The King of Fists' Belt Is Yours

The call was answered quickly, and Alfred spoke in a soft voice.

"Hello, Commissioner Gordon, this is Wayne Manor. I am Alfred. A young Asian man has 'accidentally' snuck into Bruce's bedroom, and he even ate eight hundred dollars' worth of my steak..."

"Wait!"

Downton had originally intended to ignore Gordon's emergency call, but...

"The steak was something you gave me voluntarily, alright!"

Hearing this, Alfred cast a distant, sidelong glance at Downton before continuing into the phone.

"Rest assured, he did not harm Bruce. That is correct, I have him under control. You are coming over immediately? Very well, I shall wait for you right here!"

After hanging up the phone, Alfred spread his hands toward Downton.

"Young man, if you had not accidentally snuck in here, I would not have lost my steak, would I?"

"That makes sense!"

Downton nodded and couldn't help but chuckle. Once he finished laughing, he enjoyed polishing off the steak, then showed the empty plate to Alfred.

"Do I need to clean up myself, Alfred?"

"No need, just stand right there and don't move!"

Alfred took the plate, and while he was busy placing it back onto the tray, Downton stretched comfortably.

"Did you make the steak yourself? If so, I can only say it tasted excellent. It is a pity the timing is wrong; otherwise, I would truly like to taste your soup and dessert. Today has been a busy day, and the matters at hand are quite urgent, so it is time we said goodbye."

As his voice trailed off, Downton walked straight toward his travel bag.

Seeing Downton move again, Alfred frowned, and a bullet was precisely nailed into the floor right beside Downton's feet.

"Not everyone gets to taste my cooking. I hope you know how to cherish it; do not force me to fire, young man."

"Cherish what? Your cooking or my life? Stop joking, I don't even care about my own life. By the way, stop calling me 'young man.' I am Downton, Downton of Downton Abbey."

Downton chatted with Alfred as if he didn't care at all, then slung his travel bag over his shoulder.

Just as he continued walking toward the Desert Eagle, Alfred moved with sudden violence.

He lunged forward, his seemingly aged body surging forward with surprising force, reaching behind Downton in the blink of an eye. Before Downton could react, Alfred grabbed his arm, slammed him directly onto the floor, and pinned his lower back with a knee.

"Dislocated! It's dislocated!"

Downton smiled bitterly and patted the floor with his free hand.

"I surrender, you win. The heavyweight championship belt is yours, Alfred!"

"Don't try to play the fool. Wait honestly for the police to arrive, or confess everything you know! Who sent you, and what is your objective? Is it Bruce?"

"Damn it, I can't explain it. You won't believe it unless you see it with your own eyes."

"Stubborn, are you? I'd like to see how long you can hold out. I hope I haven't forgotten the methods I learned back then!"

Alfred was extremely confident in his combat and interrogation skills.

In his view, the young man pinned beneath him showed no signs of training; such a person was not only no match for him, but could never withstand the interrogation techniques he had learned during his time at MI5.

However, this only made Alfred more curious.

Why would a young man with no signs of training, wearing clothes covered in the marks of a gunfight and carrying a large bag of money, inexplicably evade him and sneak all the way into Bruce's bedroom?

He couldn't figure it out!

Just as Alfred was deep in thought, Downton struggled twice, looking annoyed.

After confirming that he truly could not escape the control of the "Butler-Man," Downton looked regretfully toward the Desert Eagle in the distance.

Then, he said to Alfred.

"I'll leave my gun with you for now. I'll come back for it once I've finished the business at hand."

The moment his words fell, Alfred landed in astonishment on the carpet.

Where was the person?

Where did such a large, living person go?

He just vanished into thin air???

Filled with immense shock, Alfred took a deep breath, then picked up the Desert Eagle that Downton had left behind.

"Downton?"

He unloaded the magazine of his Desert Eagle while speaking in a low voice.

"Is there an estate in Gotham called Downton Abbey?"

On the other hand, inside the Iceberg Lounge.

Watching Downton's corpse vanish completely once again after spontaneously combusting, Oswald narrowed his eyes in amazement.

What an enviable ability!

But envy was of no consequence; what mattered was that he had to get the club under control first.

With two consecutive riots breaking out in the club, Falcone, currently in Minus Forty-Four Degrees, was likely already furious!

He hurriedly shouted to his nearest subordinate.

"Get me a microphone, quickly!"

Since they were near the stage, there were plenty of microphones to be found.

A moment later, Oswald took the microphone and shouted to the thugs under Sabatino.

"That bastard Downton has vanished! Do you still want to keep fighting? Don't forget that both Sabatino and Boss Falcone are in this club!

Everyone, put your guns away. If you want to fight, use your fists.

Sabatino's men, is it? If you can fight your way out of this club using only your fists, I will let bygones be bygones regarding the mistakes you made today!

I know you're afraid I'll go back on my word, or worse, that I'll settle scores later. But let me tell you: do you really think I could remember your names or faces? What are you people even worth?

The moment my voice stops, if anyone dares to keep firing, I guarantee you will all die!

Drop your guns and escape the club as best you can. As long as you make it out, you can live however you want!

Start!!!"

Oswald smashed the microphone onto the floor, and the sudden, piercing screech of feedback made everyone cover their ears in pain.

However, once everyone regained their hearing, the gunfire vanished in the blink of an eye.

Watching the pathetic sight of Sabatino's men scrambling frantically toward the exits, Oswald shook his head in disdain.

Afterward, he limped at a light jog toward the direction of Minus Forty-Four Degrees.

The mess before him wasn't really a problem, but the trouble on Falcone's end was a true disaster!

Just like that, he rushed into the private room, drenched in sweat, and began apologizing to Falcone before he had even steadied himself.

"I'm sorry, Boss Falcone. I have failed your trust by letting the club fall into chaos for a second time.

You wouldn't believe it, but someone actually possesses the ability to return from the dead. I never imagined such a thing!

He..."

"I already know!"

Falcone cut Oswald off.

"Oswald, today's situation is highly unusual. This is not your fault; those fellows are indeed not the type of people anyone could stop.

I have no intention of blaming you. Go out and wait for that man who cannot die to return.

When he appears again, bring him here to see me. This is a matter between me and them, and only I and they have the qualifications to discuss it.

Go."

As his voice fell, Falcone waved his hand, signaling for Oswald to return to the Iceberg Lounge.

Hearing this, Oswald looked at Sabatino beside him, bewildered.

He truly couldn't understand it—Downton was about to kill Sabatino, yet the boss still wanted to have a discussion with him.

Wait, "them"?

Downton really did have others behind him!

It was a group with enough influence to force Falcone to sit down and have a serious discussion.

That bastard Sabatino had actually provoked such people; even if he didn't die, he would likely be stripped of a layer of skin. Haha.

Oswald left the room, secretly gloating.

After Oswald left, Falcone picked up his wine glass and silently glanced at the others.

With just that one look, Commissioner Savage and Sabatino stood up instantly.

"Sabatino, what about those Ukrainian girls you promised? Aren't you going to take me to see them?"

"Don't be in such a rush, Commissioner. I'll take you to see those two fine pieces right now!"

The two of them left the room with the women, leaving only Victor and Falcone behind.

Before stepping completely out of the room, Falcone's daughter cast a lingering, reluctant glance back at the room.

Ever since she discovered that the specter could make her father so apprehensive, she had been dying to meet him!

After all, who could hate her father more than she did?