Chapter 4941

Tim never imagined that the dropped teaching prop would not only be used to pass exams, but also to help them piece together the scattered Bruce thesis fragments. He somewhat regretted going after the shredder boss. If Uncle Ugly knew that the monsters killed by his explosives would drop a pile of Bruce thesis fragments, he wouldn't lend him the explosives.

Brainiac was like a parent who disguised a learning machine as a game console and gave it to a child. On the surface, it looked like a bright and shiny game, but its core was actually the theory and practice of psychoanalytic personality theory. This game was suitable for Arkham Batman to play; after playing, he would start researching how to chop Brainiac into minced meat.

Although he thought that way, Tim had always been diligent and hardworking, so he went back to reading. Fortunately, the Viscount Manor had few people now, so he could calm down and study.

On the other hand, the lighthouse team had already engaged in combat with the final boss of the northern region, Falcone.

Reaper was cursing while fighting: "You call this a mafia godfather???"

In Falcone Manor, a figure in a suit floated mid-air, with countless firearms and gun barrels floating behind him, currently firing repeatedly at the ground with a booming sound. The lighthouse team relied on the truck, but were still suppressed by the firepower and couldn't lift their heads.

"Where the hell did this Iron Man come from?!!!" Damian couldn't help but blurt out a swear.

"Brainiac, even if the mafia could get a lot of weapons, it shouldn't be this ridiculous, right?" Nightwing also complained slightly. He had just poked his head out and fired a shot, but his uniform was blown apart by the explosion.

"This is the final boss," Brainiac emphasized, "all four bosses are tough to deal with; we should do more quests, get more gear, or develop the base a bit before fighting again."

His statement was hard to refute, because at a glance this game looked like a long-term management game, not a speedrun linear adventure, and was more suited to slow play—meaning a team taking turns going online and offline, whoever had time would come build something, and whoever didn't would go attend to real-life matters.

But Brainiac still didn't quite understand humans. Humans' favorite thing is to slack off in fast-paced linear games, and in slow-paced farming leisure games, they grind from morning till night.

Moreover, everyone had just started playing this game, which was precisely when interest was strongest, so they were definitely playing until dark and dizzy. Compared to tinkering with production lines at home, going out to explore was obviously more fun.

The battle had already begun, and dwelling on whether they could win or not was meaningless now—they could only grit their teeth and fight. But outside, it had been blasted into resembling London during WWII; several people waited half a day, yet still saw no breakthrough.

The agent tightened his tactical gloves and said: "We can't fight him here; we need to lure him out."

After saying that, he rushed out quickly, a roll bringing him to the window side. Using the wall for cover, he fired a shot at Falcone, which successfully drew his attention. He indeed flew toward the direction beside the manor.

But as he approached the window, he stopped. The agent gritted his teeth; Brainiac was quite sharp. The final boss not leaving his own area meant they couldn't find advantageous terrain to gradually wear him down.

If they could lure monsters freely, they could actually drag all monsters into the water. Even this Iron Man version of Falcone would have much reduced explosive damage in water. With good swimming skills, they might even achieve a zero-damage kill. Too bad they weren't allowed to lure.

The agent thought again: since the final boss couldn't be lured away, could they lure other monsters over instead?

Seeing the monster-luring plan fail, Reaper waved his hand directly: "Let's go!"

They all got on the truck and rushed straight out of Falcone Manor. Fortunately, they had already killed most of the minor monsters when entering, so the final boss couldn't pursue them. Soon the group returned to the lighthouse.

"I have an idea," the agent said, "whether it can be realized still needs investigation."

"Go on," Reaper said, "now it looks like if we insist on killing him with brute force, our base would need to be built up to the level of Iron Man's lab, otherwise we can't win head-on. It's time to try some underhanded tactics."

"It's not really underhanded," the agent said, "we'll go find some strong regional bosses, throw them into the final boss's fortress, and that should consume his condition and HP."

Nightwing's eyes lit up: "Indeed. If that drowned one from before were lured over, would Falcone get contaminated by him?"

"But would contamination really weaken him?" Red Robin raised a question, "What if the more contaminated, the stronger he becomes?"

"So better not to contaminate," the agent said, "find monsters that are definitely hostile to each other, not ones that would mutually strengthen."

"But even if we could find them, how would we get them over?" Damian sighed, "Although dragging them all the way isn't impossible, the regional bosses of the north and the final boss are allies. So we'd have to look elsewhere. But if we dragged them from another region, we wouldn't know how many monsters we'd have to clear along the way. That's too wasteful of resources."

"Use the truck," the agent said concisely, "figure out how to trick the monsters onto the vehicle, close the door, charge straight into the manor, and open the door again upon arrival."

The Robins exchanged glances; this plan could almost be called crazy, but it actually fit the agent's professional identity. Red Hood even blurted out: "Isn't your agents' main job just to capture all kinds of dangerous things from around the world and lock them together?"

"Not just things, but people too," Red Robin added, "oh, not just enemies, but also our own people."

The agent ignored them. He simply pulled up the terminal map, pondering which region's regional boss would be better. The eastern region could be ruled out first—those mentally contaminating things thrown in would likely only strengthen the boss. The southern region had conservatively designed monsters, but the distance was simply too far. As for the northern region, most monsters were on the same side as the final boss and wouldn't fight him. That left only the western region.

Moreover, the western region had an advantage: most regional bosses were concentrated near Gotham University, allowing quick determination of each minor boss's attributes and strength. The space there was also relatively open, very suitable for truck maneuvering.

"Let's go to the western region," the agent said standing up, "drive our vehicle, you guys keep the truck."

After saying that, he gave Reaper a glance, and the two left together, getting into the vehicle they had previously acquired. Reaper sat in the driver's seat and let out a long sigh: "I didn't expect this game to be this tough; I thought I could slaughter in all directions."

"And there aren't many rewards either," the agent said, leaning back in the chair, appearing somewhat lax, lowering his head to light a cigarette but not smoking it, just holding it in his hand, hand out the window, watching the smoke drift backward.

"Don't waste it, okay? Chinese cigarettes are rare items." Reaper snatched the cigarette from his hand, lit one, pulled his mask up partially, bit it between his lips, and took a hard drag. He was even better—he could hold his breath for several minutes without exhaling, until the smoke was fully absorbed, one cigarette not wasted at all, no different from directly putting the cigarette in his mouth and chewing it.

However, this dosage was trivial for Reaper, after all he was a cybernetic organism. As long as he didn't smoke like Constantine, it wouldn't affect his health.

The car drove all the way to the western region. Reaper wanted to head straight to Gotham University, but the agent said: "Go to the Arrogant One's place first; he's more familiar with that area, let's ask for intel."

Reaper had no objections, the car turned around and headed to the lakeside villa. But upon arrival, he didn't get out; only the agent stepped down. However, the agent didn't go straight into the house, instead walking to the other side of the car to blow in the lakeside breeze for a while, waiting for the smoke smell on him to dissipate completely before approaching the door.

After entering, he knocked on the door. Hearing footsteps, he knew it wasn't the Arrogant One. The agent instinctively reached for his gun, and at that moment the door opened. Ethan stood in the doorway.

The instant the agent appeared, Ethan's expression turned extremely grim. The next second, the agent instinctively dodged sideways. With a bang, a bullet grazed his arm and shot into the front lawn grass.

"Don't shoot!" the agent wasn't saying to Ethan, but to Reaper behind him. When Ethan raised his gun, Reaper almost simultaneously raised his own. Reaper's main reason for not firing was that Ethan should be a player, and had no reason to attack them—there might be some misunderstanding.

Ethan's face was pale, his hand trembling. The agent lightly touched his arm; the bullet had grazed past, and logically should have caused bleeding. But his upper arm had a tactical strap, and the bullet just grazed the edge of the strap, so it didn't break the skin.

After a brief assessment, the agent knew Ethan likely suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder from combat. However, he wasn't wearing camouflage and didn't look like a soldier—so why shoot at him?

Ethan seemed to have slightly sobered up, but he still slammed the door shut with a bang, as if avoiding something. The agent sighed, could only walk back to the car and wait.

"What's his deal?" Reaper also didn't quite understand, "Why did he shoot at you?"

"I don't know," the agent shook his head, "they each have their own stories; I'm not in the mood to figure it out."

Not long after, Gordon and the Arrogant One returned. They had gone out on a mission. Upon seeing the agent and Reaper, Gordon froze—two killing gods coming here to do what?

When the Arrogant One saw them, he frowned. The agent spoke first: "I didn't know you were still bringing a patient."

"Ethan..." the Arrogant One paused slightly, "his condition is indeed bad, and you happen to be the type of person who easily triggers him."

"Soldier?" the agent frowned slightly.

"Agent." the Arrogant One sighed lightly, "he was snatched from his home, and the ones who took him were people similar to you. To be precise, it was you."

"I feel regretful," the agent said, though his tone gave no hint of regret, "too bad it's not us, only me."

The Arrogant One and Gordon went inside, clearly to settle Ethan. Reaper curiously asked: "What do you mean? What riddle are you playing?"

"Ethan also has post-traumatic stress disorder toward agents, but he obviously doesn't know psychoanalytic theory, otherwise he wouldn't have shot at me."

"Aren't you an agent too?"

The agent turned his head to look at him: "Many agents smoke because their work pressure is huge. Besides high work intensity, their conscience also gets tormented. Guess why I don't smoke?"

Reaper tentatively asked: "You have no conscience?"

The agent rolled his eyes: "Of course it's because I have other ways to relieve my pressure."

"What way?"

"I already told you, I do the dirty work." The agent also walked toward the door, "Including silencing those old agents who thought they had retired with honor."