Chapter 32: Departure, A New Timeline
"Allen, are you saying that pure Dionesium Factor doesn't require the Redemption Blade and has absolutely no side effects?"
Bruce and Alfred had both been fully revived, unharmed.
Meanwhile, Joker Arthur looked utterly dejected, mumbling nonsense about hair and eyebrows.
"Batman, I thought you already knew that," Allen replied.
How could he possibly know?
Regardless of its purity, the Dionesium Factor was a treasure in the eyes of any faction. People would go to great lengths to keep it hidden, let alone flaunt it.
Bruce didn't dwell on the issue. He was secretly overjoyed.
A pure Dionesium Factor with no side effects? That was like stumbling upon a priceless gem.
There was no need to exhaust resources researching it anymore. Instead, he could keep it as a trump card to save lives when necessary—an invaluable favor others would owe him.
Besides, the underground pool was located beneath Wayne Manor. It was only natural that it belonged to him.
"What should we do with this troublesome student?"
Allen pointed at the withdrawn Joker and suggested, "How about locking him up in Arkham Asylum? I used to be his fellow patient."
Sensing Allen's gaze, Arthur shrank back in fear, looking pitifully anxious.
"Forget it. Transfer him to Blackgate Prison," Bruce decided. "I'll invest a billion under Wayne Enterprises to upgrade its security system. I doubt he'll escape again."
"Listen to yourself! Do you hear how absurd that sounds?" Allen scoffed. "So what if you have money?"
Clearly, Bruce didn't catch the wordplay in Allen's remark.
His real concern about keeping Joker in Arkham was the risk of him being rescued yet again.
But wasn't Allen in Arkham? Shouldn't that be reassuring?
Come on, he sneaked in and out of the asylum daily—had he ever actually arrested a single criminal?
These past few days, he had been too busy goofing off.
"Principal, if you're not treating me to a meal, I'm leaving." Allen stood up.
"What principal?"
Bruce was momentarily confused by the sudden new title.
Allen had always called him "Batman" before, which made sense.
But now, "Principal"?
"Don't pretend you don't know." Allen smirked. "Our Gotham Criminal University is dedicated to nurturing criminal talent. And you, Principal Wayne, have been training them by repeatedly arresting them, hoping that one day they'll make it to the international stage."
"..."
Bruce immediately caught the underlying meaning.
Since he upheld a no-kill policy as Batman, criminals were only ever arrested, tried, and imprisoned.
Which meant that, time and time again, some of them would break free and wreak havoc anew.
And each time they were caught, they learned from their mistakes and grew stronger.
"I'm really leaving now."
Allen took a few steps, glancing back repeatedly as if expecting someone to stop him.
"The young masters and mistresses will be returning soon. I was just about to prepare lunch. Care to join us?" Alfred, ever perceptive, extended an invitation.
"How could I refuse such a warm invitation?"
One second, Allen acted coy, and the next, he shamelessly declared, "No cilantro for me, thanks."
"Understood."
Maintaining his usual gentlemanly demeanor, Alfred took the elevator upstairs to order the meal.
Wayne Enterprises owned luxury hotels, which naturally meant private chefs were available for the manor.
By noon, the five youngsters had safely returned home.
Completely unaware that their guardian had died once already.
Of course, Bruce wasn't about to tell them—no need to worry them unnecessarily.
A whirlwind meal later, Allen leaned back, lazily picking his teeth with a toothpick.
"Half full. Feels good."
"Allen, if that wasn't enough, I can bring more," Alfred offered kindly.
After all, Allen had saved both his and Bruce's lives. He was already considered one of their own.
"Pack some desserts for me. I'll eat them at home."
And just like that, Allen started stirring up trouble again.
Turning to Bruce, he said, "Batman, stand up. I have an announcement to make."
"What announcement? And why do I need to stand up for it?"
Bruce, though puzzled, still stood as requested.
"I hereby declare that everyone present is garbage."
"..."
How rude.
Causing trouble in the middle of a meal.
Facing a group of murderous glares, Allen grinned mischievously.
"Batman, your turn."
Bruce silently sat down and resumed cutting his steak.
If they kept playing along with Allen's antics, this family would fall apart sooner or later.
"Your order is ready."
At that moment, Alfred returned with a neatly packed box.
"I'm heading back to the fountain."
Of course, there was no way the dessert would last until he got home—Allen devoured it on the way.
After changing into his signature hospital gown, he lay back on his designated bed, deep in thought.
He pondered life's three great philosophical questions:
Who am I? Where did I come from? Where am I going?
[Spatial anchor locked. The host may now initiate traversal.]
[Available professions: Alchemist, Mage, Shaman.]
[Friendly reminder: Secondary professions require 30% more experience to level up.]
Allen jolted upright.
Staring at the system prompt before him, he scoffed, "System, get out here. I don't want to be a magic caster. Change it immediately."
Crossing his arms, he pouted arrogantly.
"I want Ghost Swordsman, Berserker. Are you underestimating me, a loyal DNF player?"
Silence.
A long standoff ensued.
Allen refused to choose any of the listed professions, letting time tick by.
[Selection timed out. Random allocation in progress.]
[Congratulations! You have been assigned the Alchemist profession.]
[Available timelines for traversal:]
[Justice Faction: S.H.I.E.L.D., League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Winter Guard.]
[Evil Faction: HYDRA, Pioneer Tech, Atlantis.]
No choice? The system chose for him.
Just like that, he was saddled with the Alchemist profession.
"Sellia, I'm sorry. I can no longer be your guardian warrior."
Allen collapsed back onto his bed, uninterested in selecting a faction.
Depressed, he muttered, "The glory of Arad Continent cannot shine upon this world in need of salvation."
Meanwhile, in his office, Warden Quincy was watching the security feed.
Allen had actually come back during the daytime for once.
Suspicious.
Given Allen's usual habit of staying out past midnight, his sudden daytime return to Arkham Asylum raised some red flags.
"What's he babbling about to himself?"
Frowning, Quincy mused, "Maybe he hasn't taken his meds lately. His condition seems to be worsening."
"A promising young man—what a pity."
[Selection timed out. Random allocation in progress.]
[Congratulations! You have been assigned HYDRA.]
Quincy sighed in pity.
Then, the next second, his eyes widened in shock.
Allen had vanished from the security feed.
"Again?!"
Quincy rushed to Allen's hospital bed, searching every corner, even under the bed.
But the man had disappeared—completely.
Hastily returning to his office, he picked up the phone and dialed.
"Fury, he's gone again. Uh-huh… Uh-huh…"
"Amanda, target has—"
---
World War II. A city occupied by the Skull Division.
Dr. Zola looked at the peculiar young man before him and spoke gravely.
"Allen, the organization has a mission for you."
Smack!
"Hail HYDRA!"
Allen saluted solemnly, declaring, "I swear to fulfill the mission entrusted to me by the organization. Even if the enemy sends ten blonde, long-legged, G-cup beauties in lace garters to seduce me, I will only say one word—nice!"
"..."
(Support me and read ahead on Patreøn: patreøn.com/craxxtranslation. Thanks for your support! Don't forget to send Power Stones—300 Power Stones = +1 bonus chapter!)