"Damn it," Arkham Batman cursed inwardly. What was he doing running into the garden in weather like this?!
Now that he knew the enemy's exact position, Arkham Batman stopped hiding. He stood up and faced Schiller head-on. Schiller was still pale, holding a gleaming boning knife as long as an adult's forearm, and was slowly moving toward him.
There was no way his movement speed was actually this slow, Arkham Batman realized. He was doing it only to apply psychological pressure and make people turn and run. It was very effective against people who did not understand him.
However, if Schiller had recognized him as well, then he should know that Arkham Batman understood him to some degree, so there was no need to use this trick. Even if he had only seen his appearance and knew he was Batman, he should know that he was simply not someone who cracked under pressure. In that case, doing this was a complete waste of time. Could there be some other reason?
Arkham Batman made a bold decision. He simply stood there and waited for Schiller to approach him. When Schiller had reached a point about fifty yards away, he could see those gray eyes through the hazy curtain of rain—and then he realized that Schiller's gaze was unfocused.
Those barren gray eyes did not seem to be staring at him, only looking in this direction, as if unable to determine his exact position. However, his gaze was changing, seeming to gradually solidify. Arkham Batman immediately realized that Schiller might have impaired vision.
Perhaps not completely blind, but at least severely nearsighted. It was even very possible that he could not see the real world's scenery and was observing the world from another angle, one that was also limited and could only