A heavy truck weighing more than twenty tons, driven by a Falcone fanatic, barreled straight toward Hardy.
Even with the upgraded pneumatic system of Black Gold, it was impossible to counteract such massive kinetic energy.
Hardy had no choice but to raise his left hand and launch a second rocket.
"Boom!"
An explosion erupted from the lower left of the truck's cab, disorienting the driver and instantly blowing out the tires beneath.
Losing balance, the heavy truck flipped over, crushing a row of sedans before coming to a halt not far in front of Hardy.
Just as Hardy was breathing a sigh of relief, the truck's cargo compartment exploded with a thunderous roar.
The truck was packed with high explosives!
A wave of scorching air surged outward, the shockwave forcing even Black Gold back two steps.
Several grenades, tied together, were hurled by burly men and landed all around Hardy.
"Damn it! Will this never end?!"
Hardy cursed and stopped hesitating.
The pneumatic system reversed, valves opened, and all the compressed gas hidden in the rubber-lined cylinders burst out at once, propelling Hardy more than ten meters into the air.
From afar, Deathstroke silently lamented the missed opportunity.
Hardy's move had disrupted the plan he'd set up in advance—otherwise, Hardy would have stepped right into a trap of anti-tank mines.
But tactical masters like Deathstroke and Batman always have a plan B.
A bullet made of Promethium was slowly chambered.
Promethium is one of DC's top ten metals, similar in function to Marvel's vibranium: extremely tough, capable of absorbing and storing energy, and even possessing memory properties for self-repair.
Deathstroke's main battle armor is primarily forged from Promethium.
Hidden within Black Gold's thick metal arm, Hardy's hand formed a seal.
"Wind Release: Chaotic Air Dance!"
The only simple Wind Release ninjutsu he could perform one-handed.
A small whirlwind kicked up, roughly controlling the wind direction. The Swallow missile system unfolded, transforming into glider wings, causing Black Gold to pause at the apex of his ascent.
"Bang!"
A bullet grazed past Black Gold's head.
The Swallow's gliding caused Deathstroke to misjudge Black Gold's descent trajectory, and also allowed Hardy to spot the mastermind behind the battlefield's sudden shift.
"Deathstroke?"
Hardy frowned, maneuvering the Swallow and Wind Release to dodge the bullets from below while steering toward Deathstroke's position.
Deathstroke silently picked up a rocket launcher from his side.
Hardy's mouth twitched as he watched the rocket, trailing flame, fired straight at him. He made a gesture reminiscent of Superman taking flight.
The modified Black Gold arm was equipped with four built-in high-explosive mini-rockets; two had been used, two remained.
The calculation chip he'd once purchased from Queen Industries began its work, precisely tracking the rocket's trajectory.
"Boom!"
Flames blossomed in the sky, bursting like fireworks.
Black Gold, like a raptor, retracted its glider wings at the last moment of descent, accelerating toward the ground. Using gravity for momentum, both feet kicked toward Deathstroke.
Deathstroke raised his longsword to block the powerful blow, retreating with the force and tossing his half-bent blade aside.
Elastic potential energy converted to kinetic energy, the blade scraped a shower of sparks across Black Gold's heavy chest, then bounced back along an odd trajectory, landing once more in Deathstroke's hand.
"I'd really like to know—how much did Falcone pay to hire someone like you?"
"You make your move."
"That's not a small sum—250 million dollars."
Deathstroke tilted his head to either side, loosening up his muscles. Gripping his blade, he assumed a ready stance facing Hardy.
The earlier tactical maneuvers, along with that strike from the longsword, had already given Deathstroke a rough idea of Black Gold's defensive capabilities.
As long as he avoided the areas with thicker armor and focused his attacks on the joints and other relatively vulnerable spots, Deathstroke was confident that, relying on his own physical strength and the alloy blade infused with promethium, he could either strike at Hardy's true body or damage some of the internal structures of the armor.
"It's a pity, but I don't think you'll be able to collect that money."
A pneumatic punch shot out, aimed straight at Deathstroke.
"I beg to differ."
Deathstroke's voice came through his mask, hoarse and demonic.
With an agile spin and leap, he dodged the pneumatic punch, crouching low as his promethium alloy blade swept horizontally, aiming directly at Black Gold's knee joint.
With a flick of Hardy's chakra threads, the pneumatic device in Black Gold's leg instantly reversed, retracting the mechanical rod. Leveraging the force, and under Hardy's precise control, Black Gold's massive body twisted 180 degrees in midair, dodging Deathstroke's attack and stomping down with a heavy kick.
But Deathstroke's agility allowed him to flip away just in time, his body darting sideways through the air as he tried to leap onto Black Gold's back.
"Click-clack!"
Twin rotary gun barrels rose from Black Gold's shoulders, unleashing a barrage at Deathstroke.
Yet the conventional bullets could only send up showers of sparks as they struck the promethium armor.
"Clang!"
The pneumatic device in Black Gold's arm fired again, driving an elbow strike backward that collided with Deathstroke's alloy blade.
"This is getting troublesome…"
Deathstroke was, by all accounts, the first truly formidable opponent Hardy had encountered since arriving in the DC world.
The layers of tactical planning—both before and during the fight—made Hardy uneasy.
Superhuman agility and strength, nearly impervious promethium armor, master-level combat skills, uncanny marksmanship with firearms, and a full arsenal—all of it made Hardy feel genuinely threatened.
Meanwhile—
When Two-Face realized that the man who'd killed several of his subordinates was Deathstroke, he couldn't help but worry.
A man's reputation precedes him: as the world's greatest mercenary, Deathstroke could go toe-to-toe with Batman—and unlike Batman, he had no qualms about killing. Once paid, he did the job as he pleased; even superhumans had fallen to him before.
Now, seeing that Hardy could at least hold off Deathstroke—and didn't seem to be at a disadvantage—Harvey Dent finally breathed a sigh of relief.
After taking stock, Harvey Dent found he still had seven Titan-enhanced soldiers left.
Aside from the one Hardy had blown up with a rocket, Deathstroke had killed half of them.
"That's enough!"
Harvey Dent pulled out a cigar and took a deep drag.
Before the white smoke could escape his nose, some of it slipped out through the ruined half of his mouth.
"Pass the word: everyone, focus fire on Carmine first!"
At the same time, atop the distant church roof—
A bat-shaped shadow leaped from the rooftop, gliding silently over the city's high-rises.