Chapter 65: She who oppened the box and release the evils

Chapter 65: She who oppened the box and release the evils

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Damian thought Dean was joking and didn't take it seriously.

But Dean was serious. He really wanted Damian to die—at least once. The reasons were both external and personal to Damian himself.

"The Justice League is like the sun, forcing evil into dark corners. The best way to find them is to let the sun go down and give these monsters and ghosts a chance to crawl out."

Only then could they stage the perfect trap.

Damian was Batman's current Robin and his biological son. No matter the circumstances, Damian held a crucial place in Batman's heart. Bruce, who grew up without parents, never wanted his own son to experience that same loneliness. So, despite fulfilling his duties as Batman, he always did his best to be there for Damian.

If Batman lost Damian—if he lost his only blood relative again—it would be a devastating mental blow. And for those lurking in the shadows, this would be the perfect opportunity.

That was the external reason. But there was also an internal concern—one that had everything to do with Damian himself.

Before Damian met Batman, he had been trained by Ra's al Ghul. Now, at just twelve years old, his combat skills were already comparable to those of a fully grown, trained assassin.

It was impossible for Dean to believe that Damian had never been in the Lazarus Pit.

The Lazarus Pit, created by Trigon, held a terrifying power. There was no doubt in Dean's mind that Damian, like his grandfather, had been marked by Trigon's influence. Dean still carried fragments of Trigon's power within himself. Now that they were in close proximity, there was no guarantee that Trigon wouldn't use Damian as a vessel for his return.

This had to be prevented before it even became a problem.

The best-case scenario was that the Horse Talisman could purge the lingering influence of Trigon. But Dean didn't have high hopes for that. The Lazarus Pit's effects had been with Damian for too long. It had grown with him, becoming a part of his very being.

In Dean's plan, Robin's "death" would be the catalyst for everything that followed. The only question was: how should Damian die?

"Robin, when you get back to the Batcave, find Batman's records on the Collapse. I need to understand it fully before I can build our own plan."

Based on Dean's knowledge of Batman, Bruce would absolutely have a copy of those classified files somewhere in the Batcave—even though Cyborg already had full access to them at the Watchtower.

At that moment, Damian realized something. Dean actually saw him as an informant.

And while Damian normally would have been insulted, this request was exactly what he wanted to do.

Every capable young person dreams of achieving something great. Damian was no exception. Fighting Gotham's supercriminals was one thing, but who wouldn't want the chance to save the world?

After parting ways with Damian, Dean returned to Gordon's house, only to find the lights still on.

"It's already one o'clock in the morning, Commissioner."

Dean set down a cup of tea in front of Gordon and casually took away the beer on the table. "What's keeping you up? A tough case? Two-Face robbing a bank again?"

Gordon rubbed his tired eyes. "None of that. It's about Barbara. After waiting for so long, she finally has a chance to walk again."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that something worth celebrating?"

Gordon hesitated, pain flickering in his eyes. "The doctors say the spinal surgery is extremely risky. If it fails, she might never recover. I don't know if I should tell her."

He exhaled heavily, his voice burdened with emotion.

"It took her so long to move past that nightmare. I don't want her to hope—only to fall back into despair. That would be too cruel."

Dean had the urge to tell Gordon that the surgery would succeed.

After all, Barbara was destined to become Batgirl. She was supposed to walk again.

But then he remembered the Collapse phenomenon—how it could alter the timeline itself. What if the future he knew had already changed?

What if Barbara's operation failed?

The thought made him uneasy.

"When is the surgery scheduled?"

"They haven't set a date yet. The surgeon is still in another city."

Dean clapped his hands. "Good. Commissioner, if you trust me, delay the operation for now. I'll make sure Barbara has a guaranteed recovery."

The guarantee he was referring to, of course, was the Horse Talisman.

The Horse Talisman was more than just a healing artifact. Its true ability was restoration.

It wasn't limited to healing wounds—it could restore anything to its original, intact state.

It was essentially the mystical equivalent of Crazy Diamond's power.

And that meant it could absolutely fix spinal damage.

But if Barbara fully recovered, she wouldn't want to just sit behind a computer as Oracle anymore.

She would become Batgirl again.

And that was the last thing Gordon wanted.

Gordon's brows furrowed. "I trust you, Dean. I know you have some incredible magic artifacts, but… are you sure there won't be any side effects?"

Gordon had always kept his distance from magic.

But if it could help his daughter, he was willing to take that risk.

Dean gave him a relaxed smile. "Don't worry. If there are any side effects, I'll take them myself."

Gordon's eyes widened slightly.

"You really are something else, kid."

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Maybe I really am getting too old for this."

Despite his worries, this conversation brought Gordon a rare sense of peace. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he could sleep without the constant weight pressing down on his shoulders. The burden of being Gotham's Commissioner, the endless struggle to keep order in a city that refused to be tamed, and the guilt of being a father haunted by his daughter's tragedy—just for tonight, it all felt a little lighter.

He reached for his cup, took a sip, and Immediately frowned. "What the hell? This isn't beer."

Dean, who had subtly switched out Gordon's alcohol for tea, awkwardly cleared his throat. "Director, I think we need to have a long conversation—one that lasts all night."

Barbara walked into the kitchen and immediately stopped in her tracks. At the dining table sat two men who looked like they had fought a war and lost. Dean lazily stirred his coffee, barely holding himself together, while Gordon sat slouched in his chair, his eyes half-lidded, looking like he had spent the entire night wrestling with his thoughts.

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "You two didn't sneak off on a secret mission last night, did you?" Her sharp gaze landed on Gordon. "Dad, you promised me—no unnecessary risks."

Gordon, still groggy, barely had time to react before Barbara turned her attention to Dean. "And you. What did you drag him into this time?"

Dean, feeling the pressure, searched his brain for an excuse. Think fast. His eyes darted toward the TV, where a political announcement from the Penguin was playing. On screen, Oswald Cobblepot stood at a podium, proudly declaring his candidacy for mayor of Gotham. His speech was filled with grand promises—increasing investment in public safety, ensuring Gotham's orphans had stable environments, and cracking down on crime like never before. Of course, all lies.

Dean snapped his fingers. "That's it! We were discussing the new police department budget!"

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "Budget?"

Dean nodded quickly. "Yeah, I suggested to the Commissioner that we should increase funding for the Superhuman Crime Investigation Team."

Barbara blinked. "The what?"

Her confusion deepened as she turned to her father. "Dad, since when does the GCPD have a Superhuman Crime Investigation Team?"

Gordon sighed, shooting Dean an exasperated look. "Good question, Barbara. When exactly did this happen?"

Dean, realizing he had dug himself into a hole, forced a nervous smile. "Well… it didn't exist before. But I figured, why not? It's just me for now, but hey—big things start small, right?"

Gordon rubbed his temples while Barbara crossed her arms. "So you just made it up on the spot."

Dean avoided eye contact. Gordon let out a tired sigh, while Barbara shook her head. "You're impossible."

Desperate to shift the topic, Dean reached into his coat and pulled out a long wooden object, placing it on the table. It was a simple wooden sword—Hoshikudaki.

Gordon eyed it curiously. "What's this?"

Dean smirked. "A teaching tool." He pushed it toward Gordon. "This sword allows the wielder to temporarily gain the combat experience of its previous owner. The effect doesn't last long, but the skills you pick up can be retained."

Gordon's eyes widened. "Wait—you're saying this thing can teach people how to fight?"

Dean nodded. "Exactly. I want to introduce this to the GCPD. If every officer gets a chance to use it for training, it could massively improve their hand-to-hand combat skills."

Gordon picked up the wooden sword, examining it closely. It had no sharp edges. The blade was completely smooth, and even the tip was rounded, making it look more like an oversized baton than a weapon. At a glance, it seemed ordinary, but Dean knew firsthand how powerful it could be.

Barbara reached over and took the sword from her father, inspecting it with a skeptical look. "It just looks like a normal wooden sword. And it smells like… curry?"

Dean cringed. "I know. Don't ask."

Barbara gripped the hilt, and instantly, the sword lit up with a bright white glow. A flood of combat memories, techniques, and movements surged through her mind, as if years of training had been compressed into a single moment. For a brief second, she could see every move, every counter, every form. But the moment she loosened her grip, the glow faded, and the knowledge vanished.

She blinked in surprise. "It's like… a flash of muscle memory. But it disappears as soon as I let go."

Then she furrowed her brows. "Wait. No. I can still remember a little."

She turned to Dean. "That means it doesn't just show techniques—it actually teaches them."

Dean grinned. "Exactly."

Barbara handed the sword back to Gordon. "It works—but only for people with natural sword talent. It won't magically turn everyone into a master overnight."

Dean frowned. "Huh. I thought anyone could learn instantly. I guess I picked up my skills faster than I realized."

Gordon exhaled sharply. "So you're telling me this won't turn every cop into a one-man army?" His dreams of wiping out the Clown Gang in a single night were slipping away.

Dean, however, remained persistent. "Even if not everyone can use it perfectly, there are still hundreds of officers in the GCPD. I guarantee you at least a dozen of them will have the talent for it." And if even a dozen officers could reach a fraction of his level, then Gotham's criminals would have a lot to worry about.

Gordon placed the sword down. "Alright. I'll consider it."

Dean took a deep breath. Now for the hard part. "Director… if you really want to help me, I need something else."

Gordon arched an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Dean hesitated before speaking carefully. "A $50,000 budget—for informants."

Gordon almost spit out his coffee. "$50,000?!"

Dean nodded, dead serious. "I need resources."

The room fell silent as Gordon slowly crossed his arms. "If you want that much money, you better justify it."

Dean sighed. "Alright. I'll tell you who my informant is." He braced himself. "It's Poison Ivy…"

"Poison Ivy, I've already guessed it was her. It must have been when you're in Arkham."

Dean was interrupted by Gordon before he finished speaking, and he had to swallow the "Penguin" and "Orm".

Gordon sighed. "Kid, I was the warden of Arkham. You think I didn't know?"

Dean kept the secret, Gordon pretended, everyone was happy, a win-win situation.

"You two… hurry up and get to the police station after breakfast!"

Barbara shoved the two out of the house without hesitation. Gordon and Dean, still recovering from their sleepless night, had no choice but to obey. Once at the police station, Gordon immediately began selecting officers he trusted to be the first to use Hoshikudaki.

To his surprise, the sword revealed something unexpected. Its power could only be activated by those with a true heart of guardianship. Those who failed to trigger it, despite being fully capable officers, raised red flags. Gordon, always a sharp investigator, began digging deeper. It didn't take long for him to uncover the truth—several officers had joined the force with ulterior motives. Some were lazy, using their position to avoid real work, while others had far more sinister connections. Among them, a handful were linked to Gotham's crime families. The discovery led to a quiet but immediate purge within the department.

Meanwhile, after submitting an exhausting number of applications, Dean finally secured funding for his operations. Initially, he had asked for $50,000, but after much discussion, the amount was doubled to $100,000.

Even more surprising was the unanimous approval from Gordon, the deputy chief, and several high-ranking officials. Dean's decision to ally with Poison Ivy wasn't just a tactical move—it was politically beneficial. Poison Ivy had always been a controversial figure. While she was undeniably a criminal, her targets were always environmental polluters, corporations that dumped waste into Gotham's rivers, or individuals guilty of deforestation. To radical environmentalists, she wasn't the villain—the GCPD was. They had staged multiple protests outside the police station, demanding the department stop persecuting her.

Now, with Dean forming a truce with her, Gotham's environmental groups would finally back off. Gordon almost wanted to applaud him for this accidental public relations win.

"One hundred thousand dollars is more than enough as a starting budget. Let's give Harleen her $50,000 first." Dean tapped his chin thoughtfully. "As for the rest… maybe I should buy the fruit shop next to the police station and turn it into a dessert shop?"

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "A dessert shop?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. You know, once officers start using Hoshikudaki, their physical training intensity will increase. They'll start craving sugar more than usual. Someone's going to profit from selling them snacks, so… why not me?"

For a brief moment, he actually considered it. A side business, completely legal, and highly profitable. But then, reality hit him.

"Wait… that technically counts as misappropriation of funds… which is illegal. Damn, I can't do it."

Sighing at his lost business opportunity, Dean left the police station, wearing his Clark Kent disguise glasses as he made his way to Harleen's apartment. However, midway through his journey, he suddenly veered into a deserted alleyway and came to a sharp stop.

His eyes immediately locked onto a seemingly empty space to his left.

Silence.

Nothing moved. No sound, no disturbance. And yet, his instincts screamed that he was being watched.

Of the three major concerns he had been tracking, two had already been accounted for. The first was Penguin, who had been stockpiling weapons—an obvious power play ahead of the mayoral election. The second was Mr. Freeze, who had been collecting corpses for some unknown experiment. However, Freeze was now in critical condition, likely bedridden for the rest of his life.

That left only one unanswered mystery.

A spellcaster.

Someone had been making moves in Gotham, searching for arcane power, specifically power connected to Trigon. That was the real danger.

Dean narrowed his eyes at the empty alley, his grip on reality tightening. He wasn't relying on gadgets like Batman's surveillance tech—his instincts told him someone was watching him.

"The snake-in-the-grass method really works," he muttered. "I just handed over Hoshikudaki, and already, someone's trailing me. Can't even wait a day, huh?"

Without hesitation, he pulled out an unusual item—[Marauder's Map for Mysophobia]—a magical surveillance tool that detected movement without relying on technology. Holding it up, he whispered the activation phrase:

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

In an instant, the entire surrounding area was mapped out. Buildings, alleyways, and, most importantly—names.

One name appeared directly next to him, despite no one being visible.

[Pandora]

Dean's pupils contracted slightly. "So that's who it is."

The moment he said her name, the air in front of him shimmered, and Pandora stepped into visibility.

"I didn't expect your perception to be so sharp," she admitted.

Removing her hood, she revealed her silver-grey hair and a face hardened by sorrow. Even without knowing her, Dean could tell this was a woman who carried immense grief. It clung to her like a shadow, an unshakable presence that followed her wherever she went.

Dean folded his arms. "Compared to that perverted stalker and the trembling ninja, your tracking skills are kind of pathetic. Your stealth needs work. I could sense you from a mile away—wait."

His eyes fell to two octagonal stones nestled between Pandora's chest.

His tone immediately changed. "You have those?"

Pandora's expression barely shifted, but her eyes gleamed with understanding. "So… you really know them."

Dean's voice remained steady, but his grip on reality tightened. Holding out his hand, a red sword materialized out of thin air.

"Legend says when the gods created humanity, the world was free of sin—until you came along." He leveled his sword at her. "They say Pandora opened the forbidden box, releasing the Seven Deadly Sins, and humanity was forever cursed. You became a symbol of evil itself."

Pandora clenched her fists. "I didn't open the box!" she snapped. "It was already opening when I picked it up! I didn't unleash sin—I just happened to be the one holding it!"

She reached into her cloak and pulled out an object—a golden skull, its hollow eyes burning with a red glow. The power radiating from it was suffocating.

"Dean, I followed you for one reason," she said. "To save humanity." Her voice was low but urgent. "Only the purest or the most wicked can open this box. And you—"

She fixed him with a knowing look.

"—you carry a piece of Trigon's soul inside you."

Dean's grip on his sword tightened.

"I want you to open this box," Pandora continued. "And lock the Seven Deadly Sins away forever. If we seal them, mankind will be reborn."

Dean exhaled slowly. "Pandora…" His voice turned cold. "I don't care whether or not you opened the box. Because I don't believe in legends."

Pandora narrowed her eyes, but Dean continued before she could speak.

"You really think that without the Seven Deadly Sins, the world will become perfect? Don't be stupid. Tell me, before you opened that box… what did the gods who judged you look like?"

His tone darkened.

"They were arrogant, sitting on their high thrones, demanding worship. They were greedy, launching divine wars to steal followers. They were gluttonous, indulging in every pleasure. They were lustful, violating their own creations. They were lazy, treating humanity as mere slaves. They were wrathful, punishing mortals with divine fury. And they were jealous, waging war against each other."

Dean smirked.

"So tell me, Pandora… were those gods free of sin?"

The more Dean spoke, the paler Pandora's face became. His words weren't just arguments; they were shattering her reality.

If the Seven Deadly Sins only emerged after she unsealed the box, then how had the gods—who existed long before humanity—already embodied those same sins?

The only possibility was that original sin had always existed, long before Pandora even laid hands on the box. The figures of the Seven Deadly Sins, which only she could see, weren't the source of mankind's corruption.

They were merely manifestations of what had already been there.

"Everything the gods told me is false?"

The words left her lips in a whisper, her voice trembling with doubt. For centuries—millennia—she had carried the burden of guilt, believing she was the one who unleashed evil upon the world. She had spent an eternity atoning, desperately trying to right a wrong that, perhaps, had never even been hers to begin with.

And now, after all this time, she was being told that she had been deceived from the very start?

Dean's voice was sharp, merciless.

"Sealing away the Seven Deadly Sins won't make humanity pure. That's just wishful thinking. You've misunderstood the nature of evil, Pandora." His tone hardened, his eyes locking onto hers with unshakable certainty.

"You've spent thousands of years believing that sin started with you—that without the Sins, humanity would be good. But take a good look around you, Pandora. Look at Gotham. Look at this city. How many criminals do you think are truly driven by sin?"

Pandora opened her mouth, but no words came.

Dean continued, pressing forward.

"Some people kill for pleasure. Some destroy for no reason at all. Some harm others just because they can. Not because of pride, greed, lust, or any of the sins you believe you released into the world—but simply because they want to."

He took a step toward her, unrelenting.

"And if that's true—if some people are just born evil—then tell me, Pandora…

What exactly have you been trying to fix?"

A heavy silence settled between them.

For Pandora, this was a revelation more painful than death itself.

"I… I don't believe you."

Her voice was quiet, but there was rage hidden beneath her denial. Her hands clenched into fists, her entire body trembling.

"You must be lying to me. Even if the gods were… misguided, even if they were arrogant, they still see farther than I do. They are gods—and you, you are just a mortal. Why do you think you know better than them? What proof do you have that their judgment is wrong?"

Her anger boiled over, and before Dean could react, she suddenly floated off the ground.

The air around them crackled with unseen force. She stretched out her hand, her palm facing downward, and an invisible pressure slammed into Dean's chest, pinning him in place.

Dean gritted his teeth, feeling his body being pressed downward as if an unseen weight was trying to crush him into the ground.

Yet, even as the force tried to break him, he smirked.

"I figured something like this might happen."

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, and with a swift, decisive motion, he slashed through the invisible force restraining him. The power around him shattered like glass, and he landed lightly on his feet, unfazed.

Pandora's eyes widened in shock.

"You—"

Dean pointed his sword at her, his smirk widening.

"Pandora, you have two big problems. First, you're too heavy-handed. Second, you don't listen to a word anyone says."

Pandora stared at him, completely bewildered. "What?"

Dean rolled his shoulders.

"I told you from the start that I was 'leading the snake out of its hole.' If you don't understand, let me put it another way…"

His smirk turned dangerous.

"I was fishing for law enforcement."

The sword in his grip wasn't just any sword.

It was new, freshly drawn from the Marauder's Map he had used earlier. A weapon unlike any other, its very essence radiated power.

Its name was displayed before him:

[Name: Dim Changhong Sword]

[Type: Weapon]

[Quality: ★★☆]

[Attack Power: Strong]

[Attribute: Fire]

[Special Effect: Hiding the edge in the sheath, the heart of the sword is transparent]

[The sword of Young Hero Hongmao is like a rainbow in the clear sky. It is named after its rainbow-like momentum. However, its luster has dimmed due to the passage of time and needs to be tempered before it can be reborn.

PS: You know where to go to wake it up.]

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