Chapter 431: Metropolis Clouds (Twelve)

"So, you just hit him with an umbrella?"

Benjamin stared at Lionel's corpse and could clearly see a deep bruise on his lower jaw—undoubtedly caused by a blow, matching Schiller's description.

After obscuring the key parts of his conversation with Lionel, Schiller briefly recounted his interaction with him, concluding: "After I knocked him down, I planned to leave immediately, but before I went, I saw a shadow near the window…"

"A shadow?" Benjamin frowned, scanning the room, but to his surprise, it was Selina who spoke first.

"I finished my late snack and thought of going for a walk, but it was snowing outside and the halls were full of agents, so I just jumped straight out the balcony."

Benjamin stared at Selina's beautiful face—undoubtedly, her features were exquisite, radiating an irresistible allure—but no matter how he looked, Selina seemed more like a socialite meant for a dance floor than a female agent capable of scaling building exteriors.

Benjamin was about to refute her when a cool breeze brushed his cheek, accompanied by a soft "whoosh." He turned and saw a hairpin embedded in the crack between the bricks on the wall behind him. Selina retracted her hand, raised an eyebrow, and said: "Don't ask how I did it. Just listen."

As Selina spoke, time slowly rewound again to the moment after Schiller knocked Lionel down.

As Schiller turned to leave, his peripheral vision caught a faint, flickering shadow outside the floor-to-ceiling window.

Schiller didn't pause his steps and walked straight out of the reception room. Once the door closed, a figure slipped quietly through the window—Selina, who had come to install a listening device.

Coincidentally, Selina and Bruce's rooms were directly above the reception room, making it the easiest target for her.

Moreover, choosing the reception room as the first target had other advantages—for instance, if caught, she could claim she'd been invited there.

The First Minister of Great Ming

But Selina hadn't expected that the moment she entered, she saw a man lying on the floor—and the killer appeared to have just left. Seeing Lionel still moving, she curiously leaned closer to take a look.

At that moment, Lionel finally came to. He winced, clutching his jaw, and struggled to rise from the floor—only to see Selina staring at him with open curiosity.

Lionel shook his head, and the instant he saw Selina's face, he was momentarily dazed, then remembered: she was Bruce's companion.

He recalled Schiller's assessment of Selina, then spent a few moments linking her identity, appearance, and evaluation together.

Then Selina suddenly realized: she was here to do something illegal, and Lionel was one of the banquet's hosts.

She turned to flee—but before she could move, she noticed Lionel was holding a gun. As he rose, Selina rolled sideways, and a muffled "thump" echoed as the silenced pistol fired.

Lionel's suppressed emotions exploded in an instant. He fired his automatic pistol nonstop at Selina, his eyes brimming with malice.

Lionel's marksmanship had received no special training; accuracy plummeted with distance and target movement. His magazine held only a few rounds, and as he emptied it in a rage-fueled frenzy, the bullets ran out quickly.

At that moment, Selina stood up from behind the sofa, smoothed her hair, placed her hands on her hips, and looked at Lionel: "We're not enemies, are we? I don't recall stealing anything from Luthor's house."

Selina's tone was light—it was nothing to her.

Back when the Four Major Gangs of the East District clashed, amid gunfire and artillery, she still managed to steal.

Even when Falcone and the Twelve Families turned the North District into an impenetrable fortress, it didn't stop her from moving like the wind. The exertion just now? To Selina, it wasn't even a warm-up.

But this attitude enraged Lionel completely. Until now, he'd viewed Selina as nothing but a useless socialite.

The immensely wealthy Lionel had only ever seen such socialites fawning over him—yet now, Selina looked at him as if he were a child at a shooting range who couldn't even hit the target.

That night, Lionel had endured too many shocks. His psychological defenses, no matter how solid, finally shattered.

He screamed obscenities, hurling every insult he could think of at Selina.

If Selina had truly been a socialite—or one of the typical wealthy ladies and wives at the banquet—they would have flushed red, muttered powerless curses like "ruffian," stomped their feet in fury, and fled.

But Selina wasn't like that. She'd grown up in the East District, living almost daily amid rap battles. In terms of vulgar vocabulary, Lionel, raised in Metropolis, stood no chance against her.

Lionel's first few words insulted Selina's appearance and figure—she didn't care. But then he started attacking her mother—and Selina exploded.

She stood her ground and unleashed a torrent of vicious, deeply offensive curses.

For the next two minutes, she didn't pause to breathe. Insulting metaphors, English slang, and mocking jokes poured from her lips without end. Lionel fell silent after three minutes—but Selina kept going.

Knowing Lionel's gun was empty, Selina walked straight out from behind the sofa, stepped up to Lionel, and pointed her finger at his nose, screaming.

The rap skills honed in the lowest depths of Gotham weren't for show. Selina delivered a string of brilliant insults for over ten minutes before stopping.

She picked up a glass of wine from the nearby table, drained it in gulps, wiped her mouth, and said: "Thanks, you old idiot, as clueless as the lace on Joe's underwear. Since moving into that damn Wayne Manor, I haven't felt this free in ages."

Lionel's face turned beet red—he'd never heard so many curses in his life.

Finally, he couldn't hold back. He abandoned all pretense of kindness, tore off his gentleman's mask, and lunged at Selina like a zombie, fists swinging to strike her.

Selina effortlessly ducked under his punch, rose, snatched a vase from a nearby decorative table, and swung it hard—"crash!" The vase smashed directly into Lionel's face, spraying blood as he collapsed.

Selina placed one hand on her hip, tossed the broken vase onto the floor, spat at Lionel, and turned toward the window.

Halfway there, she paused as if remembering something, trotted back to Lionel, and stared at his chest for a moment.

Seeing he was still breathing, she exhaled in relief—if Bruce found out she'd killed someone, especially a banquet host, he'd be furious.

Confirmed that Lionel was alive, Selina left without worry. She returned the same way she came—along the building's exterior. When she reached her room's balcony, she suddenly heard movement inside.

Selina quickly pressed herself against the side of the balcony, hiding. Then she heard Benjamin's voice coming from inside the room.

"In summary, Philby likely passed this list to a former colleague or student. Earlier, when I said in the lobby that the list might be on the East Coast, that's true—but it's not specific…"

"According to our observations, it's very likely right here in Gotham."

The room fell silent. Bruce's vague reply came: "Really? … Then go investigate. Why come to me?"

Benjamin fell silent. What he was about to say wasn't easy to voice—but Bruce showed no sign of engaging. Benjamin noticed Bruce leaning against the headboard, slumped and listless, as if he'd just come off a drug high.

Benjamin's gaze landed on the pile of bottles. He frowned, then had no choice but to speak plainly: "We need your help. Our agents have already investigated Gotham, but…"

Benjamin suddenly remembered something, his expression darkening—but when he looked at Bruce again, his tone softened slightly.

After all, compared to the reports from the agents sent to Gotham, Bruce seemed almost harmless.

Bruce scoffed: "You can't handle Gotham, can you? That's the foresight of the Wayne ancestors. You annoying agents… like stubborn shit you can't shake off…"

Benjamin's face darkened, but he kept his patience, explaining to Bruce: "There's likely a Soviet spy in Gotham on the same level as Kim Philby. This poses no benefit to Wayne Enterprises—perhaps he's even planning to steal your corporate secrets…"

"Steal secrets?" Bruce snorted. "You're clearly the dumbest agent alive. At Wayne Enterprises' scale, there's nothing worth stealing…"

"I'll let you experience a day in my life. Wander freely through any Wayne factory. Publish every piece of information you gather—I couldn't care less…"

"Mr. Wayne, I don't know why you harbor such hostility toward agents, but I must emphasize the seriousness of this matter."

"Oh oh oh! Here we go again. Everyone says the same thing to me—this is serious, that's serious. Come on, can't you just relax? Look at the time—it's the middle of the night!"

Bruce covered his eyes with his arm: "You lock me up here, grill me with questions—what's the difference from kidnapping? I don't want to hear this!"

At that moment, a knock came at the door. Selina entered just in time. Seeing Benjamin, she froze, then frowned in clear displeasure: "Darling, what's going on? Why is there a stranger in our room?"

Bruce sprang up from the bed, wrapping his arm around Selina's waist: "What can I say? These flies keep buzzing around outside."

Now that they were entwined, Benjamin had no choice but to leave. He turned, face grim, and walked out of the room.

"It seems you didn't deliver a fatal blow to Mr. Luthor."

In the reception room, Schiller looked into Selina's eyes. She brushed her hair aside and said: "I just wanted to teach him a lesson. I didn't plan to kill him."

Then Schiller turned to Benjamin and said:

"Officer, if you want our help, you'd better show some sincerity, wouldn't you?"