Chapter 470: Those Who Once Were Great (Part 2)

After Bruce, Lex, and Clark left the hollow space, Schiller scanned the underground cavity, ignoring the half-pound of miniature cameras Bruce had left behind, and prepared to get to work.

Although called an experiment, it was in fact simple: Schiller transformed into gray mist, drifted above the monster egg, and the moment the mist touched the egg, it vanished.

Immediately afterward, Schiller focused his attention on the ring on his hand, and in an instant, he appeared on the floating island in the familiar gray mist dimension; he turned his head and saw the massive monster egg resting beside him.

Schiller circled the monster egg once, noticing that although the heartbeat inside the shell had quickened slightly, it remained stable, with no sign of hatching.

Since that was the case, Schiller decided to leave it here for now and deal with matters outside first.

After returning to the estate's underground, the gray mist let out a cheerful "Yay!" and began devouring voraciously.

Gray mist spread out, covering the entire hollow space; the sound of "crunch-crunch-crunch" never ceased, and within minutes, all the kryptonite on the devices had been devoured.

"Burp… so full!"

The gray mist sighed contentedly, then fell silent, seemingly focused again on digestion.

Schiller stared at the empty underground cavity; he had just taken a step to leave when he suddenly remembered something and muttered softly: "Oh, right—didn't Lex say the previous me left something here?"

"Alright, let me see… where could it be hidden?"

He first surveyed the hollow, then decisively walked away.

First, this cavity had no viable hiding spots; second, if the previous Schiller had been an ordinary human, the radiation here would have killed him—he wouldn't have hidden anything here.

Schiller walked out, searched the hall and corridors, found nothing, then returned to the cellar they had descended through.

In the cellar and the corridor leading to the hall, Schiller inspected multiple times; finally, he unscrewed a ceiling lamp and discovered a hidden compartment—his hand reached in and indeed touched a metal object.

After removing the object, Schiller found it was a small safe, small enough to be held in his arms; recalling Lex's earlier description, he guessed it might contain something related to the Bacchus Factor.

He therefore separated a tendril of gray mist, preparing to unlock the safe's door.

On a snow-covered courtyard, a sharp "click" sounded as the cellar door opened; for a long while, no one emerged.

Minutes later, Bruce and Lex crawled out of the cellar door one after another, both glancing around in confusion, seemingly deeply puzzled by the absence of enemies.

"Looks like Clark took care of them all," Lex said, studying the tracks in the snow.

"Impossible. Clark doesn't kill."

Lex scoffed, "How long have you known him? Your tone suggests ten years, but you've known him less than a day—how could you possibly know him—"

"Hey, guys, I'm back!"

At that moment, Clark descended from the sky, landing slowly on the ground with arms crossed; Bruce frowned and asked: "Where did you go?"

Lex noticed Clark was covered in frost, his hair and eyebrows thick with snow, as if he'd stood in the snow for hours.

"I got rid of those annoying agents."

"Got rid of them? Where did you take them?" Lex asked, puzzled. "You didn't actually kill them, did you?"

"Of course not. I'm not that cruel. I just sent them home."

"Isn't that the same as killing them?"

Clark waved his hand helplessly:

"No—they claimed to be from the FBI, right? I tied them together, flew them to the FBI's base, and dropped them off."

"I moved fast—no agents saw me. They should thank me; otherwise, how would they get back in this snowstorm?"

Bruce and Lex both opened their mouths, exchanged a glance; Bruce hesitated and said: "Have you considered they might not have been FBI agents?"

"But they said they were FBI. And even if they weren't, the FBI would've sent them home anyway."

"The FBI might send them 'home'—to their graves."

Bruce glanced at Lex, shivering in the snow, and Clark, still panting from exertion, and said: "You two should go back to your rooms."

He turned and walked forward, stepping through deep snow, crossing the courtyard, and returning to the banquet hall.

The banquet hall remained in chaos—tablecloths on the floor, candlesticks and cutlery scattered everywhere; Bruce stepped over the debris and walked straight ahead—he still had a reckoning with Benjamin.

He deduced Benjamin had silently observed the courtyard from a higher floor—either the main building's upper levels or the adjacent tower; Bruce decided to investigate the nearest upper floor of the main building first.

On the fourth floor, Bruce found traces: almost no ordinary residents, but clear signs of heavy activity.

Going up another floor to the fifth, Bruce grew more puzzled: the place was cluttered with bizarre, incomprehensible objects.

It looked like someone deliberately guided someone upward; Bruce speculated, but he was certain the target wasn't himself—the traces had already been examined, and he judged this wasn't a sophisticated trap—he certainly wouldn't fall for it.

As he crossed the corridor, turned a corner, and prepared to enter the stairwell, he saw a corpse lying on the floor of the landing—Benjamin.

Bruce narrowed his eyes, climbed the stairs, and examined Benjamin's body; from the wounds and blood state, Benjamin had died recently—the killer was highly skilled, one shot to kill.

From the surroundings, Benjamin may have been ambushed; Bruce couldn't pinpoint the culprit, since the banquet guests certainly lacked the skill to kill Benjamin.

But among those present, only Bruce's group or other agents possessed such capability.

Thinking this, Bruce deduced the killing might have resulted from internal conflict among the agents, and the most likely perpetrator was Benjamin's deputy, Kira.

Thinking this, Bruce continued upward, holding a batarang in hand; on the sixth floor, he found only one room's door open, its light spilling onto the floor and walls like a severed corridor.

Bruce crept along the wall, but as he peered into the room, Kira, standing in the center, saw him; she spoke: "Come in, Mr. Wayne."

Realizing he'd been spotted, Bruce no longer bothered with stealth—he entered, yet remained alert; Kira faced him and said:

"Mr. Wayne, I have some bad news to tell you."

Bruce remained silent, but Kira paid no heed to his demeanor and continued: "Just now, for certain reasons, I eliminated that fool Benjamin."

"Motive and method don't matter…" Kira said, walking behind the desk, pulling a file from a drawer, and tossing it onto the table.

With a sharp "thud," she added: "I found this in Benjamin's briefcase—personal files on your butler. Want to see?"

Bruce's gaze fell on the thick stack of documents; estimating their volume by thickness, he stood motionless in silence.

Kira waved her pistol and said:

"Unlike that fool Benjamin, I have no intention of opposing Wayne Enterprises. I waited here only to hand you this file as a favor—hope you don't mind what the agents did earlier."

"That's it. You can take your time reading. I'll leave now."

"Oh, and don't try using your batarang to stop me—just now, communications were restored; my satellite phone is reconnected. If you move, headquarters will know immediately."

Saying this, Kira strode past Bruce and left the room; she descended one floor, then entered a room on the fifth—Alfred regarded her helplessly.

About ten minutes earlier, Kira had brought Alfred to the room where Benjamin stored the files; she walked behind the desk, pulled the file from its folder, and carefully examined its contents.

"Oh, sorry—I was curious before, but Benjamin was too cautious; I never got a chance to look. Want to see?"

Alfred shook his head: "By the time you reach my age, you won't want to revisit your own resume—it's all black history."

Hearing this, Kira instinctively glanced at the "Emotional" section of Alfred's file—the long list of names.

"Alright, either way, let's dispose of this quickly. Pretend none of this ever happened."

Alfred shook his head: "No need for such trouble. With Bruce's intelligence, if he truly suspected me, he'd have already investigated every detail. If he hasn't, destroying this doesn't matter."

Kira sighed helplessly, placed the file back on the desk, and said:

"Even if you and Bruce have a good relationship, from what I've observed, he's a classic American—someone who instinctively doubts everything."

Seeing Alfred's impassive expression, Kira sighed and stepped before him:

"You've taught me so much—you're truly a great teacher. Whether professionally or personally, I hope you can continue living peacefully."

Seeing Alfred's reluctance to discuss this, Kira insisted:

"I must be certain Young Wayne doesn't suspect you—or that he feels something for you, not just you giving everything alone. Otherwise, someday, he'll hurt you."

Kira pushed Alfred directly: "Go wait downstairs. I want to see what Young Wayne does when he sees this file—if he dares betray you, I'll shoot him."

Kira cared for Alfred; Alfred cared for her too—he had carefully mentored her, pouring part of his affection into her; faced with her kindness, Alfred couldn't firmly refuse.

The All-Round Soldier of the Female CEO

After Kira handed the file to Bruce, Bruce stood behind the desk, staring at the pile of documents; from his angle, he could only see the first page, which listed Alfred's basic information.

Bruce stepped forward, picked up the file, aligned it on the desk, but didn't open it—he pulled out a lighter.

Watching the paper slowly burn into black ash, Bruce turned toward the floor-to-ceiling window.

Behind him, the first page burned away completely; the top line—"KGB—MI6 Agent: Alfred Pennyworth"—vanished entirely in the flames.

Bruce stood by the window, gazing at the blizzard outside, wondering whether his butler had ever seen snow larger or more beautiful than this, in the vast white plains of the northern realm.

"But there's one more thing I need to confirm," Kira said in the fifth-floor room, stroking her chin hesitantly. "Of course, if you can't say, pretend I didn't ask."

"Nothing's off-limits now—your rank is higher than mine."

"It's not important really—just the Philby List. You know, I've had trouble convincing those fools to change their minds; I need to be sure you hid it well, or losing it would be a mess."

"I did hide it originally, but later, I wanted to fully sever ties with my past identity and return everything to its rightful owners—I contacted Moscow and told them to retrieve the list from a designated drop point."

"After I sent it, they dispatched agents to collect it—the list should be back in Moscow by now."

"Back in Moscow?" Kira frowned seriously. "Impossible. I've maintained contact with Moscow—if the list had returned long ago, how could the Philby corpse case have become such a scandal?"

Alfred also frowned: "I'm certain my communications with Moscow were secure—no one else interfered. As for the list's whereabouts…"

He shook his head: "I don't know."

At this moment, in the estate's underground, Schiller successfully used gray mist to bypass the safe's lock.

Opening the safe's door, he didn't see the Bacchus Factor vial as expected, but an unremarkable file folder.

On the folder, a badge bearing a sickle, hammer, and red flag glowed faintly.