Starting from scratch, Batman crushed my dream of getting rich

Chapter 253 The Enduring Friendship Between Britain and France
PS: Chapter 2 will be delayed.
squeak--

The screeching sound of brakes drew Ma Zhaodi's attention from the system panel back to the street. He glanced at his phone and realized it was already past 10 a.m., and the taxi had been on the road for almost half an hour.

“Is London always this congested?” Ma Zhaodi sighed. “We spend almost half the time stuck in traffic.”

“More than half,” Constantine chuckled, then corrected, “and it’s not always this congested—I was lucky this morning, there weren’t too many cars. It would be much worse on a normal day.”

"six."

"That's London for you, kid. Welcome to London."

The two got out of the car and came to a magnificent white building. Dozens of Greek-style stone columns supported a beautiful triangular dome. Just by looking at the exterior, one could imagine that the interior space was probably tens of thousands of square meters.

"It's all so grand," Ma Zhaodi asked. "What place is this?"

Constantine sneered again: "The British Museum, my friend, the imperial treasury, where we store all our spoils of war."

Ma Zhaodi laughed too: "You mean that place where Britain used to flaunt its thieving behavior after it forcibly seized treasures from various countries in earlier times?"

"Exactly."

Constantine walked inside: "This is our England, my friend. Egyptian mummies and stelae, sculptures from the Parthenon in Athens, vases from ancient Rome, Taoist figures, Yuan Dynasty blue and white porcelain, ten volumes of the Yongle Encyclopedia. Ever seen Indiana Jones? This is the proud achievement of so-called explorers in various countries—but then again, the French are no less impressive in this regard. When it comes to being bandits, we're all equally professional."

Ma Zhaodi smiled again: "The friendship between Britain and France is truly everlasting."

The two walked into the museum, where, according to Constantine, his friend was located. Meanwhile, Ma Zhaodi suppressed his temper, inwardly cursing England as it was in the present.

In the office, the two met the elderly scholar, who was over fifty years old. He held Constantine's painting and examined it for a long time, clicking his tongue in amazement.

"Professor?" Constantine prompted, "Have you made any discoveries?"

“This painting is very unusual and interesting—I have indeed seen similar things.” He said, adjusting his glasses. “I saw similar tattoos when I was in South Sudan. And as far as I know, there is only one tribe there that still performs such magical sacrifices.”

At this moment, Ma Zhaodi noticed the professor's choice of words: "Sacrifice?"

“That’s right, sacrifice.” The professor nodded. “That tribe is a branch of the Dinka people, and this tattoo is used to restrain or bind. This method can only be used on human flesh and blood. Because of this, it uses a person as a tool for casting the spell, so that person naturally becomes a sacrifice—the shaman who cast the spell must be a master of natural magic.”

Natural magic? Ma Zhaodi shook his head secretly. Although the name sounded very green, the power of the green of all things and the red of all beings did not react in any particular way to this image.

After leaving the museum, Constantine turned to look at Ma Zhaodi: "Did you hear what the professor said?"

"I heard you. What do you want to say?"

“We need to go to Africa, you need to start applying for the visa as soon as possible.”

"You have to know, I've only been to two countries in my life: China, where I spent over twenty years, and Gotham, where I spent almost two years—and then I had to go to Africa again after only a few days in the UK."

"Wait a minute." Constantine, who had been listening, suddenly reached out to stop Ma Zhaodi from speaking: "You said you were originally from where?"

"China."

"No, no, the one behind."

"Gotham."

"Holy crap!" Constantine exclaimed, "Two years! You survived two years in that godforsaken place, and now you still care about 'morality'?"

"Do you have any objections?" "I have no objections."

Seeing that Ma Zhaodi had withdrawn his disapproving gaze, Constantine continued speaking.

“In any case, you were the one who wanted to investigate this matter, and now you have to go abroad to continue the investigation.” Constantine lit a cigarette: “Or you can stay here and look after the children in Chas’ place, and I’ll go to Africa with him?”

“Forget it, I’ll go with you.” Ma Zhaodi shook his head: “It’s more reassuring to be involved in investigating things personally.”

"Hey, remember to wear a sun hat."

As Constantine spoke, he took out his phone and made a call.

"Hello? Midnight? It's me, Constantine. I need to talk to you."

midnight?

Ma Zhaodi vaguely remembered this name; it should be a title for a middle-aged black male wizard who was very powerful and had collected many magical items.

His nickname is Midnight Daddy—midnight is the point where 24:00 of the day overlaps with midnight of the next day, a point of perfect time, just like Midnight's style, completely neutral, not actively participating in disputes, and not taking sides with any force; as for Daddy, that's what he calls himself, he considers himself a father figure among criminals.

"No, no, I'm not kidding, I'm asking seriously—has anything strange happened recently?"

"The restaurant? Well, it seems the situation in London has been replicated in New York. Okay, give my regards to your skulls."

After hanging up the phone, Constantine took a drag of his cigarette.

"I don't know if all Haitian wizards are like this, with no sense of humor—but at least Namos hasn't picked a second prey yet, so we still have time to do some investigation."

The visa issue wasn't complicated. Constantine travels the world all year round, so he doesn't need one. Ma Zhaodi has global citizenship, so he doesn't have any problems either—this surprised Constantine quite a bit.

"So, you originally planned to travel the world?" He lit a cigarette and chuckled, "but you failed miserably at your very first stop?"

"It doesn't matter. After I finish investigating this matter, I'll go back to Gotham first."

Amidst their conversation, the two got into a taxi.

"Anyway, man—let's go to Africa and see what's going on."

The taxi driver paused for a moment, then turned around and asked, "Where?"

"Africa."

"Dude, this might be a bit beyond my mileage."

The following day, the flight from London Airport arrived in Sudan, Africa.

The scorching sun baked the earth, and it also baked Constantine and Ma Zhaodi, who were walking on the earth.

The desolate Gobi Desert is filled with gravel and pebbles, with jagged rocks sweeping across the ground, and only occasionally can a glimpse of green appear between the shadowy cracks in the rocks.

“Great.” Constantine wiped the sweat from his face with a soaked towel. “Yesterday I was freezing in the dog shit rain in London, and today I’m in Africa getting roasted. Life is fucking great.”

"Is it hot?" Ma Zhaodi asked, taking a bite of watermelon. "I don't feel it at all."

(End of this chapter)