Chapter 444: Prelude to the Cold Wind (Part 1)

On the fourth floor of the manor, the floor where the guest rooms for Bruce and Selina were located, Lex moved through the dark corridor. He carried a toolbox he had just retrieved from the warehouse downstairs. He knew he couldn't leave Lionel's body in the washroom; he had to dispose of it.

Up the stairs and then down a short corridor, ignoring the occasional gunshots and screams echoing from downstairs, he walked all the way to the original reception room. Now, only charred walls and scattered glass remained.

Lex frowned. He still had one question left unanswered: since Clark was born with abilities far beyond those of an ordinary person, why did he appear so weak when he first showed up?

While pondering this, he walked into the washroom. Earlier, he had dragged Lionel's body inside, and it was now leaning against the toilet. This old man, who had spent half his life rising and falling in the business world, looked no different from anyone else now that he was dead.

Lex crouched down, looking at Lionel's face. He felt his own wounds throbbing. He lifted the back of his shirt, and the moment his fingers touched the muscles of his lower back, a dull pain flared up.

Lionel had been beating Lex constantly. Whenever his business went poorly or someone provoked him, he would grab whatever was nearby and lash out at Lex. Even today, after facing Schiller, Lionel had still managed to leave some scars on Lex's back.

Lex muttered to himself, "You know? The hardest part wasn't faking that dull, stupid look, but making a pained expression when you hit me..."

"Actually, it didn't hurt. That mysterious liquid seemed to lower my pain threshold and boost my self-healing."

Lex muttered to himself while picking up a saw from the toolbox, beginning to dispose of Lionel's body.

Just as he had sawed off one arm, the phone in the reception room suddenly rang. Lex frowned and looked toward the washroom door.

He dropped the saw, stood up, and walked into the reception room, ignoring the bloodstains on his trousers. He found that the wall-mounted phone had miraculously escaped the damage and was ringing sharply.

He reached out, picked up the receiver, and held it to his ear. He heard faint, snickering laughter. A voice unfamiliar to him came through, and he heard the person say:

"Hello there, Lex Luthor. I'm a comedian. Have you ever seen a comedy?"

"Who are you? How do you know I'm here?"

"That's not important, Lex. Don't worry about such trivial details. The thing is, I'm a Joker who just moved here from Cat Getan. To make a name for my comedy act, I've decided to hold my first tour here. Do you want to buy a ticket?"

"No." Lex denied the request and was about to hang up, but just as he made the motion, he heard the voice on the other end say:

"That must mean you want to participate in the show. Perfect, great comedies always need a few supporting roles."

"Also, do you know where I am right now? Look down. Look down! Hahahahahahahahahahaha!"

Lex instinctively glanced at the floor. Following his line of sight, through layers of floors and ceilings, all the way down to the basement of the Mayor's mansion.

Here was a monitoring room that looked completely out of place with the old manor's style. Many advanced electronic devices flickered with cold light. Following the reflection of the light on the floor, a sealed airlock door opened, revealing three entire walls covered in dense, flickering screens.

(Lingdian)

In the room surrounded by screens, there was a chair. The chair swiveled around, and a man in a dark, long suit with Joker makeup on his face was wearing a crazed smile.

He crossed one leg over the other, holding the phone, and said to the other side, "Honestly, it's much cooler down here than upstairs. I'll stay here and prepare for the upcoming performance. When I need you to take the stage, I'll call you again."

A burst of manic laughter came through the phone. Lex held the phone in front of his face and frowned deeply.

Someone had already reached the basement of the manor? Lex wondered suspiciously. This wasn't right. Where did this self-proclaimed comedian get this information? How did he find the entrance? And without the key, how did he get in?

After thinking for a moment, he held the phone to his ear again and dialed a number. When the other person answered, he said, "Hello? Bruce?"

Bruce's voice sounded a bit labored, as if he had been exerting himself, and he kept his voice very low, as if hiding from someone. "What is it?"

"Do you remember if there were any comedians on the guest list for the banquet?"

Bruce frowned as well. He had a bad feeling. Soon, he heard Lex say, "I just received a call. A comedian who calls himself the Joker seems to have entered the manor's basement ahead of us. I suspect there might be some kind of surveillance equipment down there that can see what we're doing."

"He might have already found the door to the basement and gone inside. If you still want that treasure, you'd better hurry."

Bruce's mind was no longer on the treasure. He glanced outside the door; the agents hadn't caught up yet. He spoke rapidly, "Are you sure he called himself the Joker?"

"Yes. He said he was going to put on a comedy show here. He kept snickering while he talked, like a mental patient who couldn't control himself. Before he hung up, he laughed manically, and the shrill sound hurt my eardrums..."

"Listen..." Bruce's tone suddenly dropped. "I don't know why he's here, but I must warn you: he is the most dangerous lunatic in the world."

"If he calls you again, don't listen to his manipulation, don't try to figure out his logic, and don't ask him why..."

Lex's expression also turned serious. Although he hadn't known Bruce for long, he acknowledged that the man had the same level of intelligence as himself.

He also knew that Bruce, who disguised himself as a playboy, was actually a humorless, serious person who didn't joke around. When he spoke with such a grave tone, it meant the severity of the situation might exceed anyone's estimates.

"It sounds like you know him. Don't tell me he's one of Cat Getan's lunatics."

"No..."

When Bruce denied it, Lex felt a sense of relief. In the two years since he had regained his sanity, he had heard others talk about Cat Getan. They said it was a city of lunatics, and every criminal who came out of there was the deadliest killer compared to those in other cities.

But soon, Bruce's icy voice came through:

"Compared to him, no one else in Cat Getan can even be called a lunatic."

These words were colder than the blizzard that wouldn't stop outside. As the biting wind lashed against the glass, it sounded like a classical, eerie symphony, echoing through the corridor with a strange and terrifying atmosphere.

Clark walked quickly back to his room. He wasn't feeling cold; he was just angry. Those agents hadn't said a word, hadn't asked a single question, and just kept firing at him. He had never seen people like this before.

He took a deep breath, walked to the bed, picked up his pillow, and then threw it back down. He let out a huff through his nose. Just like any small-town youth from the East Coast, when Clark was angry, he just wanted to leave home and stay in the barn or walk through the wheat fields.

He stood up again and walked to the window. The sunlight reflecting off the snow was like a high-wattage lightbulb, making it hard to keep his eyes open. Clearly, there was no barn here, no wheat fields, and no parents who would come looking for him in the barn or fields.

Clark started to feel homesick again.

During his time at Metropolis University, he had encountered many problems that small-town youths faced. There were many things he didn't recognize, many rules he wasn't familiar with, and he had been mocked for it.

This new world outside wasn't as exciting as he had imagined, or rather, the price he had to pay for the excitement was far greater than he had anticipated.

He couldn't wait to go home and pour his heart out to his parents, but instead, he had been dragged into another vortex he was completely unfamiliar with, not knowing how to escape.

Clark's mind was in a mess. He stood by the window for a while, then turned to leave. He wanted to go upstairs and talk to the professor; he felt it might make him feel better. But then he remembered Schiller saying he hadn't even slept for two hours all night, and Clark felt it would be too impolite to disturb him.

But he desperately needed someone to talk to, so he thought, *Going to find Lex might be okay; maybe I can continue the conversation we didn't finish. *

Just then, *bang! * The door was kicked open. Several agents rushed in, pointing their guns at Clark. Clark instinctively took two steps back. He realized these agents were the same group he had fought earlier.

"What are you doing?! You..."

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Several handguns fired simultaneously, bullets pouring toward Clark. The expression on Clark's face turned even angrier.

He waved his hand, and all the bullets hung suspended in mid-air. Immediately after, a blur too fast for the eye to follow swept through the floating bullets. *Bang! * The gun in the lead agent's hand was knocked away.

"Bang! Oh—"

A loud thud, followed by a cry of surprise; the lead agent was thrown onto the bed by Clark.

The agent standing at the door raised his gun again to fire, but Clark threw a desk lamp at him, knocking him to the ground. The last agent was put down by an elbow strike.

Clark panted a few times—not from exhaustion, but from anger. He didn't understand why these people were targeting him like this.

From the very beginning, his goal had been to help put out the fire, which he had successfully done. In the process, he hadn't offended anyone, yet this group of people started shooting the moment they saw him.

Just as he thought of this, Clark's heart skipped a beat. He turned his head and raised his arm to block an incoming agent. The agent who had been thrown onto the bed earlier hadn't passed out but was waiting for a chance to ambush him.

Clark was truly angry now. He was about to throw a punch when suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over him, making him stagger. This was followed by a spreading weakness. Clark clutched his chest, coughed twice, and collapsed powerlessly.

He felt as if something was interfering with him, causing the range of his biological field to shrink to almost nothing, and his strength was being sapped. More importantly, the loss of that feeling of being filled with power made him feel incredibly uncomfortable, unable to adjust his body for a moment.

The agent saw Clark suddenly collapse and was stunned for a second. But soon, he reacted. He turned and walked toward the other side of the room, wanting to retrieve the handgun Clark had knocked away. Clark tried hard to stand up to stop him, but his body wouldn't obey.

Just as the agent picked up the gun and walked over, Clark was still coughing in place. But at this moment, a figure swept past him. *Bang, bang, bang! * He saw, amidst the overlapping fists, the agent's gun knocked away again.

Through his blurred vision, Clark saw the figure crouch down to check on his condition, and then, he saw Bruce's face.