American comic book: Transmigrated into Dior and adopted by the Wayne family

Chapter 117 The Relic Merchant, Beman

"Remember to be more frank next time, Ed."

Dio, basking in the "ardent," "worshipful," and "obsessed" gaze, strode out of the Gotham Police Department.

"See you next time, friend."

The riddle-maker withdrew his sinister gaze and put away the unrestrained smile on his face.

It's not time to reveal too much to those mediocre colleagues.

Otherwise, it would be considered cheating by Detective Gordon.

"Hehehehehehe."

"snort."

As Dior walked out of the police station, the positive emotions in his eyes quickly faded, turning cold.

"Ed, how dare you make such a declaration to me? That's incredibly audacious."

He has already devised a set of methods to deal with madmen like the Riddler.

For ordinary people with dual personality disorder, all it takes is to provoke the two personalities to start fighting each other.

But the Riddler is different; the two personalities are not equal in strength, and if they were to merge during a fight, it would be disastrous.

A crazy, troublemaking, uncooperative, and self-centered riddle-maker?

That doesn't fit Dior's plan.

Therefore, the only option is to win over one while suppressing the other.

The current situation is quite good; the two personalities cooperate, but they don't merge.

"I hope Gordon doesn't break you, my friend."

Dio sneered, gave Tabitha the necessary instructions over the phone, and then returned to Wayne Manor.

"You're back just in time, Master Dior. Hurry up and pack your things."

Alfred had already changed into his hiking gear, and a large backpack was placed at his feet.

Bruce had also changed into his hiking gear. He didn't have a backpack at his feet, but he did have a small bag.

On the sofa not far away, there was a set of hiking gear and a small bag.

Are you going hiking or camping?

Dior was somewhat unaccustomed to it.

After all, just a few dozen minutes ago, he was negotiating a deal with Gotham's smartest villain.

"Am I going too? Have you fed the silver bullets yet?"

"Don't worry, Master Dior, everything is ready!"

Alfred patted his chest, indicating that he had completed all the preparations himself!

He then explained the reason for the camping trip to the bewildered Dio.

The Wayne family’s camping trip started a few years ago as a heartwarming tradition between Thomas and his son Bruce.

The location is the Gotham Forest, on the outskirts of Gotham City.

They would watch the sunrise together and collect stones along the way, carving the initials of their names (TW and BW) on them, then pile them up together.

Year after year, these stones accumulated to form a stone monument, used to pray for blessings for one's family.

Done.

After saying that, Alfred looked at Dio with expectant eyes.

Bruce also glanced over quietly.

Dior stared at the neatly folded garment and remained silent for two seconds.

He wanted to refuse.

But on second thought, this "acceptance" itself is a bargaining chip.

These kinds of networking events are still worth participating in, as they will benefit my plan to take over the Wayne family.

There might even be achievements to be made.

Moreover, he also needs to observe Bruce's weaknesses when he is relaxed.

"...trouble."

Dior picked up his clothes and muttered as he put them on, "I didn't go because I wanted to; I was worried you'd get lost in the mountains."

This is all for a greater good!

Correct!

That's it!

My plan is progressing steadily!

Dior kept repeating this to himself until he finally changed into his hiking gear.

The three then set off towards Gotham Forest.

Soon after, on the woodland path leading to Wayne Manor.

A figure emerged from the thin mist.

His sparse brown hair was ruffled by the mountain wind, his old overcoat covered his thin frame, and his leather shoes were covered in mud.

He looked like he had traveled a long way, and in fact, he had.

Beaman, one of Constantine's few tolerable friends, was specifically tasked with collecting exorcism materials for that London bastard.

To put it bluntly, Constantine was too lazy to run errands, while he, Beman, just needed some heartwarming money.

"Damn it, John, I hope you're not lying to me."

Beaman muttered to himself as he walked, rubbing his frozen fingers. "I hope the Wayne family really does have the holy water you want."

A few days ago, Constantine discovered a large amount of holy water diluted with sewage in the sewers near Wayne Manor.

The quantity was enormous, to an abnormal degree.

If it weren't contaminated, its purity would be enough to make all exorcists scramble for it.

Why would high-purity holy water flow out of the sewage system and mix with sewage?

A conclusion immediately popped into the playboy's mind:

The Wayne family has a blessed relic, which is most likely embedded in the bathtub.

Whenever someone runs water to clean the bathtub, they will unknowingly create some holy water.

So Beaman came.

He knew the Wayne family was not short of money.

So, if you want to make some connections, you could buy some pure holy water, or, as a compromise, ask them to allow you to collect it periodically.

At this point, someone will ask a question.

Is holy water rare?

difficult.

It's very difficult.

Either a high-ranking Catholic clergy member, such as the Pope or a cardinal, is required to personally consecrate the child.

Alternatively, it can be taken directly from specific holy sites like the Jordan River.

Although Constantine's family had stockpiled thousands of liters, no one would complain about having too much strategic reserves.

Especially in a godforsaken place like Gotham, you never know what tomorrow will bring.

It's perfectly reasonable to have a little more.

Beaman rang the doorbell of Wayne Manor and waited for a while, but no one answered.

He pressed it again and listened carefully.

The doorbell was indeed ringing, but no one answered.

Could it be because the manor is too big, and the people inside might not be able to hear it?

Beaman took a deep breath, craned his neck, and shouted, "Hello! Respected Mr. Wayne—! I'm Beaman—! I have something very important to discuss with you—!"

No one responded.

"Could the doorbell be broken...?"

"7

Beaman muttered to himself as he walked around to the side of the manor.

He remembered Constantine saying that the kitchen entrance was in the southeast corner, closest to the butler's work area.

The back door was indeed narrower, with withered vines climbing the iron fence.

Just as Beaman raised his hand to ring the doorbell, a brown shadow suddenly peeked out from the gap in the railing.

"Hissing sound."

"Oh my god! What the hell is that?!"

Biman stumbled back two steps, his heels hitting the gravel and giving way.

"Fuck!"

a horse.

The brown stallion tilted its head, wedging half its face between the iron bars, and sized him up.

Beaman's heart was still pounding, but the horse snorted softly, its eyes clearly showing...disdain?

No, it's sarcasm.

Beaman frowned and looked closely.

That sidelong glance, that disdainful snort, even the horse's rump in front of him, all seemed to say:

Oh, not a beautiful woman, but a bald man.

uninteresting.

"This... I'm not seeing things, am I?"

Beaman rubbed his eyes, then rubbed them again, to make sure he wasn't hallucinating from low blood sugar.

Does the horse racing association mock people?

A horse?

How could someone mock someone?

"Could it be... that this is from drinking holy water?"

Beaman stood there for a long time before taking out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.

He began to seriously consider a serious question:

Did Constantine ever mention to him that the Wayne family's horses were watered with holy water?

This horse is outrageous!!

Hey!

What's wrong with this world?

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