Chapter 28: When Traveling Abroad, One’s Reputation Is Forged in Blood

"Magic and miracles are not free."
——John Constantine, the legendary master of survival.
My apologies, that was actually said by Lu Xun.

If the previous sanctified exorcism had been a spell rather than a consumable item, Ma Zhaodi would never have dared to use it. In this world, the power of magic is almost always claimed; every source of power has its origin. Learning magic is not about acquiring power itself, but about learning the methods to borrow it from those sources. Regrettably, the demon gods or high-ranking entities that hold dominion over these sources are no philanthropists. They almost always demand a price from those who wield their magic—it could be a day of good luck, or it could be a person’s destiny and soul.

The power contained within this one-time sanctified item belonged to the lineage of the one in Heaven, making it perfectly suited for exorcism. Because the tool was specifically designed for this purpose, Ma Zhaodi was able to use it without paying any price.

Had it been otherwise, he would never have risked handling magical objects. It wasn't just a fear of becoming addicted to magic and incurring debts he couldn't pay, but a deeper fear of forming entanglements with certain beings. After all, teammates are also among the prices a mage might sacrifice, and some mages have certainly grown accustomed to doing exactly that.

Lost in these rambling thoughts, Ma Zhaodi drove home, having stopped to buy some groceries along the way.

*Click.*

He parked the car on the empty space by the side of the road outside the small building where the Drakes lived and locked the doors. He had spent one dollar of his system assets to find a parking spot on the map, and while it was strange that the system indicated every nearby spot was available, the system had never steered him wrong before.

"God almighty, you're actually fine."

Drake stepped out of a taxi nearby, looking curious. "This car doesn't look nearly as cursed as the boss made it out to be."

"Damn it, what a pair of idiots," the taxi driver muttered to himself, quickly starting his engine and speeding away as if fleeing for his life.

He had followed the car the entire way per Drake's request, and now that he saw the details of the body—despite the lack of license plates and the fresh coat of grey paint—he recognized this vehicle as the infamous "Death Car" from Gotham’s accident reports.

*Damn it all,* he thought, *why is there always some sucker brave enough to drive this thing? Are they not afraid of dying?*

Ma Zhaodi, noticing the driver’s hasty departure, turned to Drake. "What's wrong with him?"

"Who knows? Maybe he’s in a rush to pick up his next fare now that the trip to Gotham Hospital is over," Drake shrugged. "Forget him."

"Much obliged."

***

"...Yesterday, the Gotham Police Department once again arrested a large number of mobsters. According to Commissioner Gordon, this operation was aided by the masked vigilante known as Batman."

"To date, Batman has assisted the GCPD in arresting dozens, if not hundreds, of Gotham gangsters. This leaves me deeply puzzled: must the Gotham Police Department rely on a masked outlaw to perform its basic functions? Can we only rely on a masked man who uses violence and defies the law to help us enforce it?"

"Although Commissioner Gordon has repeatedly vouched for Batman’s harmlessness, not a single one of the gangsters or thugs captured so far has escaped without broken arms, legs, or ribs. No one has ever entered the precinct completely unscathed under the hands of this violent vigilante."

"Gotham District Attorney Harvey Dent has also maintained an ambiguous stance on Batman. Has the judicial integrity of Gotham been fully compromised, or even controlled, by a shadowy illegal vigilante? None of us know..."

Mrs. Camilla sat by a small table, watching the television intently.

"We all know this news agency belongs to the Falcone crime family," Drake sneered as he walked through the door.

"Listening to them is like listening to rats condemn rat poison. They talk about fairness, justice, respect for life, and independence, but in reality, they’re just dogs manipulated by their own interests. How many honest officers or prosecutors has Gotham produced in the last decade? Every single one of them has been hunted down by people like that."

"I’ll assume you’re still talking about the news agency," Ma Zhaodi said, hanging his coat by the door. "So, you support Batman, then?"

"Even the most correct words taste bitter in their mouths. Regardless, I don't support that lot," Drake shook his head. "But my opinion doesn't matter. I’m not from Gotham, and I won't be staying long."

"That’s true. Once you guys leave, I’ll renew the lease on this place."

"Why renew it? You have fifty thousand dollars. With your job, you could afford to buy a smaller house in parts of Otisburg on an installment plan."

"Stop right there—absolutely not. The moment I can find work in another city, I’m out of here. Buying a house in Gotham is a losing investment. I’ve suffered more in one year here than in ten years in any other city combined."

Drake paused, realizing he couldn't argue with that.

Everyone knew that Gotham’s daily life could hardly be called vibrant or flourishing; at best, it could be described as a smoke-filled, bullet-ridden war zone. Every building here could be destroyed at any moment by a bomb, a missile, or a massive fire. Therefore, those in the Gotham real estate business were rarely simple folk, and those who bought homes here were generally people who had nowhere else to go.

Mrs. Camilla chimed in, "Ma Zhaodi, where did you get that cross necklace?"

"Oh, we bought a car today, and I found it inside. I liked it, so I put it on."

"It’s beautiful..." Camilla stared instinctively at the shimmering necklace. As a long-time, sickly Christian, she was truly devout, and looking at the necklace Ma Zhaodi wore gave her an inexplicable sense of warmth.

***

Seeing the situation, Ma Zhaodi immediately deflected. "Drake, why haven't you gotten Mrs. Camilla a cross necklace?"

"Don't start," Drake muttered. "The church already gave her a blessed cross necklace. She just likes shiny, pretty trinkets."

Camilla raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No," Drake immediately pledged his loyalty. "I'll go buy you one this afternoon."

"Borrow my keys," Ma Zhaodi said, pulling out the car keys. "Drive slowly on the way back; you won't have any trouble."

Drake looked at the keys, hesitated for a long time, and ultimately didn't dare to take them.

***

Night fell.

Several furtive figures wandered through the alleys of the slums. One of them caught sight of a car parked brazenly by the roadside, and his eyes lit up.

"Leon, hey, look at that car. We’re in luck today."

Leon glanced at the car, then immediately turned and walked away.

"Luck? Are you kidding me? You didn't recognize the Death Car? The 'Car-Dealer' just announced today that the Falcone family’s killing machine finally got sold. You want to try stealing it back for him?"

"Move! You idiot! That car is better off parked on that street corner for an eternity."

When you're out on the streets, your reputation is earned through the blood you spill.