Temerian Palace — a secluded corner of the White Hall —
"Strange. What exactly is Iorveth thinking? Why refuse to exchange hostages? Not caring about Victor would be normal, but there's also a Scoia'tael among them who, by his clothing, looks higher-ranking than the others—and he was refused too. And with us facing them down like this, there's clearly no way they can escape." The one speaking was Rose Knight Siegfried.
"Lady Keira has gone to prepare a few things. She'll be here shortly. If the Scoia'tael want to stall for time, let them stall." Lily Knight Roderick said.
Brushing the red hair off her forehead, Princess Adda by the window looked up at the sky. "A torrential downpour will start any minute. Are they planning to wait for that and then force a breakthrough?"
The remark reminded the captain of the City Guard. Vincent rose. "I'll go confirm again—make sure nothing was missed in the setup."
The Lily and Rose knights rose as well, preparing to return to their respective troops.
Mayor Velerad clapped his hands twice. "Gentlemen! Chin up. Iorveth has a date with the gallows. Don't let him be late."
No sooner had he finished than a tremendous crash sounded upstairs. A moment later, the noise of chaos and commotion rolled closer and closer, surging straight toward the command room. The trend was so obvious it drew everyone's attention; even Princess Adda, who had been watching the window, turned her head to stare at the door.
In stark contrast to the grim readiness of the men inside, she found this unexpected spectacle delightful, brimming with anticipation. And fate did not disappoint her.
Bang!
Rose Knight Siegfried swept aside the door panel that had been kicked clean off its hinges. In the swirl of dust and smoke, a man strode in—hotter than the hearthfire, freer than the open sky. Black leather, a bat emblem that could not be missed, and a dashing entrance worthy of legend.
He bowed with perfect grace to everyone in the room. "Sorry—wrong place. Pardon the interruption."
Victor had no intention of fighting the people inside. Aside from Velerad and Princess Adda, the other three were all seasoned in real combat. He'd rushed here for one reason only: to prolong the life of the "Dark Knight" persona.
After all, Batman had appeared from the very room where Victor was being held. If he wanted to keep using this disguise, then the people at the top needed a clear, instinctive impression that Batman and Victor did not even share the same build—plant a first impression so strong it would become "obvious truth."
The target of his flashy arrival achieved, the youth slipped sideways past a knight's slash, drove a fist into the side of the man's helmet, and sent him flying. Then he snapped his cape and charged straight toward Princess Adda.
Though Batman's reputation, so far, had no history of striking women, the princess still took two steps back. Rose Knight Siegfried and Lily Knight Roderick moved in unison, blocking her—ensuring she would not be harmed.
But it was only a feint. Batman's target was not Adda at all, but the window beside her.
Crash—he burst straight through it.
Realizing she'd been played, Princess Adda immediately leapt out through the shattered window after him. "Velerad, I'm going to catch Batman. Decide what to do about the bank yourself."
She ordered a nearby knight to dismount, then swung onto the horse and gave chase.
Victor, running ahead, sprinted out onto the main street and rounded a corner. With a grappling line, he hauled himself up onto the second-floor balcony of a nearby townhouse. Just as he was about to put on another performance of "madcap escape through the city," he heard Princess Adda's command from below:
"No one is to use any weapons. Catch Batman."
For a moment Victor almost thought he'd misheard. He couldn't help stopping and looking back at her. The palace guards pouring out behind her were just as baffled by the absurd order.
Lily Knight Roderick rode up to the princess, his face full of questions—yet before he could speak, Adda cut in:
"Against an unarmed target, are Temeria's finest and most elite knights—so many brave, battle-tested gentlemen—actually so helpless that you need weapons just to arrest him?"
With that, every knight present fell silent.
From a distance, Victor could feel it: this noblewoman was treating everything in front of her like a game. And that was fine. No—better than fine.
From the balcony he gave a flawless noble bow downward. "Adda the White, Batman pays you his respects. Your chivalry leaves one speechless—worthy of King Foltest's daughter." Pretty words cost nothing.
The princess liked his flattery; it always landed exactly where she wanted. She called back loudly, "Batman, it isn't even night yet—what are you doing here?"
"The king's spy, Master Thaler, has been working very hard lately to catch me. I came to speak with him a little—politely—so he won't be quite so… enthusiastic."
A knight leaned close to Adda. "Thaler's been beaten black-and-blue and is unconscious, but he's not in danger of dying."
Hearing that, the princess's red lips curved.
Lily Knight Roderick bellowed, "Batman! Just you and me—one-on-one, fists only. Do you have the guts?"
He proposed it because he'd noticed the princess's keen interest in this costumed stranger. Adda's tastes changed quickly, it was true—but he could not allow anyone to interfere with his path upward. Defeating Batman in front of a crowd was the fastest way to make her lose interest. In her eyes, losers did not matter.
Facing Roderick's challenge, Victor smiled. "Thank you for the invitation. To duel one-on-one with the renowned Lily Knight is a tremendous honor. Such a rare chance—refusing would be nothing but foolishness."
Staring at that familiar smile, Princess Adda murmured at the exact same time as Batman did:
"But I refuse!"
Adda lifted her chin, confident and soft. "I see right through you."
Then, in the next instant, her mouth fell slightly open in shock.
Batman, high above them, raised both arms—upper arms roughly parallel to the ground, forearms angled up—hands clenched into fists as he struck the pose with deliberate flair, squeezing and displaying his biceps and holding the stance.
His cape snapped and flared in the wind. His biceps looked full and cleanly shaped, his torso a sharp inverted triangle from this angle. With everyone watching below, he put his armpits, his corded muscles, and even what ignorant brats called the "black banana" on shameless display.
He shouted, "I can't accept your challenge! I'm terribly sorry!"
For a heartbeat Princess Adda went blank. Was he… apologizing in that pose?
Then she noticed the knights around her—Roderick included—each of them looking as if their eyes might spit fire, as though they'd suffered a profound humiliation. A savage urge to laugh surged up from her chest.
She forced her face into icy seriousness and issued her order: "Catch him, and you'll earn my reward!"
Up there, still holding the front double biceps pose, Victor could only marvel that people in this age were so easily scandalized—unable to appreciate the beauty of a classic Olympia bodybuilding pose. With the second-generation bat suit, the visual impact was absolutely on point.
But that wasn't entirely true. In the princess's eyes, Victor could see it—she understood. A kindred spirit. Unfortunately, she was also an excellent political creature.
The moment her capture order rang out—like the starting pistol of the second "Vizima Street Parkour Invitational"—I, Batman, reigning champion of last year's race, accept the challenge of you brave, reckless fools!
…
The second street parkour race—also known as "Operation: Hunt Batman"—regretfully didn't last long before it was suspended by the torrential downpour.
After all, no one could stay active for long in weather that brutal. Rainwater poured into armor, iron boots grew heavy, sheets of rain slapped faces raw, and anything beyond ten yards blurred into a gray smear.
And so Season Four of Batman came to an end.
Yet compared to the first three seasons, this one's impact ran far deeper. Because it happened in the afternoon, there were far more eyewitnesses. And when he displayed himself so brazenly from above, the conservative-minded declared it pure evil—while others, with livelier hearts, were moved to the marrow.
That arrogant call for freedom, that defiant shedding of restraint—paired with the classic line, "You're absolutely right, but I refuse!"—burned itself into a generation's memory. "Batman" was becoming more famous by the day, his influence steadily spreading.
…
And as the hunt for Batman dissolved in the rain, the worst criminal case in recent years—the "Vivaldi Bank Robbery"—also reached its conclusion. The Scoia'tael escaped in full through a sewer route.
By the time the surrounding guards realized something was wrong and rushed into the bank, it was too late to intercept them. They chased into the sewers, only for the storm to cause a backflow of sewage through the tunnels. Several guards died in the filth.
Forty-three hostages.
All thirteen women survived.
Every man was beheaded by the Scoia'tael.
The bank lost most of its gold reserves. And since Golan Vivaldi had already been stripped of management authority, under financial safeguard principles Temeria would still have to compensate the Vivaldi family for half the loss.
An event this vicious and catastrophic demanded someone to bear responsibility—
The king's wrath.
…
Second floor of the temporary command post—the room where the bard had been held, and also the room from which Batman had appeared—royal advisor Keira Metz slowly drew back the scattered ripples of her magical power, a thoughtful expression on her face.
A few of Thaler's men were still in the room, investigating the scene.
"Huh—there's a handcuff key in the privy?"
"That's odd. The cuffs and shackles were taken, but the key was left here."
Keira's brow furrowed. Something about this didn't feel simple. She filed it away, lifted her chin, and strode downstairs.
Pausing outside the command room, the sorceress heard Lily Knight Roderick's voice inside:
"…To everyone's attention: regrettably, our attempt to capture Batman failed due to the downpour. The palace guard will bear full responsibility.
And Her Highness Princess Adda, exhausted and soaked through, has returned to the palace to bathe and rest. She won't be coming here today."
Keira arched a brow. "A clever dodge. That way, when the final blame for the bank robbery is assigned, Princess Adda can sidestep most of it by simply not being present.
I wonder if that little slut thought of this the moment she jumped out the window—or if, like Triss said, she's a cunning vixen wearing the mask of a spoiled bitch."
"I understand. Anything else to add, Roderick?" Velerad's voice was low and calm, revealing neither anger nor satisfaction.
Lily Knight Roderick bowed deeply and fell silent. Velerad, as the man who served at the king's right hand, was not someone he dared underestimate.
Keira pushed open the door and stepped inside. The gazes of five men gathered on her: Velerad, Lily Knight Roderick, Rose Knight Siegfried, Captain Vincent, and—when her eyes landed on Director Thaler—she burst into rude laughter.
Because the present state of the King's Eyes was so miserable that even nobles who hated him would be willing to pause, set aside their contempt for a moment, and offer a couple of consoling words.
Both of Thaler's eyes were blackened. His nose had been smashed by a punch. Six punches in total—three of them straight to the face. This Dark Knight clearly believed in the principle of "hit the face first."
Keira suddenly wanted to meet this Batman. Everyone said his muscles were irresistible—but his willingness to fight dirty was even more interesting than the muscles.
"My dear Lady Keira," Velerad said with a smile of his own, "don't rush to mock our respectable intelligence director. Tell us your result first."
Beating the King's Eyes into bruised rings without causing permanent damage—this Dark Knight had made it amusing. The line had been walked perfectly. Anyone who loathed Thaler would find it delightful.
Aside from the king and the Blue Stripes, no one in this country liked the intelligence service. Thaler was long used to such hostility, so he simply followed Velerad's lead. "Lady Keira. What did you find?"
"The magical surveillance detected my magic. Aside from me, no one cast any spells in that room today. Vizima's Batman is not a spellcaster," the sorceress declared proudly.
Hearing that, the five men all released their breath at once. Not being a spellcaster was good—far fewer headaches.
Ever since the Thanedd coup, mages' loyalty and oversight had become a sensitive matter. Anything that involved them was never "small." The king always paid special attention.
"Thank you, Lady Keira. In that case, we'll continue our earlier topic—Batman's wanted status?"
Lily Knight Roderick spoke. "The princess's meaning is that Batman should be left to the palace guard. The lily emblem needs more training to shine again, and capturing him is our path to washing away this humiliation.
Besides, with his habit of committing crimes masked, a public wanted notice is meaningless. We don't even know his face. Posting his outfit would only help spread his fame."
Velerad rubbed his bald head. "Then Batman is the responsibility of the Lily Knight and the palace guard. If there's nothing else, dismissed."
"Please wait," Thaler said, his nasal voice still thick from the beating. "I request a warrant for Victor Corion. This bard used the chaos created by Batman's appearance to flee and vanish.
Regarding the Vivaldi Bank robbery, I believe he is a key figure. I ask that you assist the intelligence service in pursuing him throughout Temeria."
The atmosphere in the command room turned strange at once.
After a brief silence, Rose Knight Siegfried spoke first. "The Order of the Flaming Rose will not issue a warrant for Victor. You have proven nothing about the crimes you accuse him of. In fact, I even think… he left because he feared your continued slander." With that, he turned and left.
Thaler had expected that reaction. The support he truly wanted was from the mayor and the City Guard captain; with either of them, a nationwide manhunt was possible.
But Vincent shook his head. "He's always been a lawful citizen under my watch. He says what's proper, does what's proper. I don't believe he's a criminal."
He nodded respectfully to Velerad—his statement was also the act of presenting his professional opinion to his superior.
Thaler's heart sank halfway.
Then Velerad said, "If he were in your hands today, interrogate him however you like. But since he's gone, he's gone. I don't care—and I won't put out a warrant for him."
The mayor left first, Vincent following after him.
Lily Knight Roderick gave a soft laugh and followed too, leaving behind only one sentence: "Princess Adda only just invited him to perform."
In the blink of an eye, only Thaler and the sorceress remained in the lavish room.
Keira smiled and shook her head at him. "For such an excellent observer and interrogator, your political sense is a failing grade.
You actually asked Velerad to tell the citizens that the dragon-blooded bard the king personally welcomed a few days ago is a robber's accomplice. You really do tell jokes."
She opened a portal with a spell. "Then again… if you understood politics, you'd probably have been executed by the king long ago." With a thunderous sound, the portal closed, and Keira returned to her rose-petal bath.
Inside the temporary command room, the fire still roared.
And Thaler felt utterly cold.
…
Rewind time to a little earlier: the torrential downpour helped Batman shake pursuit with ease. Victor slipped into the sewers, thinking he'd finally become a dragon returned to the sea.
But when the tunnels flooded with a backflow of sewage—an overwhelming, filthy tide—there was no resisting that kind of force, not even for Batman. He found higher ground just before being completely submerged, but that left him trapped underground until night, when the waters receded and he could finally escape.
When he stumbled back and shoved open the door to the safehouse, Angoulême was already gone.
He changed into dry, ordinary clothes. Without a sword in hand and armor on his body, Victor felt unsafe to the bone. Before it grew too late, he went out into the outlying settlement and bought a simple horse and a steel sword. Both were poor quality compared to what he'd had before—but having something was better than having nothing.
Back in the house, he built a fire and boiled water. His body was exhausted, but his mind was alive, and sitting by the hearth he fell into his usual habit: self-examination.
…He didn't blame the elven scout's frantic accusations. At the time, the man must have been on the verge of a mental breakdown. Otherwise, mind probing was an extremely subtle art—Keira would not have been able to read his memories so easily.
And Victor's death had been a certainty. The Scoia'tael had turned the bank into a slaughterhouse. There was no world in which the City Guard wouldn't put him on the gallows.
Whether he arrived at the scene alongside the Rose Knight would not have changed the outcome. Afterward Thaler would inevitably come knocking. Then Thaler would be in the shadows while Victor stood in the light—far worse than flipping the table and throwing punches the way he had.
When he wore the mask… he truly was his most unrestrained self.
Thinking back to how he'd taunted the palace guard on the second floor, putting on the bat suit had felt like slipping on Gyges' Ring of Invisibility. When he didn't have to bear responsibility for his actions, was his true nature really that wild?
If caution and planning were nothing but disguises worn when he lacked power… then one day, when he mastered the tremendous might of miraculous alchemy, what kind of person would he become?
The lingering sounds of slaughter—its volume rising and falling with his own killing intent—grew clearer the more he wanted to kill. If he truly acted on it… what would happen?
Questioning the heart, seeing into himself—without realizing it, on this night, Victor completed the first meditation of his life that truly meant something.
…
Ten days after the bank robbery, three uninvited guests appeared in the Phantom Troupe's home in Vizima, down in the underground alchemy lab: Director Thaler, the king's hand Vernon Roche, and Blue Stripes Lieutenant Ves.
Standing before a leather relief titled The King's Glory, cigar clenched between his teeth, Roche reached out and lightly traced the raised edges. "Hanging something like this usually signifies loyalty to Temeria. Because even someone as strong as Raffard the White had to revere royal authority—he couldn't overstep it."
Thaler's injuries had mostly healed, though his speech still carried a nasal edge. "But I don't believe Victor is that sort of man. I stand by my original judgment. In the bank robbery, he is a key figure."
Roche: "Not because of personal grudges?"
At that, Ves couldn't hold it in and let out a muffled snort of laughter behind her hand.
It was a rare chance to kick a man while he was down. In noble circles, the story of Thaler framing a bard out of spite had been spread far and wide. And it turned out nobles were no worse at spinning tales than commoners—some versions had grown so exaggerated that they'd stuck one metaphorical cuckold's horn after another onto Thaler's head.
Most people knew it wasn't true.
Most people still enjoyed it immensely.
Thaler's face darkened. "We've worked together this long—am I not worth your trust?"
Roche exhaled cigar smoke. "My trust doesn't mean much. Without a mission, the Blue Stripes don't leave the king. And honestly—if this little anecdote hadn't amused the king, you wouldn't have gotten off so easily.
A fair number of minor nobles died in that bank. Burying an intelligence director with them wouldn't be surprising."
The bald man sighed; his monocle caught the firelight. "I'm telling you so at least someone knows the truth…" He paused, suddenly uneasy, and moved toward the bookshelf. "Hm? Strange."
"What is it?" Roche asked.
"A stack of papers is missing. I remember the title: Records of Herbal Reagents' Effects on the Human Body — Alzur."
"You're not mistaken? Haven't you had people watching this place the whole time?"
"Yes. But there are still a few who can come and go as they please." Roche raised his brows. "Who's been here?"
"Grand Master Jacques, Captain Vincent, the Rose and Lily knights, and the City Guard's squad leader Jethro," Thaler answered without hesitation.
"You're sure those papers were here before?"
"I'm certain."
Roche took a slow draw on the cigar and let the smoke out in rings.
…
Lindenvale, in the middle of Velen, was an utterly ordinary village.
And yet, it was home to a man famous across Velen: the master armorsmith Fergus Graem. People addressed him with respect as "Master Fergus."
After arriving and keeping a low profile in the village inn for two days, the Phantom Troupe's chief enforcer—and self-proclaimed narrator extraordinaire—Angoulême finally couldn't stand the boredom anymore and decided to wander outside. There wasn't much worth digging up in a small village, so she quickly found her way to Fergus's smithy.
Staring at the mud walls and thatched roof, she truly couldn't understand it. If Master Fergus was really that skilled… how could he be living in such misery?
Watching from afar, Fergus Graem seemed to be the black-haired, black-bearded dwarf with a bulbous, drinker's nose, a headscarf bobbing as he wandered about—never once stepping up to the anvil.
The one working at the anvil had to be his assistant. Strangely, she was human—and a woman. A few years older than Angoulême, by the look of it: healthy complexion, full figure, strong arms, golden hair tied into a thick braid. Her earrings and necklace were in Skellige style, and faint freckles dusted her face.
Now Angoulême had what she needed. She hefted her fat coin purse and swaggered right into Fergus's smithy.
…
At that very moment, with autumn wind cutting sharp at the village gates, a skinny horse came in from the east at an unhurried pace.
The rider's attire was unusual—not common short coat and riding trousers, but a long black leather coat.
Dark glasses on his face, a formal hat on his head, Victor wore a cheap "Van Helsing" imitation outfit. More than ten days ago, he'd left Vizima, following Angoulême along the route through Benek, Toderas, and Lurtch—but even by the time he reached the rendezvous point at Lindenvale, he still hadn't caught up. That girl really did follow instructions: told to run, she ran fast.
There was a reason for that route. It neatly avoided the village of Downwarren, whose locals were famous for delicate lacework and fine craftsmanship.
But Victor, armed with foreknowledge like a traveler peeking at spoilers, had no intention whatsoever of going near Downwarren. The local faith there—the three impossibly beautiful "Ladies of the Wood"—was something he could never forget, not even in a second life. Until he became a master of miraculous alchemy, he had no plans to take a single step into the southern swamps of Velen.
Entering Lindenvale, Victor reined in before the notice board, flipping an oren in his fingers. Before long, a peasant approached with a sycophantic grin, asking what help he might need.
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