Chapter 989: The Battle for Gao Ta (24)

When the ground trembled, Batman glanced at Merkel, who covered his mouth—but the next second, he turned and shouted to the demons: “Retreat! Listen to me, retreat!”

The moment he spoke, every demon acted as if a switch had been flipped, immediately dropping their tools and gathering together, then marching in orderly fashion toward the mine tunnels—so swiftly and decisively that even Batman felt surprised.

Merkel also sprinted deeper into the mine, and Batman followed behind him; so fast was their retreat that the lava had not yet erupted when all the demons had vanished into the underground escape routes.

The escape tunnels lay above the lava, but because their speed was so great, the lava only began to spew forth after all the demons had passed through, destroying the interior space of the Third Mountain.

Once they reached the underground mines of the Second Mountain, before anyone could catch their breath, a Scalesnake Demon poked its head out of a corridor and called to Merkel: “Comrade Merkel? Comrade Alfred sent me to meet you. Your astonishing victory in the Third Mountain has greatly inspired our comrades in the Second Mountain...”

Hearing the Scalesnake Demon speak in Soviet jargon, Batman covered his eyes. He glanced back at the demons behind him—still shaken, their minds scattered—and suddenly felt utterly stranded.

Batman truly did not want to bring this band of demons before Alfred, any more than he wanted to hand him his own report card.

But there was no choice—Merkel had already moved forward, so Batman had to follow. When he reached Alfred, the man was directing a group of Lava Demons to haul massive logs to the mine’s ceiling as supports, reinforcing the tunnel structure.

Alfred was delighted to see Batman. He smiled and said: “I saw the Central Mine collapse. You’re safe—that’s all that matters. Holding out there this long was already a miracle.”

Batman froze. He had not expected Alfred to praise him so bluntly. He paused, then said: “Actually, I drew inspiration from...”

“Regardless of what you drew from, holding off elite demon troops this long under such conditions proves your exceptional skill in tactical deployment and strategic planning.”

Batman did not look particularly pleased by the praise—he had too many questions. Alfred noticed his state and gave a subtle nod to a nearby Scalesnake Demon, who led Merkel, his troops, and Batman’s forces deeper into the mine.

In the center of the mine, only Batman and Alfred remained. Alfred led Batman to a pile of logs, where a campfire burned—and beside it, a flat stone slab had been placed for grilling, upon which rested a perfectly cooked steak.

“Eat,” Alfred said. “I ‘borrowed’ this from the overseer in charge of the mess hall. Tastes good.” He sliced off a piece with a sharp mineral blade and pushed it toward Batman.

Batman hesitated—but did not eat. Alfred shook his head. “Since childhood, you’ve done this: when you’re upset, you refuse to eat. It ruins your stomach.”

In front of Alfred, Batman seemed more vulnerable, more childish. He sulked, stepping farther from the slab. Alfred smiled. “I suspect you’re puzzled by Merkel’s success—you think you’re smarter than him, yet can’t command these demons as well.”

Batman opened his mouth, then closed it. After a moment, he spoke: “Alright, that’s one of my questions—but it’s not the real one.”

“Then what is?” Alfred sliced the steak with his dagger and speared a piece with a wooden fork, putting it in his mouth.

“You’ve always... I mean, you’ve never truly abandoned your ideals. You’ve wanted to do this for a long time, haven’t you?” Batman asked, staring at Alfred.

Alfred lowered his head, then nodded. “No one can ever truly abandon their ideals. If someone claims they have, they’ve merely buried them deepest in their heart, unwilling to speak of them.”

“But that’s not because they’ve lost faith, nor because they’re ashamed—it’s because a mature person understands: when the time isn’t right, shouting louder or more often changes nothing.”

“Why didn’t you...” Batman began, then realized his tone had grown too sharp, almost accusatory. He softened his voice. “Why have I never heard you speak of this before?”

Alfred looked into Batman’s eyes and fell silent for a long time—so long that Batman began to feel uneasy. Finally, Alfred sighed. “When Thomas and Martha were alive, I would never have implanted such ideas into the mind of a child who understood nothing. That would have been unjust.”

“After they died...” Alfred fell silent again. Batman stared at him. Then he heard Alfred say: “Your mental state was simply not suited for any deeper philosophical contemplation.”

Alfred spoke gently, but Batman understood his meaning. He opened his mouth to reply, but Alfred continued: “I know you had many questions then. You desperately needed answers. But I couldn’t let you walk this path at that time.”

“If you adopted this ideology only because you needed a universal answer—as your sole lifeline—and truly believed it saved you, then it’s no different from believing in God.”

Alfred’s aged eyes fixed on Batman, his voice heavy with deep conflict and pain.

“At that time, I could have given you a key as a spiritual anchor—but the cost would have been that you could never again view this ideology objectively.”

Alfred’s tone suddenly grew intense. He gripped the edge of the stone slab, ignoring its heat, and asked Batman: “...Do you know what ‘liberation’ means?”

Batman slowly shook his head. Alfred spoke with solemn seriousness: “The liberation of all humanity, in a sense, means granting everyone the right to make their own choices—and to choose their own answers.”

“I’ve said before: this isn’t the Bible. You don’t memorize all the theories and then have a god whisper answers into your ear. But if I’d given it to you then, you would have thought exactly that.”

“I couldn’t let you turn it into your faith while you were desperate to question the world—because that would mean you’d never grasp its true essence...”

“It answers everyone’s questions because it tells you: you yourself can answer your own questions.”

Alfred’s words brought back Batman’s mental state at that time. He remembered little clearly—everything had shattered into fragments—but the one thing he recalled was his desperate search for any answer that might ease his pain.

At that time, the person he trusted most was Alfred. If Alfred had told him then that it was all God’s will, he would have believed it. If Alfred had said it was Marxism, he would have believed that too.

But Alfred said nothing. So now, Batman believed in nothing.

Alfred sighed again, his voice tinged with guilt. “I know giving you an answer would have made you feel better—but it would have taken away your right to choose.”

“That’s what I thought then. But now, I still regret it—the consequences were far worse than I imagined.”

Setting aside master and servant roles, Alfred seemed willing to say more. Batman had never heard him speak this way. Alfred continued:

“I only considered the future—but I never thought how deeply you’d be wounded then, how it might shape your future personality, even affect your education and descendants...” Alfred shook his head, as if no better solution had existed.

When such a blow strikes a genius, the fragile emotions already suppressed by intellect are utterly shattered. No amount of later intervention can truly mend it.

But Batman heard something else in Alfred’s words. He looked at him and asked seriously: “So... I really am sick?”

Alfred was startled by the question. He stammered: “Uh... well... perhaps one of your mentors—the one who was always extremely strict—did, in your presence, express some views about your mental state?”

“I thought he was insulting me,” Batman said bluntly. “...I’m certain he was.”

“Why did he insult you?”

“No reason. He insults whoever he wants.” Batman paused, then added: “He especially liked insulting me.”

Alfred turned his palm upward—a gesture meaning all was understood. Batman took a deep breath and exhaled.

Batman had, in fact, sensed he might suffer from some physiological mental disorder—but he mistook it for his rational thinking overpowering his emotional side, causing emotional dullness.

But now it was clear: his condition was more than dullness. His emotional responses were growing weaker, even affecting his capacity for empathy.

His logic told him whether someone was happy or sad—but when he tried to imagine himself in their place, he understood intellectually that the situation should evoke emotion, yet felt nothing at all.

This caused his perspective to drift further, leading to flawed judgments of behavior. Batman suspected this was why his psychology studies always failed—he understood the theories, but whenever he tried to apply them, everything collapsed into chaos.

But then again—if he was mentally ill, wasn’t Shieler too? They were all mentally ill. Why could Shieler be a psychology expert?

Batman could not fathom it. He decided to ask Shieler. He turned to Alfred: “Where is Professor Shieler now?”

“He? After leaving the Central Mine, he went to the Seventh Mountain—the one closest to that giant eye.” Alfred answered, then added: “I just organized the demons to dig an escape tunnel there. We can meet him there.”

Hearing that Shieler’s mountain was closest to the giant eye, Batman felt a bad premonition. He immediately called for Merkel, and the two set off through the escape tunnel toward the Seventh Mountain’s mines.

Upon arriving at the Seventh Mountain, they saw General Rotheart standing at the mine’s edge, looking down at Shieler, who lay on the ground.

He raised his trident and drove it through Shieler’s clavicle. Shieler grunted. Behind him, the demons sneered and stepped forward.

They brought out a massive, rusted circular clamp, threaded it through the hole made by the trident, and locked it around Shieler’s shoulder and clavicle. Then they dragged the bleeding man out of the mine.

Merkel gasped in horror and shouted:

“We must rescue General Rotheart immediately!!!”

Batman turned and stared at him. Merkel froze, then clapped his hand over his mouth. His voice leaked through his fingers:

“Uh—I mean—we must rescue Mr. Shieler immediately!!!”