Chapter 462: The Butler Is Always Right (Part One)

As Benjamin gathered all the agents of the estate to search the first floor for the entrance, the atmosphere before the entrance grew increasingly tense.

After Schiller revealed that the underground treasure might be a special mineral capable of weakening superpowers, Bruce and Lex took opposing sides.

These two skeptics would never believe the other could handle such an object without misusing it; moreover, they were control theorists—regardless of whether the matter concerned them or whether they intended to use the item later, they had to gain complete control over it to feel secure.

And they were both quintessentially American, with zero-sum thinking nearly etched into their genes; peace and mutual gain did not exist in their minds—they always believed that if the other gained one piece, they lost one, and thus they would be eliminated by the other.

This constant, pervasive insecurity constantly pushed them forward, yet it also easily became a weakness to be exploited; the instant Schiller spoke, both brilliant geniuses did not even suspect it was Schiller's ploy to sow discord.

Or perhaps they had considered it, but they dared not gamble on whether Schiller's words were true.

After this junior version of the Justice League fractured on the spot, the atmosphere grew delicate.

Because in Bruce's plan, he intended to use kryptonite to weaken Schiller, he naturally stood opposite Schiller; and since Lex was the one competing with him for the kryptonite, he also stood opposite Lex—thus, Schiller and Lex found themselves on the same side.

If Lex and Bruce were compared, their intellects were nearly equal; Bruce's advantage lay in his physical conditioning and combat skills—if they faced each other directly, Bruce held a significant edge.

But Schiller had aligned himself with Lex, rendering Bruce's sole military advantage null; thus, he had to seek a powerful ally.

When Bruce called Clark's name, Clark was still confused, as he completely failed to grasp the situation; he stood far away and shouted: "What's going on? Aren't we partners?!"

"Clark, you can't let this fall into Luthor's hands—his past actions have already shown he has no bottom line when it comes to destroying humanity."

"Don't listen to him, Clark—if I obtain the treasure, I will absolutely not use it against you."

"You're lying, Lex—you want that mineral called kryptonite specifically to guard against Clark, aren't you?"

Lex did not back down, staring directly into Bruce's eyes and demanding: "Then who are you planning to use this mineral against?"

After asking this, Lex and Bruce instinctively turned their gazes toward Schiller; Schiller had been Ditou studying his umbrella, but when he noticed everyone had fallen silent, he looked up, glanced at Lex, then at Bruce, and said: "Why are you staring at me?"

"I said I wanted to go down, and you wouldn't let me; I said I wanted to leave, and you wouldn't let me—now are you trying to blame all of this on me?"

"Hey, stop arguing!" Clark finally walked over; seeing Schiller silently step back, Clark halted, raised both hands between Lex and Bruce, and said:

"No matter who ultimately gets this thing, we must first confirm whether it poses any danger to ordinary people—that is our most important shared goal."

As he spoke, Clark moved to the entrance of the cellar and added: "If you cannot agree on this point, I won't let any of you go down."

"To me, it makes no difference who gets this thing—I won't help any one of you against the other. If you're going to stall here, then I'm going down first."

At that moment, Clark moved toward the cellar entrance; Bruce and Lex exchanged a glance, and the intense conflict between them suddenly softened.

Clearly, both knew they couldn't let Clark obtain the mysterious mineral; and if Clark descended alone, with no one around to influence him, even if the mineral could suppress superpowers, it might not stop him.

Seeing Lex and Bruce walking side by side again, Schiller shook his head—Clark truly restrained him, in every possible sense; but there was nothing to be done—the naive, pure-hearted fool restrained every thinker—you predicted well, but I simply don't move.

The reason for Lex and Bruce's dispute was complex, rooted in their personalities and positions; to choose one side required analyzing their behavioral logic, as Schiller had done—he sided with Lex because he knew Bruce intended to use the mineral against him; even if he sided with Bruce, he'd eventually be betrayed.

But Clark chose neither—he simply refused to think at all, held fast to his goal, and charged forward relentlessly, inadvertently breaking Schiller's scheme of discord; faced with Clark's relentless advance, Bruce had no choice but to ally with Lex again.

The current situation had become this: Clark had jumped down into the cellar first; Lex and Bruce walked forward while talking, as if formulating a new plan; Schiller followed behind, considering whether to descend himself.

Logically, by this point, he had no real need to go down himself—no matter what lay below, Lex and Bruce would strip it bare; later, acquiring a bit from Lex would be easy, after all, Schiller wasn't Batman—he had no use for half a ton of kryptonite except to take up space.

But at that moment, Schiller, walking at the rear, noticed several squads of agents approaching from all directions; the courtyard fence was covered in thick snow, yet shadows still flickered between the branches.

From their formation, it was clear this was no coincidence—they were systematically surrounding the estate.

Choosing between entering an unknown place to compete for treasure against potentially dangerous opponents, or staying here to face easily manageable agents, Schiller made his choice without hesitation… the former.

He walked into the cellar entrance without looking back; the agents hiding nearby assumed he hadn't noticed them, and as soon as he entered, they burst from concealment and began setting up explosive-proof equipment at the entrance.

As the agents methodically carried out their orders, Benjamin stood atop the estate's tower, observing the cellar entrance through his binoculars.

The tower's position was ideal—it stood at the exact center of the estate and was the highest point, perfect as an observation post, offering a full view of the entire estate.

Not only the estate, but the entire mayor's mansion surroundings were visible; thus, the instant Benjamin raised his binoculars, he sharply caught a black dot crossing the Metropolis skyline.

Amid the swirling snow, visibility was poor, so Benjamin couldn't make out what it was—but soon, he felt the ground tremble, and an explosion's firelight flared in the distance, even creating a vortex that stirred the falling snow.

Benjamin squinted, lowered his binoculars, and turned to Kira behind him: "... Did you see that?"

Kira also held binoculars; by sheer coincidence, she had been looking directly in that direction; after lowering them, she said in an incredulous tone: "I think I saw a downed fighter jet."

"A fighter jet? Who besides those crazy Soviets would fly a fighter jet in this weather?"

Kira frowned, recalling: "That didn't look like any fighter jet model I've seen—you know I served in the Air Force—currently, the Air Force has no all-black-painted fighter jets."

At that moment, they heard a noise from downstairs—not from the tower's lower floors, but near the fourth floor of the estate.

It was a sharp, crisp sound—not like a gunshot, but more like glass shattering; Benjamin's expression darkened as he turned to Kira: "Could the guests be causing trouble again?"

Kira picked up her radio to contact agents and send them to investigate, but Benjamin stepped forward and stopped her: "Don't move personnel from the entrance yet—we'll go check ourselves."

Benjamin assumed this was merely another outburst from the impatient guests; during this time, he'd noticed they were all bluster without substance—loud in words, but when agents drew their guns, they merely muttered and retreated.

Thinking this, Benjamin lowered his guard and descended the tower, entered the main building, passed through the banquet hall, climbed the stairs, and arrived at the source of the noise.

It was the end of the fourth-floor corridor, where shards of glass lay scattered across the floor; Kira approached with her pistol and examined them: "Someone must have broken the glass—was this a prank out of frustration?"

"If it were a prank, there shouldn't be glass on the floor—if broken from inside, the shards would have scattered outside; but here, the glass lies on the corridor, meaning someone broke it from outside."

Benjamin circled the broken glass, found no footprints or similar traces, and concluded: "It seems this wasn't human-made—perhaps strong winds and snow blew sharp objects against the glass, shattering it from the outside."

Kira frowned, still unconvinced, but couldn't find evidence to refute Benjamin.

After all, in this snowstorm, people easily left traces; and the residents here were all pampered elites—they had no motive to go outside the window and then climb back in.

Nor was an external invasion likely—Metropolis's entire transportation system was paralyzed; who would go through such effort to come here? The operation was completely secret, communications cut—outsiders had no knowledge of what was happening here, no reason to come.

But at that moment, Benjamin let out a puzzled "Huh?"; Kira stepped closer and saw he was staring at the wall beside the window.

Kira saw nothing on the wall, so she moved closer, leaning in—only then did she spot a faint scratch at the junction of wall and windowsill, nearly invisible.

It resembled a mark left by someone climbing through the window; Benjamin stared at the mark and said: "Someone did infiltrate here."

Kira remained puzzled, feeling this evidence was insufficient: "What if the glass shards themselves scratched it when they shattered?"

"Kira, noticing details and deducing the behavioral logic behind them is essential to any agent's professionalism. Many agents earn the title 'King of Agents' precisely because they excel at spotting such details and extracting information others overlook."

"This scratch lies at the junction of windowsill and wall, but its direction is upward; if caused by flying glass shards, it should have originated from the lower half of the window, leaving marks pointing downward."

"The lower half of the glass couldn't possibly curve upward mid-air—so this wasn't caused by glass. More importantly, look here: first a deep scratch, then a long, shallow one—what does that indicate?"

"What?" Kira asked.

"The object that made this scratch wasn't regular—it had two distinct parts."

"So what is it?"

"Very likely a jacket zipper, or a zipper on a pant pocket—the zipper pull and the chain itself scraped against the wall, creating this shape."

As he spoke, Benjamin took his own jacket zipper and lightly dragged it along the wall—sure enough, it produced the exact same mark.

"The intruder is a seasoned professional—he cleared the floor traces quickly, but overlooked the wall."

"As I said," Benjamin turned back to the scratch, speaking with disdain: "In this line of work, details determine success or failure."

"You must understand—details determine success or failure." In a room on the fifth floor, Alfred held the double-barreled shotgun and spoke to Hal.

Hal, standing beside the bed, sighed: "So after you cleaned up all the traces, you specifically had me leave a faint scratch with a zipper near the window—to deceive the agent leader?"

ZeroPointReading. com

"Precisely. It gives him the impression I made a careless mistake, misleading his judgment of my capabilities while piquing his interest."

"If I did nothing and left the traces as they were, the agent leader would assume I'm a novice and send one or two agents to handle me—then I'd never draw his attention."

"But if I cleaned up too thoroughly, he might suspect no one infiltrated at all—or worse, if he overestimates my skill, he'll mobilize all agents to conduct a full search, which would hinder our operation."

"So the goal is to draw his attention, make him chase us—but not make him take it too seriously," Hal summarized.

"Correct," Alfred nodded. "It seems I've already succeeded in sparking his interest—perhaps even his fighting spirit—making him want to come face me one-on-one."

"So what are you planning to do? Fight him?"

Alfred looked at Hal with the expression of someone staring at an idiot.

"Why would I fight him?"

"Then what are you planning to…"

"Master and Miss are old enough now—I think it's time they learned some essential self-defense skills."