Chapter 1676

"It's getting more and more chaotic. Why don't I understand it a bit?" Constantine rubbed his temples, staring at the picture on the screen, and said, "Sorcerer Supreme Ancient One doesn't know where she got a book that looks very wrong, and deliberately left it in her study for Helen to get."

"Not long after Helen got it, students started going crazy and hitting people, and almost hurt Harley. Well, it was a bit far off, but you guys understand what I mean."

"Immediately after, a line of strange text appeared on the wall of the third-floor corridor of the school, mentioning the Chamber of Secrets, the heir, and the heir's enemy..."

"What is the relationship between these clues? I wonder if there happens to be the world's greatest detective in this room who can solve our doubts?"

Without Constantine's witty remarks, everyone looked at Bruce. Most people only saw very messy clues in this frequently switching lens, but could not connect them.

"The heir and the heir's enemy." Bruce spoke first, in a very normal tone as if he hadn't spent any effort reasoning, "This means that this series of events may be divided into two sides, or the person who wrote this sentence thinks it is divided into two sides. One side is the heir, and one side is the heir's enemy. Why divide it like this?"

"What are they inheriting?" Zatanna asked. She looked at Strange sitting on the sofa and said, "It wouldn't be the position of Sorcerer Supreme, right?"

"Sounds logical." Pamela nodded and said, "The heir appearing in a magic academy, what they want to inherit is of course the position of the Supreme of the magic world."

"But I'm sorry, Miss, I have no intention of abdicating for the time being. I believe all students are also clear about this point."

"Then it's probably the Asgardian throne."

"I'm afraid Thor is also in his prime."

"Stop talking in riddles, great detective." Constantine stared at Bruce and said, "Say something we don't know, and do your specialty 'shocking the whole audience' again."

"Jennifer Marvey." Bruce spat out a name.

Schiller, who was originally leaning in the corner of the sofa with his eyes half-closed and looking a bit drunk, raised his eyelids slightly and glanced at Bruce. No matter how many times, when Batman's astonishing detective talent revealed the tip of the iceberg, it would still be astonishing.

"What's wrong with her?" Constantine asked.

"Have you seen her in any of the pictures of the student body?"

Bruce's words made Constantine and Zatanna feel a chill down their backs. Rich imagination made the magician lady shiver, and then she said, "You don't mean to say she's a ghost or something, right?"

"She is obviously not a normal student either." Bruce said, "After you realize she is not normal, look back at the pictures where you saw her in your memory. Do you feel like something has been added?"

"Added something..." Constantine suddenly froze in place. The terror that hadn't appeared on his face for many years made his facial features look a bit distorted. He said, "She has tentacles behind her!"

Then he looked at the others as if seeking a straw to save his life and said, "What kind of Jennifer Marvey did you see? Is she a normal little girl?"

Pamela frowned deeply, and then objectively described her feelings: "Before Bruce said this little girl was not normal, I had no doubts about her appearance and words and actions. But when I started to doubt her, I realized that from the first moment I saw her, I saw tentacles behind her, but I didn't feel there was anything wrong with it at all."

"If I had realized it, I would definitely have asked!" Zatanna raised her tone, seemingly wanting to cover up her terror. She said, "How could I leave such obvious monster characteristics without asking? How could I think this is normal? Clearly I saw it from the beginning."

"This is the problem. I realized she was wrong earlier than you, and then the same thing happened." Bruce gently groped his mandible with his fingers and said, "Our cognition of her has a problem, and these children are obviously the same."

"Based on my understanding of myself in another universe, if he really realized that the tentacles behind Jennifer were not normal, then he would definitely ask and take measures, but he didn't. This means he was also blinded."

"Common sense modification?"

"Perhaps it only works on her alone."

"Who could have done it? Ancient One?"

Bruce was silent and did not answer. In Schiller's slightly narrowed eyes, the center of those gray pupils was occupied by clouds made of mist. Some things, if magnified, were full of vivid vitality and strange enough, like a storm hovering over the Himalayas all year round.

The snow was getting heavier. Harley moved her gaze away from the gray vortex on the first page of the "Necronomicon". When the storm dissipated before her eyes, what was revealed was the long-dried deep red ink, which was exactly the sentence that appeared on the wall of the teaching building.

Harley picked up her pen and wrote, "You are right, that kind of madness has begun to spread in the school. The internal school competition blew a just-right wind for the fire of madness, and you still haven't answered me what the source of madness is."

"Equivalent exchange." The mist formed a line of text.

"What do you want?" Harley paused for a moment and added below, "I wrote the words as you said. They all think I am just a victim in a pitiful attack case and should honestly sleep in the infirmary, so no one found anything wrong."

"Helen has doubts about me. She might think I read this book, but I shifted the focus to herself. My movements were fast enough, so she should not have reacted yet."

"Amazing criminal talent." A line of text appeared in the mist again.

"Tell me what you want, and then give me the answer." Harley's handwriting became deeper. This girl seemed to feel anger. She said, "I think you can understand me, you must be able to, Mr. Monster... you'd better be able to."

"I can." The gray mist replied. The flowery script appeared extra slowly, as if it had been carefully considered. Another line of text appeared, "You must never accept a kind of inferior madness spreading in the environment you live in, just like letting your whole person soak in sewage."

"I am feeling just that, it's terrible." Harley took a deep breath and began to write furiously in large sections.

"They cannot understand where human madness comes from, but they mess up their brains and call it madness. This is a vicious, uncreative imitation, and the smell it gives off is disgusting. They must be taught a profound lesson.

Every Gothamite understands that madness has long since eroded our hearts, but that is not the manipulation of gods. Madness is a weapon we choose ourselves, in order to create a miracle of struggling to survive and living in the darkest place in the world. The genius inspiration and philosophical thoughts about human nature and tragedy that those madnesses bring to us are the most beautiful art that can interpret madness.

Instead of pouring energy into other people's brains, making them unable to think, and turning them into walking dead who have no wisdom and only attack others. His understanding of madness is all wrong, wrong enough to suffocate me. I will definitely correct this mistake at all costs. You have to help me."

"I will help you."

Everyone who saw this conversation across the screen was silent. It was Pamela, who had been silent before, who spoke first.

"I have no intention of defending Gothamites, but I fully understand the reason why Miss Quinzel calls it imitation—or more radically—plagiarism."

"How on earth can you understand?!" Constantine was almost crazy. He shouted, "Are you guys mistaken? It's fine if you guys are crazy, but you actually think it's a sin that others are not crazy enough?!"

"Not others, but some mysterious existence." Pamela immediately pointed out. She did not give in at all, her tone was firm, and she said, "Only humans can decide how humans go crazy. Gothamites are the benchmark of this world, and it's not that any monster that rushes out from somewhere can point fingers at us and say that their things are the deepest madness."

"What is there to argue about?" Zatanna also couldn't stand it. She took a deep breath and covered her forehead on the sofa and said.

"Of course, not being crazy is the best."

Pamela's words became sharp, and she began to use a language style exactly the same as Harley's when she was angry, and people usually call this the gibberish of Cat Getan lunatics.

"But if madness is a foregone conclusion, then it is inevitable to distinguish between high and low, deep and shallow. If some mysterious existence that makes people crazy hides in its own dark cave and whispers, no one will care about it. But it insists on coming here to compete, then it is understandable that we represent the deepest madness of humanity to fight, right?"

"I don't know how your brains work..." Strange shook his head and said, "What does this have to do with who is crazier? Isn't this just a very simple case of a Demon God controlling humans to attack others?"

"It is by no means that simple." Bruce also stood on the chessboard and began to deal with the chess piece in front of him. He shook his head and said, "If it promises benefits to the attacker, promising him powerful power as long as he kills a certain number of people, then we will never care."

"But it made her crazy."

Two pitch-black chess pieces swapped positions. Pamela looked at Strange and said, "Crazy without any characteristics, and more importantly, there is no reason related to human nature at all. It's as if any race picked out from the universe could go crazy like this, then how can humans show the art they have learned from madness? That is a part of our civilization!"

"Who will save me?!" Constantine exaggeratedly stretched out his two hands to pray to heaven and said, "Schiller! Schiller! Say something! Your two students have started talking nonsense again!"

Schiller seemed to have just been awakened and slowly opened his eyes.

And when those gray pupils scanned the people present in the room with a desolate look, the quarrel stopped strangely.

"I heard someone mention art."

The morbid voice was always slower and heavier, like the incense ash that sank to the bottom of an incense burner.

Constantine swallowed, desperately leaning his body backward, wanting to stay away from that, but Bruce leaned over and sat beside him, and then began to retell the pictures that appeared on the screen just now and their dispute.

After the morbid one finished listening, he nodded slowly and said in a tone full of rich emotions.

"If I were to judge, its crime is 'typical'."