"Allen, are you saying pure Serpent's Blood doesn't need The Blade of Redemption to work with it and has absolutely no side effects!"
Bruce and Alfred had already been resurrected completely unharmed.
Meanwhile, Joker Arthur looked utterly despondent, muttering deliriously about hair and eyebrows.
"Batsy, I thought you knew," Allen replied.
How could he possibly have known?
Whether pure or not, Serpent's Blood was a treasure in the eyes of any faction.
They would hide it away before they could even think of showing it off.
Bruce did not dwell on the matter, though inwardly, he was overjoyed.
Pure Serpent's Blood had no side effects. Wasn't that like stumbling upon a treasure?
There was no need to rack his brains researching it anymore. At critical moments, he could use it to save people, making it a treasure that left others owing him favors.
Besides, the pool was beneath Wayne Manor. By rights, it belonged to Bruce.
"How should we deal with this bad student?"
Pointing at the Joker, who had withdrawn into himself, Allen suggested, "How about locking him up in Arkham Asylum? He and I used to be Fellow Patients."
Noticing Allen's gaze, Arthur curled up in fear. His panicked, timid appearance made him look rather pitiful.
"Forget it. Hand him over to Blackgate Prison."
Bruce said, "In Wayne Group's name, I'll invest a hundred million in Blackgate Prison to upgrade its security system. He probably won't be able to escape again."
"Listen to yourself. Does that even sound right?" Allen said sourly. "So having money makes you such a big deal, huh?"
Obviously, Bruce did not catch the pun.
The reason he did not trust Arkham Asylum to hold Joker was that he feared someone would rescue him again.
Wasn't Allen in Arkham Asylum? Why was he still worried?
Come on, Allen climbed out of the asylum every day. Had he ever arrested a single criminal?
These past days, he had been busy having fun.
"Principal, if you don't treat me to a meal, I'm leaving," Allen said as he rose.
"What principal?"
Faced with this sudden new nickname, Bruce was a little confused.
Allen had previously called him Batsy, and it had taken him quite a while to realize it came from Batman.
So what was this "principal" about?
"You're still denying it." Allen explained with a mischievous grin, "Our Gotham Criminal University is dedicated to cultivating criminal talent. Principal, haven't you always used arrests to train criminals and help them improve, hoping that one day they'll step onto the international stage?"
"..."
Bruce understood the implication.
Batman had a no-killing rule, so he only arrested, tried, and imprisoned criminals. As a result, criminals escaped from time to time and went back to causing trouble.
After lesson upon lesson, those criminals really had grown and improved.
"I'm really leaving."
Allen took a step and looked back three times, as though waiting to be asked to stay.
"The young masters and young ladies will be back soon. I was just about to make preparations. Would you like to join us for lunch?" Alfred asked, understanding the hint.
"You're inviting me so warmly. How could I possibly refuse?"
Allen acted coy for one second, then immediately said without ceremony, "I don't eat cilantro, thank you."
"Very well."
As always, Alfred maintained his gentlemanly demeanor, then took the elevator upstairs to place an order.
Wayne Group owned luxury hotels, so naturally it had private chefs dedicated to Wayne Manor.
Near noon, The Five Robins returned safely.
They had no idea Master had already died once.
Of course, Bruce would not tell them, lest they worry.
After wolfing down the meal, Allen picked his teeth with a toothpick held between his fingers and said leisurely, "I'm half full. Feels great."
"Allen, if that isn't enough, I can bring out more," Alfred said kindly.
After all, Allen had saved both his and Bruce's lives. Alfred already regarded him as one of their own.
"Pack up some desserts for me. I'll eat them at home."
Allen started fooling around again and said to Bruce, "Batsy, stand up first. I have something to announce."
"What is it? Why do I have to stand up?"
Although Bruce was puzzled, he still obediently rose to his feet.
"I announce that everyone here is trash."
"..."
Was that polite?
Messing around like that during a meal.
Faced with pairs of murderous eyes, Allen wore a shameless grin. "Batsy, your turn."
Bruce silently sat back down and cut the steak on his plate.
If they really played like that, this family would fall apart sooner or later.
"It's packed."
At that moment, Alfred brought over the takeaway box.
"I'm heading back to the fountain."
How could a box of desserts possibly survive the trip home? Allen finished it all on the way.
He changed into his personal patient uniform and lay down on his personal hospital bed.
Allen pondered life's three great philosophical questions.
Who was he, where had he come from, and where was he going?
'The spacetime anchor has been locked. The host may travel through time.' 'Currently available professions: Alchemist, Mage, Shaman.' 'Friendly reminder: The experience required to level a second profession is increased by 30%.'
He shot upright in bed.
Allen stared at the system prompt in front of him.
"System, come out. I don't want the Mage class. Change it for me right now, immediately."
With both hands tucked under his arms, Allen said haughtily, "I want Ghostblade, Berserker. Are you looking down on me, a Dungeon Fighter Online player?"
They remained deadlocked for a long while.
Allen resolutely refused to choose any of the professions, letting time tick by second by second.
'Selection timed out. Random assignment in progress.' 'Congratulations, Host. You have selected the Alchemist profession.' 'The following timelines are available.' 'Justice factions: S.H.I.E.L.D., League of Gentlemen, Winter Guard.' 'Evil factions: Hydra, Vanguard Technologies, Atlantis.'
If he would not choose, the system would choose for him.
It directly slammed the Alchemist profession onto him.
"Celia, I'm sorry. I can no longer be your guardian warrior."
Allen collapsed onto the bed, pale with despair. He had no interest in choosing a faction and said gloomily, "The glory of the Arad Continent can no longer shine upon this world in need of redemption."
At the same time, Director Quincy watched surveillance footage in his office.
Allen had rarely returned during the day, and Quincy suspected the guy was about to stir up trouble.
After all, Allen normally did not return home until midnight. It was hard not to be suspicious when he suddenly came back to the asylum in broad daylight.
"What is he gesturing at the air for?"
Director Quincy frowned and guessed, "Maybe he hasn't taken his medicine lately. His condition is getting worse."
"What a fine young man. What a pity."
'Selection timed out. Random assignment in progress.' 'Congratulations, Host. You have selected Hydra.'
Director Quincy sighed with emotion, but the next second, his eyes widened like bells.
On the surveillance feed, Allen vanished into thin air.
"Again!"
Director Quincy personally went to Allen's bed, even searching beneath it, before finally confirming that he had vanished without a trace again.
He hurried back to his office and dialed a number. "Fury, he's gone. Mm... mm..."
"Amanda, the target..."
World War II, a city occupied by Skull Division.
Dr. Zola looked at the young man before him, who seemed somewhat abnormal, and said earnestly, "Allen, the organization has a mission for you."
Slap...
"Hail Hydra!"
Allen gave a solemn military salute and declared firmly, "I guarantee I'll complete the mission entrusted to me by the organization. Even if the enemy uses ten blonde, blue-eyed, long-legged G-cup beauties in lace garters and white stockings to tempt me, I'll reveal only one word: Awesome..."
"..."
Before you continue