, every pulse, and the air that just wouldn't reach his lungs."
"Then I'd laugh, laugh until I choked like he was. And he'd stop struggling, but he wouldn't stop thinking. He'd look at me, but without fear, without dread. He'd be calm."
"In his final moments, he wouldn't be thinking about any riddles, any answers, he wouldn't care about order. None of that would matter to him anymore. He would understand what I do, he would realize he could just laugh at all that stuff and throw it away. In the end, the only things real would be me, him, and the hand around his neck."
"And then, he would laugh like me."
As he spoke, the Joker's lips finally straightened. He was moments from breaking into a smile – but ultimately failed.
Mazhaodi was sweating profusely. These two were operating on a level that was beyond perverse, truly pathological. To call it pathological hatred wasn't quite accurate; it was more like a pathological craving.
Perhaps lunatics truly crave validation more.
The fifth course: sorbet.
Small cups held refreshing sorbet. Sorbet is made by freezing fresh fruit and grinding it into ice, without milk or sugar. Mazhaodi had heard of it but never tasted it.
He was even hungrier.
"Okay, I think we've made some progress," Bruce summarized. "We're a little closer now. I know you both want to kill Batman. So, why not just do it?"
"Each of you convince me, right here tonight at this dinner, give me a reason. Tell me why you deserve it, and the other doesn't. I'll pick the better reason and provide a billion US dollars."
"You can use it to buy out all of the other's soldiers, turn the entire city against Batman, and take your opponent out of the game. You won't need to pit your forces against each other anymore, because this fortune will bring them all directly under one of your banners."
"I have only one condition," Bruce Wayne said. "I want the city to suffer less. You must go straight for your target, no indiscriminate killing."
Seeing both parties at the long table deep in thought, he knew his plan had succeeded.
Whoever attempts to buy out the other's subordinates will incur the wrath of all the other's supervillains. Therefore, no innocent party could do this; only the Riddler or the Joker could.
And the Riddler and the Joker were indeed tempted.
At this point, the sixth course, salad, was served.
A mix of reds and greens, with both fruits and vegetables, uncooked but naturally delicious.
"My answer is simple. He can't kill Batman – he's just a fake."
"You see, I solve riddles, and there's no greater riddle in the world than the Joker. So, I've solved him too." He leaned forward. "Everyone projects their greatest tragedies onto you, guessing what made you this way. They guess you had a cruel father, a poor wife, lost children, guessing what made you white and green and insane."
He laughed as he said this.
"But you and I both know that's just talk. There's no suffering, no hardship on you. At least, not yet."
"You're just an actor, everything about you is just a farce. You're not white and green and insane; you're just white and green. Whether you laugh, kill, or perform some comedy act, it doesn't matter. Beneath that smiling face is just an ordinary, predictable person."
"You know nothing about true madness and genius. You don't know what it feels like to have the whole world revolve around you, the feeling that the truth of everything responds to you, the feeling of being able to see through everything effortlessly. But I know all about that."
The seventh course: cheese.
Yellow cheese, like the kind Jerry often steals in 'Tom and Jerry'.
"A reason? Why only I deserve to kill Batman? Hmm..." He picked up his wine glass. "Isn't it obvious? I'm the Joker. He's the Riddler."
"At the 'final' moment, who would care about a riddle?"
