Chapter 446

Soon, the three began their operation; it turned out that the Joker had gained early advantage only because he caught them off guard—even Bruce hadn't expected his archenemy to find this place, so at first, they were chased into disarray by the agents.

But this situation lasted only a brief moment; even with the Joker's cheat-like surveillance equipment, he still struggled to withstand the combined assault of Bruce, Lex, and Clark.

Bruce was balanced in offense and defense, Lex was intellectually unmatched, and Clark was impervious to bullets and blades; though all three were merely youthful versions of their full potential, their coordination made them nearly impossible to stop—even if ordinary agents held high-powered weapons.

Quickly, the agents chasing them were misled by delays in surveillance and communication, and most were knocked unconscious.

Yet escaping the agents was not their primary goal; now they shared a common objective: to investigate beneath the estate.

Bruce sought to confront the Joker, Clark aimed to locate the radiation source that could affect him—and possibly Metropolis—while Lex wanted to find the treasure and whatever items Lex Luthor had left underground; though their individual goals differed, their overarching aim remained unchanged: they must reach the underground first.

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But to reach the underground, they first needed to find an entrance—surely located on the ground floor, the first level.

The first floor of the estate differed structurally from the other levels: at its center stood a banquet hall, with two large doors leading to the central courtyard on either side, yet additional buildings flanked both sides, each containing rooms the trio had never explored.

The mayor's residence was a massive structure, not a private mansion estate; fully exploring it would take the three an entire day if they stayed together, so for efficiency, they decided to split up.

This decision had basis: most agents had already been neutralized on other floors; the few remaining ordinary agents on the first level were merely performing their duties, receiving no special orders to engage anyone, only patrolling their assigned posts.

Bruce and Lex both held official identities and could bluff their way past any encounter; Clark needed no such cover—his speed was so great that agents might not even see him—so splitting up posed little danger.

The only issue was that Bruce and Lex could not fully trust each other; when making this decision, Bruce said first: "You must swear to me that if you find the entrance first, you'll notify us—not go down alone."

"Even if I swear, will you believe me? I don't believe you either."

Lex stared into his face; when two extreme skeptics meet, they distrust every word and gesture the other makes.

"Come on! Is this the time for this?"

"Under the largest building in Metropolis, there might be a massive radiation source! If it fully leaks, the entire city is in danger!" Clark said, exasperated.

The two were about to speak again when Clark raised his hand to stop them and said: "Don't forget—the madman is still watching us. If we start arguing here, he'll laugh his head off."

Clark's intent was merely to remind them not to let outsiders see them squabble, not to give the enemy satisfaction—but he couldn't help it; he had an innate talent for human interaction; his words struck directly at Bruce's hidden unease.

Since learning the man might be the Joker, Bruce had raised his vigilance to its peak; he was now hypersensitive to the words "madman" and "laugh"; when Clark uttered them, Bruce seemed to hear the madman's laughter echoing in his ears.

He could almost picture the Joker in the surveillance room, howling with delight as they argued; the thought made Bruce's lips twitch involuntarily, and he said at once:

"We can cooperate—for now. Let's move."

He turned and walked away, as if not a second more could be wasted; Lex let out a cold snort, watching his retreating back, and said to Clark in a low tone: "There's immense darkness behind him. No matter how righteous he appears, don't forget—he comes from Gotham…"

"Gotham is full of madmen."

With those words, he too left, leaving Clark standing alone. Clark scratched his head, shrugged, seemingly unaware of the implication in Lex's tone.

In truth, he was deeply uncomfortable with this kind of intelligent exchange and avoided parsing hidden meanings; in conversations with Bruce and Lex, Clark always felt a little stupid.

After parting from them, Clark relaxed slightly. He chose a direction different from both and walked along the banquet hall, arriving at the eastern corridor.

Clark reasoned the entrance to the underground wouldn't be in the corridor—it must be hidden within one of the rooms—so he decided to use an exhaustive method, checking each room one by one.

He opened the first door: a typical storage room. The door hadn't been opened in years; dust surged out as he opened it. Clark waved it away, stepped inside, inspected thoroughly—found nothing.

The next few rooms were the same. Clark grew increasingly disheartened; the dark corridor grew quieter the deeper he went, the only light coming from a window at the far end, casting a cold glow.

In extreme silence, people naturally slow their thoughts and sharpen their senses; as Clark underwent this shift, suddenly, a shrill telephone ring echoed from a room ahead.

Frowning, Clark walked over, opened the door—it was an empty guest room. The phone on the table rang incessantly. Clark picked it up and said: "Hello…"

"Hello."

After a pause, Clark asked, puzzled: "Hello, who is this? Why are you calling?"

"Are you Clark?"

"Uh, yes. What is it?"

"Do you know Lex?"

"Who are you?" Clark asked, wary.

"I'm a resident on the fifth floor, invited to this banquet. Listen, Clark…" The voice grew somber.

"But I'm also a CIA operative on a covert mission. I'm in trouble—I need your help."

At the word "agent," Clark frowned. He was about to refuse when the voice continued: "I know you may have clashed with other agents, but we're not on the same side."

"I arrived in Metropolis long ago and went undercover to investigate Luthor Corp's anomalies. We suspect the recent string of murders in Metropolis may be linked to Luthor Corp personnel."

"Our investigation stalled. Since Lionel Luthor is hosting this banquet, I came here to pursue more leads."

"After a night of investigation, we've gathered evidence pointing to the killer: likely Lionel Luthor's son—Lex Luthor."

"He presents himself as an autistic patient to lower others' guard. In truth, he has no autism—he's a high-IQ criminal, an evil genius."

Clark opened his mouth to object, but the voice rushed on: "I know you don't believe me—but we have proof. If you go to the guest room's bathroom now, you'll see Lionel Luthor's corpse."

"He was murdered by his own son—and Lex dismembered him with his own hands."

"I need you to go to that bathroom, retrieve some tissue fragments of Lionel Luthor as evidence, to use later in charging Lex with murder."

"How is that possible?" Clark said, tone dripping with disbelief. "Why would he kill his own father? And dismember him? He's not that kind of person."

Clark truly didn't believe it. In his brief contact with Lex, he'd found him arrogant but genuine. Having grown up in a small town, Clark had no familiarity with serial killers; his mental image of them was of brutish, monstrous figures with scarred faces and fangs.

But Lex was slender, his face youthful, looking like a child. His speech and actions followed normal logic, showing no signs of evil or madness. Clark couldn't imagine him as a serial killer.

And to suggest he'd murdered his own father and dismembered him? Such cruelty—how could a high school student possibly do that?

"Clark, you must understand: many killers evade capture because they wear convincing disguises. And I'm the one who hunts them."

"I said—if you don't believe me, go see for yourself. If what I said is wrong, you don't have to help me. I can't force you."

The voice sounded sincere: "When you fought the agents, I heard you speak from my room. You're a hero who speaks for ordinary people. That's why I used my limited time to contact you."

"I've researched your file. I know you're just a college student—you have no obligation or duty to risk yourself like this. But Clark… I'm asking you. Help me."

"Of course, if you truly feel it's too dangerous, you can refuse. I won't force a child onto a battlefield…"

"From what I know, Lex isn't acting alone. He must have accomplices. They'll find me soon. I don't have much time… Goodbye, Clark."

After hanging up, Clark's face twisted in conflict.

He'd known Lex only briefly—he knew that. So he couldn't be sure if Lex had simply fooled him with flawless acting.

The caller's tone was normal, his logic sound. Clark hesitated. If Lex truly was a fraud, letting him roam freely through the estate—would more ordinary people be endangered?

He hesitated, then decided to go upstairs. Clark thought: seeing for himself couldn't hurt. Even if it was a trap, he could escape.

Thinking this, he climbed the stairs, crossed the corridor, reached the guest room. It remained in chaos. Cold wind howled through shattered windows. Clark walked to the bathroom door, turned the handle, and opened it.

The first thing his acute senses detected was the thick, nauseating stench of blood. Then, a corpse with one arm severed came into view; beside it lay a saw discarded on the floor.

As Clark covered his mouth, gagging, he heard footsteps outside the guest room door.

He turned—and saw Lex entering… his pant legs stained with blood.