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

Chapter 89 The Great Witch Hunt

"Dio, you don't need to carry my book!"

Rachel gritted her teeth and clung tightly to the spellbook.

"I'm a gentleman, of course I should help the lady carry it!"

"You're a complete bastard!"

Rachel's forehead veins bulged, and she was genuinely regretting her actions.

She shouldn't have picked up this blond devil; he even tried to steal her magic book!

"Thank you for the compliment. Let go, Rachel, or 'our' magic book will be torn."

Dior subtly increased the pressure, even having the Gold Experience pull along with it.

In fact, he suspected from the conversation that these old books were magic books.

It's highly suspicious that such an overused book as "Untimely Reflections" is being deliberately preserved.

I just tested it, and it really is a magic book.

"It's my book! Not our book!"

Rachel was so angry that she bit Dior's hand.

"Oops!"

Dior released his grip, looked at the teeth marks on the back of his hand, sighed, and asked:

"Okay, actually I just wanted to ask, do I have a talent for learning magic?"

"No!"

Rachel snorted and silently packed up her books, acting as if she didn't care.

If an ordinary person encountered this situation, they would have already run away.

But Dior isn't a normal person, and neither are there any normal people in Gotham.

Moreover, in the short time they spent together, Dior had already figured out Rachel's temperament, so he was completely uninhibited and didn't even bother to pretend to be a handsome young man anymore.

"Let me help you."

Dior smiled faintly and took the initiative to help pack his luggage.

At least you still have some conscience.

Rachel gave him an unpleasant look, but her furrowed brows unconsciously relaxed.

The two quickly packed their luggage and prepared to leave this troublesome place.

At that moment, a swaying figure slowly stood up at the doorway; it was the middle-aged man.

You dare to stand up? Did I go too easy on you?

Dio narrowed his eyes slightly, took a step forward, threw down what he was holding, and prepared to teach the other party a lesson.

To everyone's surprise, the other person didn't say anything about "accepting fate," but instead said:

"Uh... I haven't finished paying off my car loan yet, could you please not drive my car?"

What?

These people are definitely out of their minds.

They're not afraid of death, but they're afraid of loans.

Dior's eyes widened in surprise, then he let out a sneer.

"Do you know what the consequences will be if you wake up now?"

"Of course I know, but I still want to try. Please, don't take my car away."

The middle-aged man pleaded, raising his hands and even kicking the dagger over to show his sincerity.

But seeing Dio gradually approaching, and knowing that this explanation would be useless, he sighed:

"Uh, sir, could you please not slap me in the face? I just had an appointment with the dentist to get new teeth done, and they were very expensive."

"Of course, no problem."

Dio readily agreed, stepped forward, and punched him in the face.

boom! ! !

A brand new porcelain crown flew out, mixed with blood.

"Waaaaah!!!"

The man covered his mouth and fell to the ground in despair, but his expression was one of relief.

"To be able to laugh after being hit, he's definitely not a normal person."

Dio didn't even glance at him, and calmly stepped over him.

These Gotham people who worship evil, God knows what they've done.

He would have killed these people long ago if it weren't for the need to hide his tracks and avoid being found by the Angel of Death.

The two quickly went downstairs.

"Get in the car." Dior opened the car door.

Rachel nodded, clutching her book, and quickly got into the passenger seat.

Dior started the car, drove out of the alley, and merged into Gotham's morning rush hour traffic.

The city was wet after the rain, and you could see many office workers carrying coffee on the street.

Dior held the steering wheel with one hand and rested the other on the window, driving slowly and without any hurry.

In the car, the two began to chat idly.

"By the way, what's with those magic books of yours?"

Dior glanced at the pile of old books in the back seat in the rearview mirror, then withdrew the Golden Experience.

"Why can't I see the difference?"

"What? You can't see the difference? Wait a minute! You!"

Rachel paused for a moment, then suddenly turned her head away as if she had just realized something.

Sure enough, the books placed in the back seat had been quietly opened at some point.

She stared at Dior, her lips moved, but in the end she only sighed.

"Don't even think about it. You haven't deciphered the text, so you can't find the way in."

"Deciphering the text?"

The magic spell was hidden?

Could it be related to witch hunts?

This is a momentous event that will change the landscape of magic in the world!

Dior raised an eyebrow in surprise, continuing to subtly extract information from the other party:

"So it's because of the witch hunts of the past? That forced magicians to compile their spells into ordinary books for posterity?"

"It was also encrypted?"

That's right.

Rachel glanced at him in surprise.

Along the way, she had already discovered that the blond boy beside her knew a lot.

He can talk about anything, from serious topics to obscure ones, and even old stories.

Moreover, the way he speaks always makes me feel particularly comfortable.

That perfect sense of proportion made her like him even more, and her desire to confide in him grew stronger.

Rachel felt that Dior always seemed to be able to precisely step on the edge of when the other person was willing to confide in him.

There's only one explanation: he figured out what you disliked.

Rachel looked away meaningfully.

She wasn't unfamiliar with people who possessed this kind of talent.

However, she doesn't mind it.

"The witch hunts caused far more turmoil in the wizarding world than any recorded in history."

Rachel looked out the window at the flowing city, lowering her voice.

"Many mythical creatures went extinct, and the vast majority of magic users were forced to establish secret communities. Even now, witch hunts are still conducted on a small scale."

"As far as I know, a while ago a witch was treated as mentally ill and locked up in Arkham."

It really is a witch hunt.

I recall there might be another large-scale witch hunt in the future, causing turmoil in the magical world.

But it doesn't seem to have anything to do with me.

Dior tapped his fingers lightly twice on the steering wheel.

He seemed to have heard of this witch.

Harvey once mentioned in casual conversation that there was a crazy woman in Arkham who could torture dolls and curse.

She used milk and desserts from patients as bait to help them curse the people they hated most.

The person who was electrocuted had also made a deal with the other party.

"So it was her."

Dior nodded, said nothing more, and leisurely drove on.

The gains this time were far greater than expected—the secrets of the spellbook, the history of the witch hunt, and the identity of the witch in Arkham.

Rachel is right, he has no magical talent.

These things are ultimately just a brief interlude in life.

Moreover, his situation can be described as "keeping the tiger out the front door and letting the wolf in the back."

With the Court of Owls and the Church of St. Dumas looming overhead, he had neither the time nor the right to meddle in the affairs of the magical world.

Dio temporarily suppressed the matter of magic in his heart.

I can't learn it, but this information about the magical world is priceless.

For now, we should deal with the sacrificial ceremony.

Rachel has now provided herself with a viable approach.

He needed to quickly follow up and investigate, starting from the sacrificial ritual.

After all, he didn't want to be sacrificed by the Church of St. Dumas.

Soon, the two arrived at a safe house belonging to Wayne's family.

Dior took the opportunity to call Alfred to let him know he was safe.

"Yes, I'm fine, Alfred."

"What? Bruce is missing?"

Dior's voice suddenly turned cold, his mind racing:

Was it the Court of Owls? St. Duma? Or did Bruce discover some clue himself?