Chapter Seventy-Six: The Enigma of the Dark Knight (Part One)

In the dimly lit basement, where the alchemist with a mysterious smile brewed primordial substances in a cauldron, the horror had clearly become irreparable. Angoulême sighed and prepared to leave, but this time Victor called her back.

"Don't rush off just yet. Stay and chat with me for a while."

"Won't I distract you and cause another explosion?"

"This time it's actually quite simple. In fact, with you here, I can observe a person directly, which might make the result even more precise. It's just making clothes—no special powers involved, no intricate processing required, so there's absolutely no risk of an explosion."

Since the alchemy apprentice spoke with such certainty, Angoulême simply pulled up a chair and sat beside the cauldron to watch. She might lack any talent for it, but that hardly dampened her curiosity for the "incredible."

"You sound so certain, Captain. Have you had explosions before?"

"Of course. Back in Bell Town, when I first started alchemy, explosions were quite common. With just a 'bang,' the roof would be gone, and half the house blackened by smoke."

"Were you ever hurt?" The girl was a little surprised.

Victor stirred the cauldron. "No. When an alchemical mishap spirals out of control, it always protects the alchemist. At worst, you get covered in soot, but you won't get hurt. The ones at risk are other people—whatever happens, happens."

"So the explosions must be powerful?"

"Not necessarily. It depends on how much mental energy you invest. The more you put in, the stronger the explosion."

"I see..."

"No need to hide it—you really want to know what I'm making, don't you?" Victor glanced at the girl, who nodded silently. He continued, unhurried, "It started with a commission I heard about this afternoon. The client hoped we'd disguise ourselves as drunks tonight and, upon seeing other drunken men harassing single women, especially if they were members of the Fire Lizard Gang, we'd step in and give them a good beating. But we couldn't go too far—no death, at most, a few broken bones."

"You accepted? What was the reward?" Angoulême felt the commission sounded reasonable if the pay was fair.

"No, I refused on the spot," Victor said with a smile and a shake of his head. "Because I don't intend to do things her way."

He kept stirring the cauldron. "That commission reminded me of someone who once brought me great joy. He would patrol the streets, breaking bad guys' bones. I suddenly realized I could play his part, as long as I used marvelous alchemy to craft his signature outfit.

"Do you know? Just imagining myself playing his role and beating up villains makes me incredibly happy."

From Angoulême's perspective, the captain's smile was growing increasingly deranged.

"Then I remembered something from long ago, when my grandmother was teaching me alchemy. I asked her the secret to becoming a master. She told me, 'There's no point overthinking it. Do what you love, and find joy in it!'

"I didn't ask further then—thought she was joking. But now I suddenly understand. Doing what you genuinely want to do, crafting what you truly wish to create—that constant 'self-fulfillment,' that happiness, is the path to mastery!

"For example, my grandmother found fulfillment in helping others. Seeing their satisfied smiles made her happy, which in turn strengthened her spirit, allowing her to produce better works and accept tougher commissions.

"By cycling through this positive loop, she went from apprentice to beyond master in just a few years—reaching a state of 'invincibility.'"

At this point, Angoulême almost wanted to laugh. To become invincible in just a few years—how utterly implausible. She figured the captain was exaggerating; children always imagine their elders are the strongest. So she simply listened in silence.

"Or take my third aunt—her 'self-fulfillment' came from traveling. Having grown up in the mountains, she longed to see the outside world. As long as she could travel, she was happy.

"After leaving the mountains, within a year of wandering she went from novice to master, and after a few more years, her strength was nearly 'invincible,' just like my grandmother. Both of them are extraordinary, utterly defying convention."

Victor gazed into the cauldron, eyes gentle, a smile playing at his lips, despite the acrid darkness within.

"Thinking back on these elders, I realized I may have strayed from the path. I've worked hard to learn and study, but in the process lost the joy I once found in alchemy back in Bell Town. Lately, most of my alchemy has been to fulfill missions, seldom for happiness itself.

"So now, Angoulême, do you understand what I mean?"

"You mean you're doing something that makes you very happy right now?"

"Exactly. I am very, very happy. Just thinking about what's about to happen makes me excited. And because I'm happy, the mental effort required for something as simple as 'making clothes' is now almost nothing. Once this whole activity is complete, the joy of self-fulfillment will feed back into a sense of satisfaction, truly strengthening the spirit."

"Congratulations, Captain! That's wonderful!"

"And congratulations to you, too. For now, as the only and therefore most adorable member, Angoulême, believe me—if you keep growing, in at most ten years you'll have an 'invincible' captain to rely on."

Angoulême patted her cheeks. As expected, people east of Serykania loved to boast and spout nonsense, always talking about being "invincible." Maybe their vocabulary for "greatness" was limited, so that's all they ever said.

...

Two hours passed just like that, and she found her worst premonition had come true.

Brilliant, multicolored light flared as the captain pulled two sets of bizarre leather outfits from the cauldron, instructing her to go behind a screen and put one on. But that outfit was simply not made for a normal person.

After she firmly refused, his suggestion turned into a command: she had no choice.

Helpless, Angoulême complied. She wasn't a shy girl, but this outfit was so skintight and the strange, unscientific padding so conspicuous that wearing it, she felt more exposed than if she wore nothing at all.

The captain, too, changed behind another screen into his own set of tight black leather, muscles straining against the fabric, complete with a cloak. Unlike her full animal-head hood, his headpiece had two sharp horns, with only his mouth exposed in a mysterious shape.

Victor looked her up and down, nodding with satisfaction. "Excellent! Angoulême, from now on, your codename is 'Catwoman.' Remember it. Tonight, we will battle evil on the streets of Vizima. Our only principle is 'no killing'—we can beat them to broken bones with fists or weapons, but never take a life."

Faced with the captain's absurd orders, the member gave up struggling and tacitly accepted.

Watching the young man deftly assemble batons, lassos, throwing darts, and other non-lethal gear, she realized he was fully committed to the joy of "going out in a bizarre costume to beat people up."

Resigned, she asked, "Since my codename is 'Catwoman,' does that make you... 'Catman'?"

It was clear Victor had been waiting for this question.

With a dramatic sweep of his cloak, he intoned in a deep, magnetic voice, "No! I am—Batman."