Chapter 2281: Gotham Music Festival (Part 29)

Just as Bruce and Schiller were confronting each other, the door to a second-floor room suddenly opened. A group of eccentrics wearing various marine life masks walked in, led by an old man without a mask, who had a golden trident pattern painted on his forehead.

"Welcome, everyone, to the invitation for the *Great West Continent*. Before we begin, we will provide you with ample time to change your clothes and don your masks. Please rest assured, the ship will not travel very far; once everyone is ready, we will depart and board the vessel."

His words left most people feeling bewildered. Only now did they realize—wasn't it a bit late to be changing clothes and putting on masks?

If you wanted to maintain anonymity, you should have just had people change and mask up before entering. Now that everyone was already identified, and some had even disclosed their identities and backgrounds while chatting with others, wasn't wearing a mask now just like taking off your pants to fart?

Anyone daring enough to accept a challenge had a few tricks up their sleeve. Even with masks obscuring their faces, one could judge another's identity by their voice and physique, especially since many in the room had very distinct features.

Christopher's expression darkened. He knew these rules were disadvantageous to him. Just moments ago, he had been too busy talking to Schiller to note the characteristics of others, yet he himself was incredibly distinctive.

On the way to the changing rooms, everyone realized the organizer's goal: all the public figures among the challenged were already "face-up," while the ordinary people, once they changed clothes and donned masks, would be virtually indistinguishable.

Schiller was also assigned a changing room. As he paused at the doorway, he saw a familiar figure among the other challenged individuals hurrying through the corridor.

Schiller recognized the person but said nothing, turning to walk into the changing room. It was a very common shopping mall fitting room—cramped, with a small stool, a ballet barre, and a mirror. The clothes were placed in a locker on the right.

Schiller opened the locker door and found a set of deep red Baroque formal wear. The classic Baroque-collared white shirt was made of light, thin white silk, worn under a tightly cinched red vest with long sashes on both sides.

Schiller heard exclamations from other changing rooms in the corridor. He guessed that all the challenged individuals likely had a common clothing theme; this time, it seemed to be European classical formal wear.

Schiller finished changing and straightened his cloak, only then discovering two gold chains on the shelf beneath the locker. One was a necklace, and the other was a decorative chain connecting a brooch to an epaulet.

Aside from the color, this red outfit had quite a naval style. The upper part of the cloak sash was relatively tight, the vest's waistline was clean and sharp, and combined with the metal decorations, it effectively neutralized the overly complex nature of Baroque clothing, which often lacked a visual center.

After changing, Schiller sighed softly, looked into the mirror, and muttered to himself, "Do you think this is a coincidence?"

In Schiller's own field of vision, the version of him in the mirror had a pair of unfocused gray eyes, with a faint, elusive smile hanging at the corners of his mouth.

Just as in the movies, Schiller could actually converse with his other personalities through traditional methods like mirrors.

Although this ensured that the primary consciousness controlling the body didn't have to descend, keeping the body safer, in the real world, speaking sentence by sentence was clearly not as fast as mental communication in the spirit world. Thus, they usually only used this method when the body might be in danger.

In short, in his past life, this was always how it was done. The method of simply abandoning the body and having all personalities gather within the High Tower was only developed after the Gray Fog appeared.

"Of course not, but this will make it more convenient for us to enjoy this festival. This is what we deserve, isn't it?"

Schiller sighed and said, "The person who invited me probably never imagined that the location they meticulously chose wouldn't be a weakening factor for me, but rather..."

"... a nostalgic past."

Schiller lowered his head and pulled something from the pocket of his original clothes. It looked like a small liquor bottle, but it had a mouthpiece at the bottom—it was a compact inhaler.

He picked it up and took a puff, feeling more air flow into his expanded trachea. However, the pain and weakness he remembered so vividly had long since faded, so the cold air rushing in only made him feel a chill in his chest, along with the equally familiar drowsiness and sluggishness.

Putting the inhaler back into the formal wear's pocket, Schiller straightened his collar. As he pushed the door open to walk out, he took off his glasses. The dim light of the corridor cast deep shadows from his thick eyelashes. He then put on a mask that covered everything except those unfocused gray eyes.

Schiller donned a black mask with octopus tentacles on the lower half. Other invitees hurrying past in the corridor were also wearing various marine life masks.

They moved in a rush, constantly stroking their gorgeous formal wear, remarking that they had never seen such smooth material and exquisite design. At the same time, they discovered that the masks not only hid their faces but also made their voices muffled.

Ordinary people found that after masking their faces, changing their voices, and altering their physiques through the varying tightness of the formal wear, those public figures they were confident they could recognize instantly seemed to be hidden behind an impenetrable veil.

The vast majority of people lacked the confidence to hold firm to their judgments without concrete evidence. They would only feel that someone looked like so-and-so, but in a crisis, if forced to be certain, the obscured faces, muffled voices, and changed postures would leave them hesitating on the spot.

In this light, it was fair: public figures were more conspicuous, but ordinary people had no decisive evidence to confirm identities. Therefore, the ones with the greatest advantage were the clever non-public figures.

Staff members, also wearing marine life masks, walked in again, leading everyone in the waiting hall toward the small boats at the pier. As Schiller followed the crowd, hurrying through the corridor, he heard a series of rapid high-heeled footsteps.

A lady in a Baroque gown walked quickly side-by-side with Schiller, covering her face with the fan in her hand, and said, "I believe that in the upcoming game, we will need allies. I think highly of you. What do you think?"

Schiller looked straight ahead and said, "My health is not very good, and I have no certainty of victory. I'm afraid I will disappoint you, miss."

"A lame excuse." The other party sighed softly. Her voice had been made rougher by the mask, and almost no accent could be heard. She said, "I can tell you are a clever person. Today's game is not simple. You had better consider what I said carefully."

After speaking, she quickened her pace and walked ahead of Schiller. Schiller gripped the inhaler in his hand, and the moment he saw her back, his eyes focused.

Schiller lowered his eyelids slightly, letting all figures blur as if passing through his eyelashes. Time seemed to stop flowing in his ears; the sound of the wind flew past his temples, and everything around him blurred, with only that back gradually becoming clear.

Yet, just a second before the focus was complete, the figure in the dress turned a corner and walked down the stairs. Schiller, standing in front of the second-floor window, took a deep breath from the inhaler, standing silently by the window, saying nothing.

Another figure in a dark green thin leather formal outfit walked behind Schiller. His gaze fell on the inhaler bottle in Schiller's hand. The moment he observed the eyes through the holes in the mask, he took half a step back.

Familiar yet strange, so he took another step back.

Schiller turned his head, then turned around to look at him. Judging by his unfocused eyes, he didn't seem to see anything. The man in the dark green formal wear took another step back.

"After you." He made a gesture of invitation.

Schiller just lowered his head, looking slightly gloomy, put the inhaler to his lips, and walked down the stairs while inhaling.

Which one could it be? Someone heard their own inner voice asking this, but at the same time, a louder alarm reminded them: don't be curious, don't be curious this time, never be curious again.

Schiller stood among the crowd, appearing no different from those special individuals whose physiques were stronger or thinner than the average person. He didn't communicate with anyone, almost as if he had been submerged in the tide of people.

Then they boarded the ship. It was a small boat that could just accommodate fifty people, and it wasn't full. When Schiller walked into the cabin, he saw that woman, but unfortunately, she was sitting in the last row.

Schiller sat by the window in the third row from the front. He felt someone sitting behind him, staring at him, but Schiller just watched the sea quietly.

The ship started, and a murmur of confusion echoed through the cabin. Everyone could feel that this journey was different from the usual. Although they had never participated in such games, the rumors they had heard didn't involve so many troublesome steps.

Through the cabin windows, people could see that the leading supervisor old man was right: the cruise ship hadn't gone far and was quietly waiting for them in the sea area not far from the pier.

The staff walked in again, and after a round of polite welcome remarks, they began to introduce the rules and precautions of the game.

"You are all decent people, and many things do not need to be emphasized repeatedly, but I must reiterate: before leaving this boat and boarding the cruise ship, we will conduct a thorough inspection. No one is allowed to carry anything other than the clothing you are wearing onto the ship."

"If you have hidden anything in your clothes, throw them into the sea as soon as possible. We will not pursue this behavior, but if any items are found hidden privately on the ship, the sea will not have a heart as broad as it does at this moment."

The old man standing in front kept emphasizing this, and as the boat sailed away from the pier toward the deep sea, Schiller's complexion began to turn paler and paler, his breathing became longer and heavier, and his eyes became more unfocused.

The old man clearly noticed his abnormality, slowly stopped what he was saying, looked at Schiller, and said, "Sir, what is wrong with you? Is there any discomfort?"

"I have asthma, but I have medicine." After saying this, Schiller bit down hard on the inhaler's mouthpiece, took a deep breath, and then relaxed.

"Very well, I hope you are fine. Let us continue."

But the man sitting behind Schiller suddenly tightened his grip on the edge of his seat.

Bruce Wayne's brain began to loop the same image: countless bullets kicking up countless spots of light on Schiller's body, he falling from the window while laughing wildly, the excitement in his eyes almost impossible to conceal.

At this moment, he realized a serious problem—Schiller was seasick, but pathologically addicted to pain. ===== CHAPTER 2282 =====