Chapter 2049: A Knight

Jason stared with extreme vigilance at Schiller, who had suddenly appeared by the door. He noticed that this man walked without a sound.

Clearly, this was a trained, methodical stealth technique, which meant he must have invested effort into this, making his purpose quite thought-provoking.

But Jason did not act panicked. His eyes fixed on Schiller, his body hunched slightly, and he took a step forward, crossing the gap by the sofa. His movements and posture were like a meerkat that had suddenly spotted a predator while standing guard at its burrow—slightly tense, but even more cautious.

He used his index finger to lift the edge of the drawing paper. Schiller spoke up: "Flipping through other people's belongings without permission isn't very polite."

"Can't I appreciate your artwork?"

"I hope that next time, you'll say that before you touch it." Schiller walked over. Judging by his gait and movements, there was no obvious aggression.

Jason withdrew his hand. This was a fairly successful probe, confirming that the man before him did not intend to take any radical, violent measures for the time being.

Right, he was different from the Joker. It wasn't the first time Jason had realized this, but now, beyond his most intuitive first impression, he began to think about the logical reasons for this distinction.

Of course, the most obvious difference was in appearance. Before being kidnapped by the Joker, Jason had seen this so-called Master of Comedy at Arkham Asylum, but the moment he first saw him, he knew he was just a grandstanding lunatic.

Every part of the Joker screamed how different he was from ordinary people—whether it was the messy green hair, the pale skin, or the blood-red mouth stretched wide, as if he were dying to shout into a megaphone right in your ear: "I am so different, come look at me!"

Yet this doctor named Schiller was a bit too ordinary. Jason knew very well that the reason he didn't fit in at the Batcave wasn't because of him—or rather, by the standards of ordinary people, he was the only normal person among a group of freaks in strange costumes.

Without needing any deeper interaction, Jason could tell that Schiller was a member of the upper class with a certain social status. Thus, this expensive and eccentric, yet gorgeous suit didn't seem out of place; it actually suited his image quite well.

The Joker's speech and behavior were always manic; the purpose of some things he said was simply to ensure you couldn't understand them. Schiller was the exact opposite. So far, Jason hadn't heard a single obscure word from his mouth.

Schiller spoke in a slow tone, enunciating very clearly, with vocabulary and grammar that were quite standard. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to use his speech as a recitation model for a children's classroom; it seemed his goal was to ensure everyone, including children, could understand him.

And what left the deepest impression on Jason was that this thing, which seemed like a disguise, felt more real than the man himself. He believed that if he were to peel back a layer of skin, underneath would be muscle fibers more standard than those of any ordinary person.

So he wouldn't attempt it, because that wasn't the key to the door leading to survival.

Jason sat on the opposite sofa. The painting was right before his eyes. He glanced at it as he sat down, then looked at Schiller and said, "I think we should talk."

Schiller unbuttoned his suit jacket, placed his hands on his lap, and said, "I'm glad you have such a positive attitude, but I'm afraid we only have half an hour."

"What exactly are you busy with?" Jason asked, surprised.

"Some things that have nothing to do with you." Schiller also looked at Jason, his tone calm as he said, "At least, it's not your turn yet."

Jason let out a long sigh, trying to smooth away the anxiety of being rushed. He said, "You bringing me here wasn't an accident, and me coming with you wasn't either. I didn't come here because I fear you or Batman."

"When I realized I couldn't communicate directly with Batman, I chose to sit here. Perhaps he will hear, or perhaps you can relay it to him: no matter what he intends to do, I will not change my view."

Schiller took a notebook from the side and pulled a fountain pen from his suit pocket. From the faintly visible strokes, Jason could tell Schiller was recording what he said.

"Just in case, Jason, I think you should repeat your point of view to me first. You haven't done that yet."

Schiller pressed the arm of the hand he was writing with onto the notebook, straightened his body, looked at Jason, and said, "I don't want to view your stance simply and one-sidedly as you wanting to 'kill all criminals.' Can you explain that in detail?"

"You really are professional," Jason said, not without sarcasm. "It's a pity others can't use their professionalism to achieve your status, because in reality, they can't, but they always feel they can."

"I never wanted to kill all the criminals in this world." Jason's originally low, hoarse voice became somewhat shrill. He said, "You take a person's point of view and make it more extreme to provoke disgust from everyone else, so you can better refute it. That's what Batman does."

"I assume he has never listened to your detailed thoughts."

"I spoke, but he didn't respond, so I stopped speaking."

"Is his response very important to you?"

"His non-response made me realize that what I said and what I did had no meaning to him. I can't change him."

"Alright, Jason, I've written it all down."

Jason took a deep breath and let it out, turning his head to the side as he said, "People gather together to form a society for the sake of convenient development and emotional needs."

"But everyone's thoughts are different. Some people want to gain more from this collective, which inevitably harms others. Thus, laws were created. This was the final step before the word 'society' even appeared."

"But we were never talking about the law. Of course, within society, people will kill. They kill other individuals in society for various reasons—impulse, hatred, or even excessive love."

"At this point, the law will punish them. Note, I'm referring to those whom the law can punish. They will go to jail, or even be killed in return."

"Those criminals whose crimes weren't serious enough to warrant the death penalty, after experiencing a long prison life, might not have truly repented, but they will certainly realize that their crimes will make them pay a price. Therefore, they will feel fear."

"So society tolerates everyone who feels fear. They commit crimes, they pay the price, and they realize that doing whatever they want harms others and themselves. Even if they reoffend, they will certainly rack their brains to find ways to escape punishment, never daring to announce the fact of their crimes, because they don't want to lose their freedom again."

"Everything I've said falls within the range that society can tolerate, and no one has the right to point fingers at the social collective that formulated these guidelines."

"They choose to tolerate it, so they bear the cost. Everyone's chance of being killed by a first-time murderer or a repeat murderer is equal. That's fair."

"But there is a group of people in this world who either have abilities beyond the ordinary to escape sanctions, and they know they can escape sanctions, or any price they could pay while alive wouldn't make them feel fear—whether it's jail, punishment, or anything else. They might not have this thing called fear at all."

"They are not within society, but are isolated from all social rules. Yet they are wrongly placed in the sheepfold. So even if they don't eat the sheep, they still kill them."

"Of course, there is no lack of sheep in the flock that enjoy killing their own kind, but to avoid sanctions from their peers, they usually act quietly. Even if they want to show off, they never dare to announce their real names."

"But this group of wolves that broke into the sheepfold—to them, killing sheep is correct, and not only will they not be condemned, they are worthy of praise. The more they kill, the better; the more panicked the flock, the better."

"Because they know their wanton behavior won't pay any price, they dare to stand in the sheepfold and howl madly, even daring to let every sheep hear their names and claims, daring to shout in the ears of every sheep, and even those responsible for law enforcement, that they are the ones who are correct."

"This is the biggest difference between the vicious sheep in the sheepfold and the wolves that broke in from outside—and I am going to kill the wolves."

Jason spread his hands and said, "The vicious sheep are ordinary criminals, while the wolves are super-criminals, or rather, those lunatics in Gotham."

"You have no way to make them realize by any method that the sheep have a way to make them fear, to make them pay a price. Then there is only one way to end their behavior of harming the flock—send them to hell."

"The process of killing them isn't for venting anger; it doesn't contain any meaning of execution. It is merely a termination. Once they are dead, they no longer have the chance to harm the flock."

"'Isolated from social rules'..." Schiller repeated Jason's phrasing, seemingly finding it very interesting. He looked at Jason and asked, "If this is your definition, then how do you view superheroes?"

"I know what you want to say," Jason said, crossing his arms. "Yes, superheroes are also isolated from social rules. In essence, they are also outsiders who broke into the sheepfold."

"But human beings are not that simple. Complex emotions give us countless possibilities for individual development, and outsiders aren't necessarily wolves."

"Some might be deer that feel sympathy for their peers and spontaneously guard the flock; some might be dogs that, although vicious, confront wolves out of the need to protect their own survival resources; and some are shepherds who are more cunning and powerful than wolves."

"For the shepherd, he never saw himself as a sheep, but the pasture and the flock are his territory and property, so he must take up a hunting rifle to repel the jackals."

"Is this your view of Batman?"

"He is more extreme than a shepherd; he is a president." Jason looked at Schiller intently and said, "Bruce Wayne's way of possessing this world is different from all of us. Not just the flock, but the entire pasture, the entire town, and even the entire state and the entire country are all his property."

"'Sheep, deer, dogs, wolves'..." Jason muttered, "He views all these things as his property and doesn't allow any of them to be harmed."

"So he naively begins to look for ways for sheep and wolves to coexist peacefully, rather than eliminating either side."

"And you think this is unfair to the flock."

"Because I was once one of them." Jason looked away and lowered his eyelids, saying, "Bruce's way of possessing this world is particularly different from mine. When I was still a little lamb, even a strong sheep with a hint of malice could cause me irreparable harm."

"When he looks down from the sky, he sees sheep and wolves as roughly the same size; they all move in herds, following one another. So he thinks this is a natural spectacle, a subtle balance."

"But when I followed the flock, fleeing for my life under the pursuit of wolves, only I could understand the panic of my companions. I was sharper than them—perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was misfortune."

"My growing experience made me realize that if I always curled up in the flock, I would never be able to reverse the situation, so I chose to walk out."

"And you walked a bit too far." Schiller stood up.

Jason also saw that half an hour had passed on the clock hanging behind him. Clearly, his narrative wasn't as smooth as he had imagined, which had delayed things for a long time. The conversation should end.

But in the end, Jason still said.

"This might be my only mistake. I shouldn't have walked up to the president just after I stood up and started walking upright. Such an angry sheep is so strange; no wonder he would be afraid, right?"

Schiller saw the desolation in Jason's eyes. He crossed the coffee table and leaned toward Jason. Before Jason could react, he gently stroked his back with his hand.