Chapter 458: The Beginning of the Confrontation (Part 2)

In the guest room of the mayor's residence, Bruce, Lex, and Clark were still reflecting on that dream.

Their views on certain aspects of the dream were not identical—they were diametrically opposed—and rather than seeking common ground, they had come to blows.

"Even if they're guilty, you can't destroy them with that method—it's neither reasonable nor humane!" Clark shouted at Bruce.

"I was merely breaking into the dream," Bruce replied calmly.

"But what if it wasn't a dream at all? When you unleashed that black tide against the crowd, didn't you consider what you'd do if it were real? Can you bring those dead people back to life?"

"Clark, are you mentally ill?" Lex suddenly spoke, his voice equally cold. "They voted unanimously to kill you after you saved them—and you still want to stop Bruce from killing them? Are you insane?"

"I didn't intend to kill them. I don't kill," Bruce countered Lex. "I'm certain it was a dream. Violent disruption is the fastest method—otherwise, we'd all be trapped there."

"Certain?" Clark snorted. "You dare do something like this without complete certainty—and still call yourself a non-lethalist?"

"Because his mind works faster than yours," Lex turned to Clark, mercilessly. "What started this whole mess? Wasn't it you, without thought or investigation, knocking me out?"

Clark fell silent, then looked Lex in the eye. "You're right about one thing—this whole thing began with my recklessness."

He turned his head aside, voice low. "If anyone died because of this, I bear undeniable responsibility."

But his apology pushed Lex to the brink. "You're truly insane, Clark—you—"

"Jian Lai"

He glared at Clark, utterly baffled by how such a saintly mindset could have formed in him.

Lex took a deep breath and said to Clark: "I retract my earlier assessment. You're not tolerant because you're strong—you're just mentally broken."

"How can you say that to me? Even if I was reckless before, you can't launch personal attacks!" Clark crossed his arms and glared at Lex.

"Your physical condition is severely inadequate," Bruce cut straight to Lex's most vulnerable point. "Even if Clark knocked you out at first, if you'd stayed conscious, you could've manipulated the crowd and controlled the vote."

"Of course I could," Lex scoffed, arms crossed. "Manipulating the thoughts of such a stupid, stupid group of people would be effortless."

"You can't just manipulate public opinion, Lex! Your thinking is dangerous!" Clark spoke up again.

Lex was so furious he nearly needed oxygen.

In short, these three were utterly different in every way.

If categorized by alignment, Bruce and Clark belonged to the hero faction—they sought to protect ordinary people—while Lex cared nothing for their survival.

But in terms of methods, Bruce and Lex were alike: both prioritized results and believed controlled surveillance was necessary, whereas Clark insisted procedural justice was indispensable.

Geographically, Clark and Lex stood together: both were from Metropolis and firmly agreed that everyone from Gotham was insane.

In this extremely complex triangular dynamic, failure to reach consensus was normal.

As the three argued endlessly, the guest room door suddenly knocked. Clark narrowed his eyes and said: "A man, bandages wrapped around his head—I don't know him."

Bruce and Lex exchanged a glance—then Clark walked to open the door.

Outside stood Benjamin, his head wrapped in gauze—he had been knocked out by Lex and Shiler, interrogated by Bruce, and now looked pale and exhausted.

"Hello, do you need help?" Clark asked with genuine concern—but Benjamin didn't even look at him, his gaze fixed solely on the two others in the room.

Bruce stepped aside slightly. Benjamin entered, first turning to Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, I never expected this…"

Then he turned to Lex. "Mr. Luthor, same for you."

"I don't understand—why are you rich kids playing these games? Is pretending to be playboys or autistics somehow entertaining?"

Bruce and Lex said nothing. Both stood with arms crossed, studying Benjamin with X-ray intensity.

Perhaps intelligent people always share similar traits—when they look at others, it feels as if their very soul has been exposed.

Benjamin couldn't withstand the pressure. He spoke first: "I need your help. I must find that mysterious Soviet spy."

Bruce was about to refuse, but Benjamin continued: "I'm certain one of the banquet attendees is connected to the Soviet spy who stole the Philby list."

"How can you be certain?"

"It's classified."

The moment Benjamin said that, Bruce and Lex's expressions changed—he hurried to explain: "The details are classified, but broadly speaking, this agent must hold a high social position."

"Perhaps you've heard of Philby's story—during his investigation, all his movements were under strict surveillance. The people he contacted couldn't have been low-ranking."

"Don't you have a list of the specific people he met?"

"If the British had truly possessed such a list, Philby would never have escaped back to Moscow."

Benjamin's explanation was perfectly reasonable. Bruce and Lex had no rebuttal—it was an obvious truth: had Britain's intelligence agency possessed even minimal competence, Philby would never have walked free.

In fact, Philby's escape damaged Britain's reputation far more than any leaked intelligence ever could—after all, Britain had little of real value to leak.

"Let me be clearer: Britain knew Philby's contacts during that period might be suspects—but the problem was, he only contacted high-ranking officials, and no one dared investigate them."

"Another question," Lex added. "If this man dared pass information to Philby during that time, why didn't he successfully send it to Moscow? Why did he come to the U. S. East Coast instead?"

Benjamin shook his head. "We have no leads on that either. That's precisely what I'm investigating."

"Why are you here?" Bruce asked.

"I need your help," Benjamin sighed. "Earlier, you three fought with the agents in the hallway—the gunfire caused panic. Many would rather risk conflict with the agents than stay here."

"If we focus on calming the panic, we won't have time to investigate the spy's leads."

"So you want us to be the villains—convince those people to stay put so you can interrogate them?" Lex cut straight to the point.

"Call it cooperation. After all, neither Metropolis's Luthor Group nor Gotham's Wayne Group would want a dangerous Soviet spy operating in your home turf, would you?"

"If left unchecked, he could cause even worse consequences. If you unknowingly interact with him, you might be suspected too."

"Don't threaten us," Lex said coldly. "The Luthor Group provides hundreds of thousands of jobs in Metropolis alone."

"If the head of the Luthor Group is suspected of collusion with communists, stock prices will plummet, industrial contraction will trigger mass unemployment, followed by financial crisis."

"Once you eliminate me and Wayne, every entrepreneur will live in fear—economic crisis will arrive prematurely. Congress won't allow you to do this."

Benjamin felt his breath growing shallow. He shouldn't have exerted his mind so much after being injured—but the truth was, he'd exhausted himself and still couldn't outmaneuver these two.

"Without the CIA, we can still hunt spies—or rather, once you release us, we'll be far more effective. The Luthor Group's holdings span all of Metropolis—tracking movements is child's play. The Wayne Group holds the same sway over Gotham."

Lex continued dissecting the situation, but Benjamin presented another condition: "You're aware of the underground treasure in Metropolis. Now the CIA has learned of it—you won't be able to claim the entire treasure. The military is starving for it."

"If you help me, I'll support your share when the division is decided. If this operation succeeds, the CIA and FBI—the two agencies overseeing internal and external affairs—will regain their peak power, enough to decide certain matters."

At the word "treasure," Lex, Bruce, and Clark exchanged glances—they recalled what they'd seen in the dream.

They had no proof that Shiler's dream was grounded in reality, so they couldn't confirm whether the treasure buried beneath Metropolis was truly a massive chunk of kryptonite.

But they had reason to believe Shiler had uncovered something, which led him to construct this dream—meaning the underground treasure was very likely kryptonite.

Knowing this, their interests had, to some extent, aligned.

Lex and Bruce were skeptics—they couldn't fully accept Clark and his immense power. They wanted something to counter him, so both desired kryptonite.

Clark, however, didn't care if someone tried to use it against him. He cared only whether the stone truly caused cancer in ordinary people, as in the dream—he wanted to move it, so it wouldn't remain buried here.

But all three knew finding and relocating it wouldn't be easy. If its size matched the dream, excavation would require manpower—and inevitably draw attention from all sides.

Lex and Bruce nearly spoke at the same time. Bruce said: "We can help you—but we have a condition."

Lex added: "We don't trust you or your agents' efficiency. We're switching roles."

"Switching? What do you mean?"

"You calm the crowd. We investigate the Soviet spy."