Before long, the Joker was muzzled and taken away, sent straight to Arkham.
The muzzle was to ensure he couldn't say anything he shouldn't.
Morin had no intention of relying on a villain's integrity.
Who could predict what the Joker would do?
Morin certainly didn't think he could.
From the very beginning, his approach had been simple-crush him with absolute strength.
And he had carried that idea through to the end.
This was the best way to deal with the Joker.
Provided you had enough strength.
Gordon, Rachel, and the others were also "rescued."
The interesting part was that they were rescued by the thugs themselves.
After Bruce announced at the press conference that he would personally arrest the Joker, every one of those thugs called the police and turned themselves in, offering no resistance at all.
Naturally, this was Morin's handiwork.
The media was shocked by the sudden "repentance" and voluntary surrender.
They pressed for a reason.
The answer only made Batman's name even more sensational.
Because the explanation Morin had arranged was simple-they were afraid of Batman.
So they chose to turn themselves in.
It sounded absurd.
But this was reality, not fiction.
So it worked.
There was no doubt that this incident added yet another layer of value to the symbol known as "Batman."
As for what happened to the Joker afterward, Morin didn't care.
If Bruce, after being reminded so many times, still relaxed his supervision, then Morin had nothing more to say.
After some time passed, everything Morin wanted was finally gathered.
Several cargo ships were filled to the brim.
Aside from wine, there was equipment and special materials-various components used to manufacture special alloys.
Since this was for long-term mecha production rather than one-off use, Morin directly ordered a complete set of equipment and stockpiled materials.
It was more convenient.
And more discreet.
After all, it wasn't his money.
Of course, most of it couldn't be used straight away.
It all needed modification.
With the "Master Mecha Designer" profession, Morin wasn't limited to giant mechas. He also had experience with small-scale units and exoskeleton armor.
He could even design something comparable to Tony Stark's Iron Man Mark series, with even more functions.
That didn't mean he could actually build it.
The core problem was the energy source.
Who was going to tell him how to make controlled cold fusion?
Clearly, Morin wasn't some cheater like the Tony Stark he'd heard about but never met.
At least for now, he had no clue how to solve that.
If this DC world were the main universe, it wouldn't matter.
There were alternative energies and rare treasures that could be used instead.
Worst case, he could capture a speedster and study the Speed Force for power generation.
But this was a DC world without superpowers.
So Morin dropped the idea.
Given the limits of the available equipment, the upgrades he made for Bruce focused on adding numerous miniature functions while improving overall protection.
The armor became slightly heavier than before.
But with the new batteries Morin provided and an internal auxiliary power unit, it was actually more agile and convenient.
The only downside was the appearance.
It looked bulkier, similar to the armor Batman wore in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.
Catwoman's suit was another matter.
Compared to safety, she cared far more about aesthetics.
So Morin couldn't make it too heavy.
In the end, he used a different approach.
He replaced the leather with a lightweight, bulletproof special alloy.
On top of that, he engraved several magic arrays-a fusion of technology and magic.
It had both performance and visual appeal.
The drawback was that it required constant charging.
After all, Morin himself was only dabbling in magic.
The arrays were all refined from the magic texts of the Eye of the Tiger from the Now You See Me world.
Because the Eye's system was incomplete, the arrays couldn't form a fully cooperative magic system.
Fortunately, this wasn't a serious flaw.
Morin could choose the exact time he returned.
If he wanted to be there, he could be there.
Transporting the wine was simple.
He stored it in his system space.
If it didn't all fit at once, he'd make another trip.
In any case, he didn't need that much right now.
This batch was mainly to establish his name.
As for architectural design-
The architect arrived full of confidence.
He left looking like he was on the verge of a self-inflicted mental breakdown.
Morin's requirements were... excessive.
His goal was to open pubs across the world.
So his first request was simple in wording, terrifying in scope-
"Architectural design drawings for pubs that match the architectural characteristics of every coastal country in the world."
The architect froze on the spot.
And that was only the beginning.
The buildings couldn't be too modern.
They had to use vintage craftsmanship.
They needed excellent lighting, since there would be no electric lights.
And good ventilation, since there would be no air conditioning.
The architect nearly had a brain hemorrhage.
As a contractor, he'd seen plenty of strange requests-"colorful black," "colorful white," and similar nonsense.
He'd long since gotten used to that.
But this client wasn't joking.
He was making serious, detailed demands.
Normally, meeting such a client was a contractor's dream.
But there were just too many requirements.
"Are you really not here to cause trouble?" the architect asked sincerely.
Later, he summed it up simply.
"I wanted to refuse. But he gave me too much."
When in doubt, use money.
This was the truth Morin had realized while living in the Batman world.
Naturally, Morin didn't ask him to design everything at once.
Other regions could wait.
For now, he only needed a design in the style of Pirates of the Caribbean.
While the architect worked on the drawings, Morin studied architecture himself.
He planned to build the pub personally.
And also... do a bit of cat-herding and monster-slaying on the side.
A month later, Morin finally returned to the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.
It wasn't deliberate procrastination.
With his intellect, Morin finished all the architectural coursework in a single week, spending only a few hours each day.
The real reason was simple.
That architect was slow.
Morin could have skipped the time using experience points.
But there was no need.
Time was something to be cherished.
Deep down, Morin always treated his experiences as reality, not a game.
He would never use a "loading bar" unless it was absolutely necessary.
Even in the Pacific Rim world, he only used it to simulate teleportation, not to skip time.
Appearing inside the pub, Morin looked around.
The renovated layout had already taken shape in his mind.
He nodded.
"Time to get to work."
The next day, Morin casually grabbed two people and told them to find some laborers.
Just as he was about to start, Will Turner came to see him.
"What are you doing?" Turner asked.
"Renovating, of course, Mr. Turner," Morin replied. "This place is far from what I need. It has to be renovated before it can even be barely usable."
"And you," he added, "aren't you supposed to be forging a ceremonial sword for the soon-to-be-promoted Commodore Norrington? How do you have time to wander around?"
"I... I think I've made up my mind," Turner hesitated, then spoke.
Morin quickly understood.
He had mentioned recruiting Turner before.
That was yesterday for Turner.
Nearly two months ago for Morin.
"I thought you'd take longer," Morin said, looking at him.
"I didn't expect you to decide so quickly."
"It's because of Miss Elizabeth Swann, whom I haven't met yet, isn't it?"
"...A little," Turner said, choosing a white lie.
"More like a billion little," Morin muttered inwardly.
"So," he asked, "you don't plan to stay a blacksmith?"
"That's why I came today," Turner said.
"I want to join you."
"But not yet."
"I'll join after I finish this last order."
Turner had thought it through all night.
If he stayed a blacksmith, he could already see the future.
Elizabeth, in another man's arms.
That man would likely be the future owner of the ceremonial sword he was forging.
Another man taking the woman he loved.
And he would have to watch.
Even make the sword for him.
Turner was quite certain he didn't have a fetish for wearing a particular healthy-colored hat.
At the same time, he understood that thinking alone solved nothing.
He had to act.
He'd seen Morin's methods.
He'd heard the rumors.
The ability to see into people-the first time they met, Morin had grasped his situation and pointed out feelings he himself hadn't recognized.
The wealth-buying the pub without hesitation.
The former owner had said Morin named a price, and the money came out immediately.
No bargaining.
Not to mention the free wine afterward.
And the unfathomable identity-evident from the stack of documents Turner couldn't even understand.
In short, Turner knew that if he wanted change, the simplest and most realistic path was Morin.
The man who had extended a hand to him.
Could Morin have other motives?
Turner considered it.
But no matter how he thought about it, he couldn't see what value he had beyond his skills.
Blacksmithing?
After weighing everything, Turner made his choice.
"Your plan isn't bad," Morin chuckled.
"Alright. I agree."
Originally, Morin had only seen Turner as a convenient errand runner.
A lackey.
Whether he joined or not didn't really matter.
The one Morin truly valued hadn't appeared yet.
The man who would arrive with his own theme music.
Not a Hero with a sound system.
But Captain Jack Sparrow.
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