The Death knell

That place must remain unknown to them. Maybe Barbara can know, but not the reporters. Albert doesn't mind causing trouble for Batgirl.

However, the villains knowing her identity and the whole world knowing are two different things.

"Well, if I tell you another clue, can you at least not blindfold me?" Johnson attempted to bargain.

"No." Albert tore a towel into three parts and covered all three of them. "If you dare to touch it, I will break off your toes."

"But your binding is very uncomfortable. And even if I want to touch it, I need my hands. Why would you break my toes?" Johnson twisted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable.

"Because I feel like it." Albert gave a willful answer. "Where is your evidence?"

"You won't even let me see it. If I don't say anything, just kill me," Johnson turned his head, stretched out his neck, and offered it to Albert.

"I didn't say I wouldn't let you see it. Just not now. And the person you want dead will die tomorrow." Albert shared his thoughts and pushed her back into the seat. Cindy was driving recklessly; the entire car was vibrating at a high frequency.

"Alright, remember what you said," Natasha chuckled, realizing she was lucky. "I already know who the man in black you're looking for is."

"Oh?"

Even Cindy was interested now. So many people had missed this clue—how had Johnson figured it out? Cindy didn't believe a female reporter was smarter than her.

But Albert knew Johnson was incredibly lucky. It was as if fate itself favored her. She could find clues effortlessly, and with her sheer luck, she might even be able to solve a world crisis.

That's how it worked in comics. She was unbelievably fortunate. If a thug tried to harass her, a superhero would just happen to pass by. If she needed information, clues would land in her lap. If her boss wanted to fire her, a board member would step in to protect her.

Albert had taken her along not just to use the TV station but because of this luck. Sometimes, luck was the key to success.

He just didn't know if luck counted as a superpower.

"Keep talking," Albert gestured for her to continue.

"Ahem, I examined the wounds on the corpse. The cuts were precise, perfectly avoiding minor organs like the stomach and intestines, but directly damaging the liver and spleen. That means the murderer needed a long weapon—not a dagger—and had to train extensively in this particular execution method. That made me think of ritual killings," Johnson explained.

Cindy shook her head, lighting a cigar and blowing a smoke ring that quickly dissipated.

"I don't remember anyone in Chicago having a hobby like Jack the Ripper."

"Wait, I'm not done." A smirk formed on Johnson's lips, visible beneath the blindfold. "The Ripper never appeared in Chicago. So, if this wasn't an original method, it had to be a classical execution technique. That led me to recall some historical records."

"An ancient form of execution?"

Albert crossed his arms and closed his eyes, thinking hard. But all he could recall were old British torture methods like drawing and quartering.

Cindy clearly had no idea either. She puffed her cigar, unimpressed.

"Haha, I didn't examine the body closely because it was disgusting, but I estimated the murder weapon was about 60 centimeters long and 5 centimeters wide. That confirmed my suspicion—it was a method of execution known as the 'Caesarean Execution.' I recently came across this information while reporting on a ritual murder."

Johnson revealed the answer. The name sounded unfamiliar. Seeing the confusion on everyone's faces, she felt a surge of pride. Finally, her obscure knowledge had a use.

She continued explaining:

"This was an ancient Roman punishment. The victim was tied to a pillar, and a Roman dagger was inserted sideways into the abdomen, avoiding minor organs but causing a slow, painful death. Now, if we connect this to Chicago, who comes to mind? The Romans?"

"Roman Falcone?" Albert exhaled sharply. "If it's him, he really despises both Gordon and Batgirl."

"Despise? Haha! Gordon tricked him, and Batgirl once tied him to the Bat-Signal and roasted him half-cooked. He hates them," Cindy laughed, shaking her head. She had heard about what happened a decade ago.

Bats were truly cruel. They could kill with just a single punch, but instead, they roasted their enemies alive?

If Falcone was behind this, things were about to get complicated. He wasn't a brainless thug. A decade ago, he had been the underground emperor of Chicago. For a man to maintain power in a city ruled by crime, he had to be a mastermind.

Falcone would never do anything meaningless. And the League of Assassins, an organization with centuries of history, would certainly recognize this ancient execution method. The marks left on the bodies were a message:

I killed your people. Come find me.

If it had been Falcone ten years ago, he might have been bold enough to challenge the League of Assassins. Back then, he controlled Chicago completely. But now? What power did he have left?

"Could it be a setup? Falcone should be locked up in Blackgate Prison," Barbara suggested, wanting to check her computer—but she was still blindfolded.

"Gordon's daughter is so naive and cute," Emima mocked, reaching out to touch Barbara's face, but she dodged. "Falcone was released on medical parole two months after his imprisonment due to a 'sudden illness.' He moved to Los Angeles, where he's been doing quite well. Looks like he's back now."

"Yeah, no one would frame a forgotten man. Only he himself would dig up the past," Cindy agreed. The clues all pointed in one direction—the Romans were back.

The rain outside intensified. Cindy had driven off the city ring road and onto a muddy path.

Through the darkness, tree shadows flickered past. The wind had picked up, and rain lashed the leaves, creating a rhythmic drumming sound. Broken trees flashed in Albert's vision—proof that the storm was growing stronger.

He never realized Vayne's mansion was this remote. Even its water and power supply must require special pipelines. If something happened in the city, reaching this place would take forever.

Wouldn't it be smarter if Bliss lived right next to the police station? She could meet Gordon within minutes of the Bat-Signal lighting up…

Albert shook off these thoughts. He didn't want to dwell on the Dark Multiverse. It was like a sword hanging over his head—constantly thinking about it would do no good.

Johnson had quieted down after revealing her clue. But Albert noticed her ears twitching slightly—she was trying to memorize the route by sound.

She had no special training. It was a futile effort. Luck had its limits.

Albert refocused on Gordon's kidnapping.

If Falcone was provoking the League of Assassins, he must have a plan. Assassins were just humans—against heavy firepower, they would fall like anyone else.

Except for their leader, the immortal 'Devil's Head' Halle Berry.

It seemed the Romans had gathered a new crew and were preparing for war against the League of Assassins. But why? There was no known conflict between them.

The League of Assassins worked for money. They had no reason to make an enemy out of Falcone. What had changed? And how did Gordon fit into this?

If Falcone wanted revenge, his targets should have been Gordon, Batgirl, and the Penguin.

Gordon had called for negotiations, but when Albert arrived, Batgirl was also there. The two of them had ambushed Falcone, humiliated him, and then Penguin had taken over his empire.

Falcone should have hired the League of Assassins, not made them his enemies.

So, what was his real plan?!