Chapter 295: The Game Begins

In complete darkness, Bruce felt himself perpetually falling, a strong sensation of weightlessness and dizziness enveloping him, making him feel terribly ill.

His limbs and body were completely unresponsive until, after this prolonged darkness and descent left him dizzy and disoriented, he finally landed on the ground.

Instantly, Bruce woke up.

Since the last incident, Bruce had installed an alarm in his consciousness: the moment he fell asleep—or anyone tried to interfere with his dreams—he would immediately awaken. Now, Bruce realized at once that he had entered a dream.

"The Lone Path to Immortality"

He looked down and saw a floor woven with black and gold, then looked up—above him stretched endless floors.

The muffled sound of his heels striking the floor echoed around him; Bruce turned and saw Schiller's figure.

The professor dressed as usual—in a long overcoat and tie—but his head was a spinning globe.

"Professor…" Bruce narrowed his eyes, recalling the words Schiller had spoken when they parted that afternoon.

"'Have a good dream'—did you mean I should come find you in my dream?"

"I'm sorry, Bruce. I entered your dream without your consent and pulled you here."

"But I still must say… welcome to my Diantang of thought."

Schiller opened his arms, displaying the scene; Bruce looked at him and said: "This is the tower that descended into my consciousness last time?"

"Correct. Others have all visited. Only you haven't. But clearly, your visit will differ from theirs…"

"What?" Bruce asked.

"Everyone else bought round-trip tickets. You have only a one-way ticket here. To return, you must climb to the very top—or be trapped here forever…"

"Is that so?"

Bruce looked up and snapped his fingers. Instantly, he sat upright on his bed.

After the previous chain of dreams, Bruce had installed a series of intricate mechanisms in his mind to ensure instant awakening if forcibly dragged into a dream.

At that moment, he heard a knock on his bedroom door; Schiller's voice came from outside: "Don't bother using that mechanism in your mind—it's a complete waste of energy. I didn't merely hypnotize you; I borrowed passage from the Sandman and pulled you directly into the dream. You cannot wake up…"

Bruce closed his eyes. Instantly, the scene collapsed, and he sat upright again.

Schiller had already opened the bedroom door and stood at the threshold watching him. Bruce lay back down, then sat up again—Schiller was still there.

Bruce repeated the process of rising, like doing sit-ups, but no matter how many times, Schiller stood at the door watching him.

After countless repetitions, Schiller tapped the doorframe, making a sound to draw Bruce's attention. He said: "If you still don't understand this way, I'll explain differently—it's part of my psychology class assignment…"

But Bruce ignored him completely, still trying to wake up, though repeated mental stimuli had left him pale and drenched in cold sweat.

Batman's nature meant he could never trust anyone, nor allow anyone to casually probe or manipulate his dreams.

Schiller said to him: "Stop."

Bruce paused for an instant, turning to look at Schiller, and saw the professor's expression grow cold.

Schiller looked into his eyes and said: "Bruce, you've taken my class for so long—why still don't you understand…"

Bruce stared into his eyes, saying nothing. Then he heard Schiller's tone drop:

"... n my class, no one gets away without turning in their assignment."

As his words faded, his figure vanished. Instantly, another terrifying figure appeared before Bruce's bedroom door—he wore a red-and-green striped sweater, one hand a sharp iron claw, his skin like charred, peeling red muscle, his mouth emitting a horrifying shriek.

Bruce didn't even see his movement before the sharp blades on his fingers pierced his chest. Amid pain as real as reality, he woke again.

This time, standing outside his bedroom door was a black-clad man wearing a white mask and wielding a dagger—more importantly, he had his own entrance music: a heartbeat-like "thump-thump-thump." As it played, Bruce rolled off the bed, dodging the glinting dagger, then elbow-jabbed the tall killer's knee—but still couldn't avoid the glinting blade.

When Bruce sat up again, he instantly rolled off the bed—this time, outside the door stood a man wearing a hockey mask and wielding a large machete.

This time, Bruce successfully injured him, driving a sharp candlestick into the man's chest. But the man only stepped back two paces, then swung the machete again toward Bruce.

When he woke again, the figure before him was a monstrous killer with human skin sewn onto his face, wielding a chainsaw…

This time, Bruce chose not to fight directly. After throwing a handful of glass shards at him, he leapt out the window into Gotham's rainy night.

When he landed, he looked up—a lightning bolt split the sky. In the brief illumination, he saw the massive tower standing in the city center, like a silent black giant.

At that moment, he heard Schiller's voice beside his ear:

"Bruce, I only meant for you to climb stairs in my Diantang of thought. For a rookie vigilante, it's the best way to train willpower and mental discipline."

"You could climb one floor per night. It's a light homework assignment—you have at least two years to complete this long-term task…"

"But now, Bruce, you're trying to avoid doing your homework. So I must resort to a less humane method…"

"I'll make every bad child who skips homework understand the consequences… The game has begun, Bruce."

In the end, Schiller's tone was colder than Gotham's rainy night. Simultaneously, Bruce saw another lightning flash across the pitch-black alley outside Wayne Manor—

The man in the white mask and dagger strode toward him; the monster in the striped sweater with the iron claw grinned from atop the wall; the chainsaw's roar grew louder; as the machete swung, Bruce barely saw its motion before darkness swallowed him again.

This time, Bruce did not return to his bed—he returned to the entrance of Wayne Manor, where the four terrifying killers still waited.

Bruce was unarmed, with nothing around he could use. He had to fight his way through them with bare hands.

And Bruce saw—beyond the alley, deeper into Gotham's darkness—countless terrifying eyes stared fixedly at him.

Gotham's rain fell harder. Up the fine threads of rain, through thick clouds, above him was a ceiling plastered with stars.

Beyond the ceiling were theater seats; Yin Wensi, slumped in his chair, shivered. He turned, crossed himself over his chest, and said to Schiller: "Professor, I swear I've never missed an assignment! I've written every single one properly! I swear…"

Cobble swallowed hard, considering whether to remove Gotham University from his list of candidate schools. Victor touched his temple and turned to Schiller: "At least this is a dream, right?"

"The killers you invented are quite interesting—each has distinct traits, even their own behavioral logic…"

"... ait, they're fictional, right?"

——————Extra Notes——————

Kepu:

Monster in red-and-green striped sweater with iron claw: Freddy — A Nightmare on Elm Street

Tall man in white mask wielding dagger with BGM: Michael — Halloween

Man in hockey mask wielding machete: Jason — Friday the 13th

Killer with human skin sewn onto face wielding chainsaw: Leatherface — The Texas Chain Saw Massacre

These four are collectively known as the Four Great Movie Killers.

I call this plotline—Batman's Terrible Misfortune!! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!