Departing, A New Timeline

"Allen, you mean pure Serpent's Blood doesn't need The Blade of Redemption to cooperate, and has no side effects at all!"

Bruce and Alfred had been resurrected completely unharmed.

Meanwhile, the Joker, Arthur, looked dejected, muttering about hair and eyebrows.

"Batsy, I thought you knew," Allen replied.

How could he possibly know?

Serpent's Blood, whether pure or not, was a treasure in the eyes of any faction.

They wouldn't even have time to hide it, let alone show it off.

Bruce didn't dwell on the issue; he was overjoyed.

Pure Serpent's Blood with no side effects was practically like finding treasure.

There was no need to spend more effort researching it. At a critical moment, it could be used to save someone, making others indebted to him.

Besides, the pool was beneath Wayne Manor, so it rightfully belonged to him, Bruce.

"How should this bad student be dealt with?"

Allen pointed at the withdrawn Joker and suggested, "How about we lock him up in Arkham Asylum? He and I were cellmates before."

Noticing Allen's gaze, Arthur fearfully curled up, his panicked and cowering appearance looking quite pitiful.

"Forget it, hand him over to Blackgate Prison."

Bruce said, "In the name of the Wayne Group, I'll invest a hundred million in Blackgate Prison to upgrade their security system. I doubt he'll be able to escape again."

"Listen to yourself, what kind of thing is that to say!" Allen said sourly, "Is it great to have money power?"

Clearly, Bruce didn't understand the pun.

The reason he didn't feel at ease with the Joker being held in Arkham was his concern that someone might break him out again.

Wouldn't Bruce feel uneasy if Allen wasn't in Arkham?

Come on, he broke out of the asylum every day. Have you ever arrested any criminals?

These days, he'd just been looking for fun.

"Principal, if you don't invite me to eat, I'm leaving," Allen said, getting up.

"What principal?"

Bruce was a bit confused by the sudden new nickname.

He had been calling him Batsy before, and it took him a moment to realize it stemmed from Batman.

So what was with the principal?

"You still won't admit it," Allen explained cheekily, "Our Gotham Criminal University is dedicated to cultivating criminal talent. Principal, haven't you always been training criminals through arrests, hoping they can one day reach the international stage?"

"..."

Bruce realized the underlying meaning.

He had a no-kill principle as Batman, so he only arrested and imprisoned criminals, which led to criminals escaping and causing trouble from time to time.

The criminals were indeed growing and improving through repeated lessons.

"I'm really leaving."

Allen looked back three times as he walked away, as if expecting to be stopped.

"The young masters and ladies are about to return, and I was planning to prepare. Would you like to join us for lunch?" Alfred, understanding the situation, invited him.

"With your kind invitation, how could I refuse?"

Allen was hesitant for a second, then said without hesitation, "I don't eat cilantro, thank you."

"Alright."

Alfred remained a gentleman as always and went to the elevator to order food.

The Wayne Group had high-end hotels under its umbrella, so there were private chefs dedicated to Wayne Manor.

As noon approached, the Five Robins returned safely.

They were completely unaware that their master had died once.

Of course, Bruce wouldn't tell them, to avoid causing them worry.

After a quick meal, Allen picked his teeth with a toothpick, elegantly saying, "I'm half-full, so satisfied."

"Allen, if you're not full, I can get more," Alfred said kindly.

After all, Allen had saved his and Bruce's lives, and he was already considered family.

"Pack some dessert for me to eat at home."

Allen started to cause a stir again, saying to Bruce, "Batsy, stand up first, I have something to announce."

"What is it that requires me to stand up?"

Although Bruce had questions, he still complied and stood up.

"I declare that everyone here is trash."

"..."

"Are you polite?"

"Making a scene during dinner."

Facing pairs of eyes radiating killing intent, Allen said with a smarmy grin, "Batsy, your turn to play."

Bruce silently sat down and cut into his steak.

If they kept playing like this, the establishment would fall apart sooner or later.

"It's all packed."

At that moment, Alfred brought over the takeout boxes.

"I'm heading back to the fountain."

How could a box of dessert possibly survive the trip home? Allen ate it all on the way.

Changing into his exclusive patient gown, he lay down on his exclusive hospital bed.

Allen was contemplating life's three great philosophical questions.

Who am I, where do I come from, and where am I going?

'Time-space anchor locked, host can now traverse.'

'Currently available professions: Alchemist, Mage, Shaman.'

'Friendly reminder: Second profession upgrade experience difficulty increased by 30%.'

He sat bolt upright.

Allen looked at the system prompt box in front of him.

"System, come out! I don't want the Mage profession, change it for me right now."

Allen put his hands in his armpits and said haughtily, "I want Ghostblade, Berserker. Do you look down on me, a Dungeon Fighter Online player?"

After a long stalemate.

Allen resolutely refused to choose any profession, letting time tick by.

'Selection timed out, random assignment in progress.'

'Congratulations to the host for selecting the Alchemist profession.'

'Available timelines are as follows.'

'Justice Faction: S.H.I.E.L.D., Gentlemen's Alliance, Winter Guard.'

'Evil Faction: Hydra, Vanguard Technologies, Atlantis.'

If you don't choose, the system chooses for you.

It directly threw an Alchemist at him.

"I'm sorry, Seria, I can no longer be your guardian warrior."

Allen collapsed onto the bed, his face ashen. He felt no interest in choosing a faction and said mournfully, "The glory of the Arad Continent cannot illuminate this world that needs salvation."

Meanwhile, Director Quincy was watching surveillance videos in his office.

It was rare for Allen to return during the day, and he suspected the guy might be up to something.

After all, given Allen's usual habit of not returning home until midnight, his sudden appearance at the asylum in broad daylight made it hard not to be suspicious.

"What is he gesturing at the air for?"

Director Quincy frowned, guessing, "Perhaps he hasn't taken his medication recently, and his condition is getting worse."

"Such a shame for a fine young man."

'Selection timed out, random assignment in progress.'

'Congratulations to the host for selecting Hydra.'

Director Quincy sighed with emotion, but the next second his eyes widened like copper bells.

On the monitor, Allen had vanished into thin air.

"Again!"

Director Quincy personally went to Allen's hospital bed. He searched everywhere, even under the bed, and finally confirmed that the person had indeed evaporated.

He hurried back to his office and made a call, reporting, "Fury, he's gone, um... um..."

"Amanda, the target..."

World War II, a city occupied by the Skull Division.

Dr. Zola looked at the young man in front of him, who looked somewhat abnormal, and said earnestly, "Allen, the organization has a mission for you."

Snap...

"Hail Hydra!"

Allen solemnly saluted and said resolutely, "I guarantee to complete the mission assigned by the organization. Even if the enemy tempts me with ten beautiful, tall, blonde, blue-eyed, G-cup women wearing lace garter belts and white stockings, I will only reveal one word: Awesome..."

"..."