Chapter Seventy-Eight: The Enigma of the Dark Knight (Part Two)

The moonlight was bright, and after a brief but intense chase, Victor quickly realized that these elite Lily Knights were far inferior to the Blazing Roses that Siegfried had brought as reinforcements last time. The crossbows hadn’t even been fired, as they intended to take him alive.

Nevertheless, as time passed, the area in which the young man could maneuver shrank rapidly. Yada, who was commanding the hunt, did not pursue recklessly. Noticing that the man in black aimed to lose his pursuers in the maze of alleys, she calmly directed a few knights to split up and cut off his escape routes. Ultimately, Victor was forced out of the center of the trade district by pressure on all sides, and layers of heavy armor closed in, cornering the “Bat-Man” against the towering city wall.

Once he was fully surrounded, the knights held their ground and did not approach further. The princess had ordered him taken alive, and they feared that if they pressed too hard, this strangely dressed man standing on the battlements, arms crossed and cloak billowing, might leap to his death.

The silent standoff did not last long. Separating from the armored knights, the tall “White Yada” stepped forward. This was Victor’s second time meeting this noble young woman with a somewhat questionable reputation.

Under the glow of torches, her skin looked fair and translucent, making her full lips seem even redder. Yada narrowed her long, almond-shaped eyes at him and bit her lower lip lightly. “Your name, man in black. The Princess of Temeria has a question for you.”

Victor bowed with a perfectly graceful noble salute. “I am... the Bat-Man.”

She chuckled. “An amusing name, and quite the outfit. So, Bat-Man, why are you running? What crime have you committed?”

“Noble lady, I ran because you were chasing me.”

A trace of satisfaction played across Yada’s lips. “You run well, but my knights still caught up with you.”

“Yes, they did, thanks to your brilliant command. Truly worthy of Your Highness, the Princess.”

The well-timed compliment made Yada feel quite pleased.

She smoothed a stray lock of hair with her right hand and spoke calmly. “Surrender, Bat-Man. If your only offense is disturbing the peace and clashing with the city guard, you’ll be fine. By the name of Temeria’s Princess, I order your surrender. Even if you’ve committed other misdeeds, I promise that Mayor Velerad will deal with you leniently.”

Then, she saw the lips beneath his mask curve into a smile. “Oh, noble lady, your grace leaves me speechless, your magnanimity fills me with shame. To refuse your pardon would be utter folly.”

Yada smiled with satisfaction, feeling she had acquired another interesting plaything. She raised her hand, ready to signal her men to bind him.

But unexpectedly, the man in black continued, “But I refuse!” His tone was sharp and unyielding.

“My greatest pleasure, as Bat-Man, is saying ‘no’ to those who think they hold all the cards.”

The sudden shift and blunt words left all but Yada herself stunned into silence.

Her white gown fluttered as she lifted her chin, smiling even more sweetly. “How amusing. Now I truly wish to know how stubborn your bones are—how long you can keep saying ‘no’ to me?”

Beneath the black mask, his mouth twisted into a disdainful smile. “If you wish to know that answer, you’ll have to catch me first!”

With that, the young man suddenly raised his right fist, drawing all eyes to him and putting the knights on high alert. One knight thudded into place before the princess.

“Honored nobles, noble knights,” he declared, his voice deep and thunderous, the effect of a vocal-altering potion. “Be proud! You are here to witness, with your own eyes, the legendary Bat-Man’s escape performance!”

In the next instant—“Seize him!” Yada shouted. As her command rang out, they all watched in disbelief as he stood on the battlements, spread his arms in a cross, and fell backward off the city wall toward the outside.

The princess shoved aside the knight blocking her path and tossed her riding crop aside, rushing to the wall’s edge. Together with the assembled nobles and knights, she witnessed the Bat-Man, cloak unfurled, soaring with flawless grace into the forest beyond the city.

“Ladies and gentlemen, remember this day forever—you almost caught the famous Bat-Man! Hahahahaha!” His wild, unrestrained laughter echoed through the night sky.

So ended that man’s first dramatic appearance on the stage.

Yada licked her upper lip, the night wind tangling her red hair. Her voice was icy: “Listen. Find this Bat-Man. I want him alive. Whoever brings him to me, unharmed, will receive my reward.”

As she issued her order, her gaze toward the depths of the forest was bright—dazzlingly bright, almost frightening.

...

Victor glided safely into the forest, changed his clothes, and quickly jumped into the moat, slipping once more into the sewers to return to Vizima.

Though nearly two months had passed and it was dark, the boy moved with practiced ease. Back when the Salamandra gang had led him through, wary of their true intentions, he’d memorized every turn and drawn a map the very next day.

As long as he remained in Vizima, this route was invaluable. He sincerely thanked “Red Dog,” who’d first shown him the way. He wondered how that man was faring now.

Crawling out of the sewer, Victor’s mood was as light and steady as his steps. As long as he never revealed the suit, no one would ever find Bat-Man. The chaos of tonight’s escapade made him want to burst into laughter at the memory. Indeed, only in certain situations do we discover who we truly are; by donning a mask, he’d glimpsed hidden truths.

...

He slipped silently into the alchemy chamber. Angoulême, who’d been dozing in a lounge chair, sprang up, arms crossed, her large brown eyes glaring fiercely at Victor.

She had already changed out of her Catwoman suit, which lay crumpled beside the big cauldron. Without a word, Victor understood her message: tonight had been too much—Catwoman was retiring!

It was a pity, of course. Compared to Victor’s daring dash through the city, the Bat-Man suit had fully displayed the aesthetic sensibilities of the ancients—provocative and eye-catching. Angoulême’s Catwoman, by contrast, had instinctively kept a low profile, and with so few witnesses, she’d soon be forgotten, save for the drunken lout who’d received a kick to a most sensitive place. He would remember her forever.

Catwoman’s heroic career had barely begun before it ended—a great loss for the world indeed.

Still, no matter how regretful, the wishes of one’s companions could not be ignored. “I understand. There will be no more Catwoman, right?” the leader said, reluctant to let go.

Angoulême remained silent; she was in no mood to talk to Victor tonight. Still, having achieved her aim, she stepped forward for a quick hug to celebrate their safe return, then went upstairs to commiserate with Catherine and get some sleep.

Watching the girl go, Victor mourned the passing of a superhero as he tossed the Catwoman suit into the cauldron.

He looked around the walls, thinking it was time for some new decor. Recalling a painting he’d seen in a banker’s home, “Glory of the King,” a depiction of “Pure White Rafard” at his most glorious, with clean, powerful lines—it seemed just right.

“That’s the one,” he decided.

With the idea fixed in his mind, Victor began to sketch a mental image while he stirred the cauldron.