American comics: Praising the sun, starting from Gotham!

Gotham's charity galas always end in an extremely respectable but somewhat hypocritical manner.

The rain gradually stopped.

The impeccably dressed celebrities exchanged meaningless business cards and hand kisses, while Bruce Wayne, with a slightly frivolous smile, saw off the talkative congresswoman's wife.

Hugh leaned against a marble pillar in the porch, looking rather bored.

The soporific social scene made him yawn repeatedly.

Even the system popped up a task progress bar for "Daily Task: Experience Gotham's Nightlife," which crawled extremely slowly, seemingly mocking this boring night.

A sudden change occurred.

Just as Bruce turned to walk toward the black supercar, in the dark corner beyond the reach of the streetlights, a thick shadow twisted without warning.

Without a sound of footsteps or even breathing, a figure dressed in a retro dark combat suit sprang out from the shadows like a real predator.

That's not just about speed, it's about gliding.

Several gleaming blades spun rapidly between Bruce's gloves, which were blackened by some unknown liquid, pointing directly at the back of his neck.

"I knew this meal wouldn't be so easy to finish."

Xiu En muttered something, but the halo above his head, which was originally just a background lighting effect, suddenly became so bright that it seemed to drain the voltage from the entire street.

The streetlights within a hundred meters of this domineering light source paled in comparison, and everyone's vision was instantly bleached into a stark, unblemished white.

Even the claw that launched a high-speed attack in mid-air was forced to close its eyes for a moment. Its senses, enhanced by special training and drugs, were powerless against the intense light that was equivalent to dozens of flashbangs exploding in front of its eyes at the same time, and its movements were fatally slowed for a moment.

"Since you like darkness, then I'll let you see it to your heart's content."

Xiu En did not stop.

He coughed, and although he didn't manage to spit out any golden blades, he casually waved one hand in the air, and a ball of light was thrown by Xiu En towards the assassin.

The ball of light landed on the face of the man with the claws, which had little defense, and immediately began to flash wildly at a high frequency.

That frequency can cause severe dizziness in the retina even with eyes closed.

Claw let out a low growl that was more of a look of confusion than pain. He twisted his body in mid-air, but because he lost his visual guidance, the blow that was supposed to be fatal only grazed Bruce's suit jacket, tearing a large hole in his expensive custom fabric.

But he didn't fall or slash randomly.

The damned assassin adjusted his center of gravity almost the instant he landed, turning his goggles-covered head to listen intently to every subtle sound around him.

He flipped his wrist, and countless throwing knives were already at his fingertips, waiting for any heartbeat or footstep to guide him.

Bruce seemed frozen in place, maintaining that perfectly measured expression of fear and bewilderment.

He looked completely terrified, but in reality, every muscle in his body was ready to perform a lucky dodge at any moment.

The Claw Killer, whose face was covered in a flashbang of holy light (Promax version), didn't have much time to hesitate.

Years of training allowed him to react instantly the moment he heard Bruce utter that extremely affected, even slightly falsetto "ah."

Even if he can't see it, his throwing knives are faster than sound.

But just as Xiu En was preparing to make a few more flaming balls to protect this patron,

The old butler, who seemed to be trembling with fear on the side, suddenly moved.

Alfred Pennyworth's start was completely silent.

He slid sideways so naturally, as if he were serving a guest who had accidentally spilled his wine at a dinner party, deftly slipping into the blind spot of the claws' attack.

"I'm sorry, sir. Your entry method clearly indicates that you did not make a reservation."

After a witty remark delivered in a perfect London accent, Afu's right hand delivered a ruthless, almost military-style short elbow strike, landing squarely on Claw's right ribs just three inches below the bone.

quack!

The crisp sound of bones cracking was particularly pleasant amidst the cacophony of screams.

Before Claw could even retaliate against this old man who shouldn't exist in either the strength or speed rankings, Claw had already done so.

Afu's other hand had already grabbed his wrist, and with a twist, he forced the throwing knives into the cracks in the bricks of the ground, sparks flying everywhere.

"And you've also dirtied the young master's suit, which he just ironed. It's freshly sheared wool."

boom--!

Ah Fu, a gentleman in his sixties, delivered a powerful punch directly to the unfortunate assassin's jaw.

This isn't some fancy, impractical move from a movie; it's an execution-style strike that would force even an angry brown bear to reconsider its bedtime routine.

The owl assassin, who had jumped from a hundred meters high without getting hurt, rolled his eyes, convulsed, and fainted on the marble steps of the upscale hotel.

The ball of light, which was still making a crackling sound in mid-air, stopped awkwardly.

He watched as the old butler took out a snow-white handkerchief to wipe his knuckles, and couldn't help but utter a sincere compliment through gritted teeth:

"Wow, is this what they call high-end butler service? It includes cleaning up this kind of trash?"

Bruce's expression of fear vanished instantly.

He didn't even glance at the unfortunate assassin, but quickly scanned the passersby around him who hadn't yet recovered from being blinded by the bright light.

He lowered his voice and said to Xiu En, "Good job, at least no one saw which hand Afu used to hit the guy. Get in the car, this area will soon become the domain of another group of uniformed men, and I don't really like writing statements."

Ah Fu acted as if nothing had happened, pulled out a bottle of sterile hand sanitizer from somewhere, pumped it, and then smiled as he opened the back door of the black sports car for Xiu En.

"You flatter me, Mr. Hugh. It was just dealing with some unhygienic little pests. If you don't mind, how about we go back to the manor for a cup of calming tea? I have a feeling we need to have a good talk with this big guy."

He pointed to the sharp claws at his feet, which he had bound together with black straps like a rice dumpling.

Several people got into the car.

Shuen sprawled unceremoniously in the leather back seat, his eyes darting back and forth between Afro driving in front and Bruce beside him.

"I said, a tycoon."

"Does your Gotham butler pre-job training include dismantling Gundams with your bare hands? That elbow strike just now, I felt like he could have pierced through a blast door."

Bruce was rapidly swiping across a tablet, the screen's light reflecting off his now poker-faced expression.

He didn't even look up when he heard Xiu En's question.

"When he was young, Ah Fu worked as a martial arts instructor with the Royal Shakespeare Company for a while. You know, the British are quite particular about the realism of stage effects."

Afu, who was driving, gave a gentle smile through the rearview mirror.

"Young master, you flatter me. I'm just good at pruning some crooked shrubs; that rude fellow just happened to be growing in my way."

Xiu En rolled his eyes.

I don't believe you for a second. These two, master and servant, are both actors.