In another prayer room.
"Do you feel like something's off?" Batman suddenly asked as he lay on the bed.
"I noticed it too." Roland nodded, squirming hard against the mattress. "This mattress is rock-hard. Feels like coconut coir, but they sold it as mountain palm fiber. What a rip-off. I'm going to deal with that crooked seller later."
"—That's not what I meant. I'm talking about the Angel of Death." Batman rubbed his forehead. "And since when did you get so fussy? Are you the fucking Princess and the Pea?"
"Hey, hey, hey—watch your manners." Roland waved a hand. "You're the pampered rich boy here. How come you have no standards?"
"When we were surviving on that deserted island together, you had no problem sleeping on the ground." Batman rolled his eyes. "Jeanne d'Arc was right. You're an old man wearing a bib—just pretending to be a baby."
"When did Jeanne d'Arc become a Tianjin native? You're the one who said that, aren't you?"
"That's the gist of it, anyway." Batman waved impatiently. "Enough nonsense. Didn't that little girl calling herself Sariel remind you of anything today?"
"What?" Sariel floated up from the Hellbat Armor. "Let me make this clear first: this has nothing to do with me. As for why she used my name, that's just what happens when you're famous. People borrow Lucifer's name even more often."
"That's not what I mean." Batman shook his head. "That thing that popped out of the poor knight earlier called itself Rofocale."
"Well, now that's interesting," Sariel said. "Someone's impersonating all us old buddies? In that case, could the Angel of Death be Duma?"
"What does Flying Tiger Divine Eagle have to do with this?" Roland asked. "Though with his combat ability, he really could take on Yan Shuangying."
"Which Duma