Thriller Paradise Chapter 279: Mantlescramble Battle (Fourteen) - Novel Cool

Chapter 279: Mantlescramble Battle (Fourteen)

Chapter 279: Mantlescramble Battle (Fourteen)

Under the night sky, a black motorcycle tore through the streets like lightning, its rider a streak of red.

Tim Drake, the Third Robin, whose ambition was to "become the world's greatest detective." In the official lore, his combat skills were slightly inferior to the first Robin, Dick Grayson, but his investigative prowess was unmatched.

In reality, however, his physical abilities were nothing to scoff at. In the comic Mantlescramble Battle, Jason Todd himself admitted grudgingly: "This kid can fight. He’s always been a master at balancing brains and brawn."

Unfortunately, he still lost to Todd. Why? Because he fought "the way Bruce taught him"—clinging stubbornly to a strict moral code. Against Todd, who had long abandoned all principles, Tim’s defeat was inevitable.

Seeing such a "gentle, modest, and principled" young man arrive on the scene eased Feng Bu Jue’s concerns slightly.

"God… this scene looks like a missile strike…" Tim stood atop a building, gazing at the factory ruins below, his voice tinged with awe.

Fire trucks surrounded the explosion site, firefighters still working furiously. Police had set up an extended perimeter to block reporters and onlookers. Though the blast had been massive, the subsequent fire and destruction had been contained effectively.

"There he is…" Tim’s eyes narrowed suddenly. Across two hundred meters, on another rooftop, stood a figure in a purple long coat. The description matched the "Mysterious Man" witnesses had given during the bank incident.

Twenty-five seconds. That’s how long it took Tim to close the distance and reach Feng Bu Jue’s position behind him.

"Don’t do anything reckless, Tim." Feng Bu Jue spoke without turning, his back still to Tim. Yet his voice carried the perfect cadence to stop Tim mid-advance, as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

"You’re the madman who rained dollars down on the streets, aren’t you?" Tim’s tone turned hostile. "And the one who killed those three officers."

"I believe your accusations are baseless, unless you have concrete evidence linking me to these acts." Feng Bu Jue replied calmly, finally turning to face him.

"There are over twenty witness statements at the precinct, all matching your description perfectly." Tim countered.

"Many people look alike, Tim." Feng Bu Jue shrugged. "You can’t convict someone just because they ‘fit the description.’"

"Once I cuff you and drag you back to the station, I’m sure those witnesses will be eager to identify you." Tim said confidently.

"Cuff me? Drag me to the station? Hilarious. Who gave you the right to arrest me?" Feng Bu Jue chuckled. "Am I committing a crime right now? Or is my face on wanted posters at the station?" He shook his head. "Tim… a great detective should know the law demands evidence."

"Hmph… I know you’re cunning. You think blowing up the bank’s surveillance room erased all records? The police just need time…" Tim began.

"Then wait until they restore the footage and gather real evidence before arresting me." Feng Bu Jue spread his arms. "Right now, I’m just a law-abiding citizen admiring the view from this rooftop."

"Enough! This conversation is pointless. We both know you’re the ‘Mysterious Man.’" Tim snapped.

"And if I admitted it, what then?" Feng Bu Jue asked, his tone turning didactic. "I’ll go with you, but what happens next? The hostages’ testimonies only prove I killed three bank robbers. That’s clearly Justifiable Defense—no, more like an Act of Bravery, just like you and the Net of Gods do." He wagged a finger at Tim like a teacher correcting a student. "How much footage you recover is anyone’s guess, but I doubt you’ll find any showing me killing officers. In fact, I expect to be released on bail long before you finish restoring the tapes. As for the bail amount? I couldn’t care less."

"Moreover, no officer or hostage saw me tossing cash into the streets. Even if you recover every bill, you’ll find no fingerprints of mine. Not a single officer saw my face." Feng Bu Jue smirked. "So if this case goes to trial, the only damning evidence the hostages can provide is that I used a gun to force them to put cash bags over their heads and bound their hands and feet with Plastic Cuffs." He tilted his head, grinning. "But I can explain that: ‘After killing the three robbers in self-defense, I suspected there might be accomplices among the hostages. To assist the police, I secured the scene and hinted to Chief Ke Le Pu Dun that some hostages might be collaborators, urging him to stay vigilant.’"

"You think anyone will buy that nonsense?" Tim scoffed.

"Of course. This is a free country, Tim. Juries are neutral, aren’t they? Besides…" Feng Bu Jue’s voice darkened. "Everyone has weaknesses. All I need is a plausible story. The verdict will be ‘insufficient evidence’—freedom."

"Ha!" Tim laughed. "Just for that little speech, I could…"

"Testify against me?" Feng Bu Jue interrupted. "Go ahead. In court, I’ll deny everything. Your testimony will become ‘subjective speculation’—a lie concocted to throw me in prison." He shook a finger. "Ah, Tim… you’re shifting sideways, reaching for your belt. Trying to activate a recorder?"

Caught, Tim cursed inwardly.

"Realizing it only now proves you’re still a rookie." Feng Bu Jue said. "If Bruce stood here, he’d have started recording the moment I mentioned ‘evidence.’"

"You… you know my name, and even Bruce…" Tim’s voice dropped.

"Hahahahaha!" Feng Bu Jue laughed wildly, stopping after ten seconds. "To me, Batman’s identity has always been a joke. He wears military-grade gear costing over a million dollars, drives vehicles worth eight million, and is a Caucasian male aged twenty-five to forty-five, six feet two inches tall. How many people fit that description? Even nationwide, I could narrow it to twenty. In tiny Gotham? Even fewer."

"Who are you?" Tim’s gaze sharpened. He realized this man wasn’t a brute-force supercriminal but a genius—far more dangerous.

"What do you think, Tim?" Feng Bu Jue tossed the question back.

"If your ‘otherworld traveler’ claim is true, my preliminary deduction is…" Tim replied. "You’re the Joker from another universe."

"Pretty sharp, kid. In your shoes, I might think the same…" Feng Bu Jue said. "But I’m not the Joker. The real Joker wouldn’t appear here—he’d find a Gotham without Batman too boring."

"You seem to know that madman well." Tim responded.

As the conversation reached this point, Tim realized he’d get no useful information from this man. He began edging forward, preparing to strike.

"I know you well too, Tim Drake." Feng Bu Jue said suddenly. He unbuttoned the middle buttons of his coat, revealing a belt of explosives.

Tim froze, heart pounding. "What are you doing? Blowing us both up?"

Feng Bu Jue smiled, pulling a tiny remote from his pocket. With one hand, he raised it high—"Who knows… hehehe…"—and pressed the button.

Boom—

The explosion roared, triggered by the remote.

But it wasn’t Feng Bu Jue’s explosives. It was elsewhere.

As Feng Bu Jue pressed the button, Tim instinctively leapt backward, rolling. The blast came not from the rooftop but farther away.

"What the—" Tim steadied himself, staring.

A hundred meters behind Feng Bu Jue, a high-rise erupted. The explosion carved a massive, grinning arc into its facade. From Tim’s perspective, the burning smile floated in the sky behind Feng Bu Jue, mirroring the madman’s own grin.

"Even now, Tim, you still lack the evidence to put me behind bars." Feng Bu Jue flicked the remote off the rooftop. "You saw me press something during the blast, but that proves nothing. You might find a shattered remote on the street, but no fingerprints." He grinned wickedly. "See? When evidence is everything, criminals walk free. This country’s legal system is a joke. Countless true villains evade justice, while many innocent lives are ruined by minor mistakes."

"What do you want?!" Tim roared, holding his ground—Feng Bu Jue’s explosives were still active.

"My motives are beyond your understanding."

"I’ll try to understand."

"No need. I won’t tell you." Feng Bu Jue replied, gesturing to his explosives. "But understand this—these bombs aren’t toys. I won’t let you catch me." He paused. "Don’t talk to me about law. Behind you stands not law, but justice. Even Batman knows justice needs strength. And you, Tim… you’re not worthy."

As he spoke, Feng Bu Jue backed toward the rooftop railing. "Two things you must know." He pulled a cell phone from his coat and tossed it to Tim.

Tim’s reflexes caught the phone easily.

"Open the notes app. The first file has three sets of coordinates for a bomb in an apartment one mile from here. It’ll detonate in ten minutes." Feng Bu Jue paused. "Second, if you or the Net of Gods encounter other otherworld travelers, trust nothing they say. When they claim no hostility or surrender, that’s the prelude to slaughter."

With that, Feng Bu Jue spread his arms and leapt backward off the building.

Tim rushed to the edge, watching Feng Bu Jue deploy a rectangular glider parachute, soaring into the night.

"Sage, do you read me? This is Tim." He activated his comm.

"Hi, Tim. What’s up? Heard you’re chasing that—"

"No time, Barbara. Listen." Tim interrupted, already running. Using his grapple gun, he descended the building swiftly, heading toward his motorcycle—capable of 300 km/h. "I’m defusing a madman’s bomb. Warn all Net of Gods members: Tell Dick to imprison the otherworld travelers in supercriminal-level cells immediately. Their surrender is a trap!"

Five minutes later, Feng Bu Jue landed several streets away, stowed his parachute, and strolled into an alley. He approached a luxury car parked by the curb, opened the rear door, and climbed in without ceremony.

Inside sat a tall, middle-aged man. His right face was normal, hair neatly styled. The left side was gangrenous, skinless, with flamboyant, salon-quality curls. His suit was equally split—black and conservative on the right, garish pinstripes on the left, like a mob underboss’s outfit.

Feng Bu Jue poured himself a whisky from the minibar, facing the man. "He’s hooked. Get your men ready."

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end

Report