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

"No, this isn't it either."

Dio put down the book about the Order of Saint Dumas and rubbed his temples in frustration.

The history of the Order of St. Dumas dates back to the Middle Ages, while Galerwin's dates back to the 17th century; there is no connection between the two.

One is in Europe, the other in the Americas; one has long since disappeared, while the other has recently risen to fame.

"It seems Saint Duma has transformed himself and wants to take the stage under the name of Gallagher, but what does this have to do with the Wayne family?"

The Gotham of today is completely different from the Gotham of his memory.

I can't tell the difference! I really can't!

Dio sighed, put down the Bible and Latin dictionary, and thought of the "son" in the cold storage.

During the hypnosis, Claw reacted particularly strongly to the story of the "Angel of Death" in St. Dumas, so maybe we can get some information out of him.

It's important to know that the name "Angel of Death" is not simple.

The Order of St. Dumas trains a killer whose claws rival those of the Court of Owls; that creature is called the Angel of Death.

However, due to the technological gap, such assassins face a significant risk of betrayal.

The Court of Owls uses mental branding, while Saint-Dumas uses stories to brainwash. After a while, the assassins begin to admire the legendary heroes in the stories, and then they actually go and become heroes.

Dior covered his face.

He really didn't want to wake up Claw, the double agent, unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Forget it, let's just take it one step at a time."

Upon arriving at the cold storage, Dior made thorough preparations, raising the temperature before opening the freezer.

Not long after, Claws struggled to wake up from hibernation, looked at the person in front of him, and opened his mouth.

Dior suddenly felt a mix of emotions.

He both hoped that Claw would say something explosive, but he was also afraid that the guy would say something shocking.

Claw stretched his body, stepped out of the cold storage, and finally spoke:

"Lord Dior."

"Yes, there's been progress."

Dio breathed a sigh of relief. Luckily, he didn't call him "father," otherwise he would have had to give the guy a brain transplant.

Seeing that the other person was normal, he didn't waste any more time and got straight to the point:

What do you remember about the Court of Owls?

A flicker of struggle crossed Claw's face, and after a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse:

"A circus, a dimly lit cage, a bitter coin, an old man in a black robe."

Dio nodded; this must be the process by which Claw was taken away and raised.

"So, what do you know about the Order of St. Dumas?"

"The Order of St. Dumas?"

Claw was somewhat bewildered. In his memory, wasn't his father the leader of the cult?

He asked, bewildered, "Lord Dio, aren't you the leader?"

Yes.

According to his character design, he should be Duma, the leader of the Holy See of St. Duma.

Is this a case of shooting oneself in the foot?

Dio was taken aback by the remark and shook his head, but then he thought again—hey, there seems to be room for maneuver.

Since we can't get any information from Claw here, why not take him directly to Gellervin?

One wouldn't dare to confront a target supported by a clandestine organization on their own, but it's a different story when you have claws.

Don't let his seemingly foolish appearance and constant calling him "father" fool you; with his immortality, he's a formidable opponent.

Dio's eyes lit up; an idea had formed. He placed his hand on Claw's shoulder:

"Azrael, my son, I will no longer hide it from you."

Claws subconsciously swallowed, puffed out his chest, and pretended to listen attentively.

"I am the reincarnation of Saint Dumas. The church is completely different from what it used to be, and the current believers are long gone... Alas!"

Dio, with a sorrowful expression, recounted his past, shaking his head at the sad parts.

Now, you're the only one left by my side.

Claw froze, then roared angrily:

"What! What!! Those scoundrels! Traitors! Villains! Scoundrels! Rebels!"

Claw completely embodies the character of Azrael, the angel of vengeance, his hair standing on end in fury.

"Lord Dio, once I find the sword, I will send those traitors to hell!"

"Okay, I'm satisfied with what you said."

Dio breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed the mental imprint he had placed on Claws had worked quite well.

"Alright, you should rest now. I'll help you find your sword these next few days."

"yes!"

Half-coaxing and half-tricking Claw into lying back in the "Saint Duma Ice Healing Chamber," Dio quietly wiped the fine sweat from his forehead.

Trust is something that is very difficult to establish, especially for everyone living in Gotham; trust is a luxury.

During the conversation, Dio not only had to think about his words, but also had to observe whether Claws showed any signs of lying.

If there are signs of lying, he wouldn't mind having Silver Chariot "re-brainwash" him.

Fortunately, Claw showed no signs of lying; the original mental imprint had indeed covered the imprint left by the other party.

This is a good thing.

With Claws around, it's easy to impersonate the Court of Owls or to carry out assassinations.

"call."

Dior smiled, dispelling the chill from his body, and walked out.

"How was it? Any takeaways?"

Bruce leaned against the wall, waiting quietly at the exit of the cold storage, clearly having already guessed that the other party would come here.

"And Saint Dumas? You're inquiring about a medieval religious order?"

"Yes, it's a pity we can't find any clues."

Dio walked past Bruce, but perhaps because of the cold air irritating his nose, he smelled a bloody odor.

He paused, turned to look at Bruce who seemed completely unaffected, and looked at him with suspicion.

"You're injured? That chicken-claw girl?"

"Um, nothing's wrong."

Bruce rolled up his sleeves and, as if nothing had happened, showed off the three hideous wounds.

"I just scared her at first."

Dio glanced at Bruce and immediately raised an eyebrow, his gaze towards Bruce filled with complex emotions.

The wound was so deep that it would have reached the bone, yet he didn't feel any pain at all.

You see, Bruce is different from him; he has Ripple pain relief, but Bruce doesn't.

Bruce rolled down his sleeves, glanced at the empty corridor, and said in a deep voice:

"What happened? You've seemed a bit restless these past few days."

"How could that be? I never feel uneasy."

Dio looked disdainful, as if mocking Bruce for being so naive.

"Don't overthink it, Bruce."

Who is he?

Dior!

Why am I so restless?

"Yeah?"

Bruce's calm voice came from behind, filled with certainty.

"Who broke that black punching bag you always use?"

"Also, the way you looked at Karen's claws just now was really off; it was disgust, right?"

"A man's mouth may lie, but his actions will not, Dior."

At the top of the stairs, Dio slowly turned his head, his green eyes completely hidden in the shadows:

"Ho? You're very observant, Bruce."

"I've been watching you."

Bruce looked up.

The two stared at each other for a second, neither willing to back down.

After noticing the change in the other person during this time, Dior was the first to look away, a slight smile playing on his lips:

"You've got some skills now."