Bruce Wayne rose to his feet again, as if his conviction had infused him with boundless strength. Assassins from the League of Shadows, trained in the same combat techniques, swung their katanas at him, but he dodged them by a hair's breadth.
Then Bruce Wayne smashed them apart one by one with his fists, with the strong rhythm of a game of whack-a-mole. No—or perhaps these lackeys had been somehow provoked in an instant, each one rushing up to offer him their face.
Their stances and positions made Bruce Wayne feel embarrassed not to punch them.
The fight was incomparably exhilarating. Every time an opponent fell, Bruce Wayne's fighting spirit rose another notch. Once he had struck down every last lackey in a display of overwhelming might, he once again became Gotham City's guardian who could never be defeated—Batman.
Henry Ducard had no idea why his prized disciple had suddenly become so fired up, but he could only do his best to fight Bruce Wayne. One sought destruction, the other protection; both believed they were fighting for justice.
There was no possibility of talking the other side into submission in this kind of battle. It could end only when one side fell.
Inside this slum dwelling, only Batman and Henry Ducard remained standing. The assassins sprawled across the floor were the spectators of this duel.
Though Bruce Wayne's skills had been taught by Henry Ducard, once they fought, Henry Ducard discovered that he was no match for him at all.
Of course, it was definitely not simply because Batman's armor was impervious to blades and bullets—because Bruce Wayne, a cash-shop player, was using equipment to overpower a free-to-play player like Henry Ducard. At most, that accounted for half the reason.
More importantly, Bruce Wayne's fighting spirit was soaring, and that