A light drizzle had been falling endlessly over the dim, lightless city. The air was so damp it felt as though the whole place had sunk into the depths of the sea. Schiller stood by the inn room window and looked down. The torchlight below was growing brighter and brighter. Squad after squad of cult members howled through the streets, their cries of battle growing louder and more urgent.
Yet Schiller merely stood at the window and watched quietly. While he watched the view, Batman watched him. At that moment, Schiller exuded an unmistakably violent air—Hush, grim, filled with an arrogance that stood above social rules, as if he embodied every quality possessed by the enforcers of all violent institutions.
"I told you, he's quite a difficult opponent," Owlman's voice echoed through the dim room. "Though they are both enforcers of the law, he is completely different from Batman. Most Batmen stand on the side of justice and use violent means to uphold rules and order, which is why they are Dark Knights. But Schiller isn't. He is a perfect blade without thoughts—cold, focused, and merciless."
"Trying to hold him back with justice and kindness, as you would Batman, will have no effect whatsoever. I advise you to change tactics quickly. Otherwise, when he comes here to kill, don't expect me to take care of you."
"An agent focused solely on completing his mission?" The ethereal voice rang out. "Perhaps we should observe him a little longer. If that is truly the case, there will naturally be other ways to keep him here."
"I'm just curious how that idiot, with only his head left, intends to change the situation now. Is he going to burst into tears?" The Batman Who Laughs said, his fingers interlaced beneath his chin. "It seems