DC: Rise of the Kryptonian Tyrant

Day three.

Though Batman's identity had been exposed, Bardi still sat calmly in his Wayne Tower office, standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows. The morning sun filtered in through the glass, scattering light in shimmering colors. He leisurely sipped his orange-red Ceylon Highland black tea.

Since last night, after showing Nightwing the Court of Owls, Bardi had secretly implanted mental suggestions throughout the organization. The Court of Owls no longer posed a serious threat and was gradually falling under Bardi's control. Even the Talons were now being directed by Nightwing under Bardi's orders.

In an instant, Bardi had enough power to control Gotham's entire economy. That same day, Jim Gordon was promoted to Acting Police Commissioner, with a formal appointment soon to follow. The previous commissioner had been imprisoned for corruption.

"Master Bruce, 872 mercenaries have assembled in the main hall."

Alfred knocked before entering, stepping onto the plush, dark red handwoven carpet. His polished leather shoes sank slightly as he walked into the office and made his report.

Bardi gently blew on his tea. Ripples danced across the surface of the amber-red liquid, releasing a warm aroma. He sipped the tea slowly, savoring it to the last drop. Setting down the cup and saucer, he took a tissue from Alfred and wiped his mouth.

"Have Congress, the Senate, and the President been contacted?"

Bardi put down the tissue and began walking out of the office.

"I've made contact, sir. Several members of Congress think you're in trouble and are trying to capitalize on it. Some of them might as well have the words 'I want a bribe' written on their faces.

"As for the President, he's quite interested. He said if your plan is legitimate, Gotham could serve as a pilot site.

"Three generals have also expressed interest after seeing our military tech. If we can persuade them, the next round of U.S. Army weapons procurement could go to Wayne Enterprises. That would bring in a $2 billion defense contract."

Alfred followed closely, responding steadily.

Bardi chuckled. "I'm not chasing business for Wayne Enterprises. Contact General Sam Lane for me. I need him."

Alfred hesitated for a moment and said, "Master, I tried to reach General Lane, but he seems to hold a grudge against you."

"Probably because I used to be a superhero. Tell him I've developed weapons that can neutralize Superman."

"Understood, sir."

...

Gotham Tower, Great Hall

The main hall could hold more than 2,000 people. Right now, mercenaries of all types were split into various squads. The air was tense, tinged with gunpowder and menace.

There were bird-hunting mercenaries with red ribbons on their heads, Blackwater mercenaries dressed in black, Falcon squads, Wolf teams, and the infamous Mike, a rogue expert known for his evasiveness. In a corner stood a lone figure who resembled a ninja. Arms crossed, one eye closed, he exuded an icy aura—the mercenary king, Deathstroke.

Everyone held varying degrees of fear toward Deathstroke. No one stood near him. He was completely isolated.

They had come from all over the world, representing elite mercenary squads. In fact, there were more, but those who couldn't pass U.S. security screening and enter Gotham weren't worth considering. If they couldn't even get here, they had no business being here.

They clustered in small groups, whispering among themselves.

"Bruce… what is he trying to do?"

"Mike, are we really teaming up with these guys? They look seriously pro," asked a scrawny, clever-looking Asian man with a mustache.

This Mike was a major player in Russia. In Bardi's original world, he had been the first to surrender to Bardi and become his subordinate, only to later be killed by Batman.

Now, he was a nearly forty-five-year-old man with a stern expression and a face perpetually locked in a scowl.

"Relax. We'll follow their lead," Mike said confidently, without the slightest trace of shame.

Several nearby mercenaries gave him contemptuous looks.

Mike had skills and extensive battlefield experience. But in the mercenary world, he was an outlier. He feared death and had top-tier escape tactics. He'd often abandon missions mid-way, leading to a poor reputation.

The mustached man nodded in silence, accepting Mike's stance.

"Bruce Wayne, the playboy? His Batman identity is out. Are we here to protect him?"

"Are you dumb? Batman could take out ten of you without breaking a sweat. You think he needs protection?"

"I don't trust Batman. I trust the gun in my hand."

"What's he gonna do, seduce a movie star and take her home?"

"Haha!"

"I don't care what the mission is. If the pay's right, I'd even bomb the White House."

"As long as there's money, any mission is fine!"

In the middle of their chatter, Bardi and Alfred walked slowly into the hall. Instantly, silence fell.

Bardi swept his gaze across the crowd. These mercenaries were tough. Some met his stare head-on, sharp and fearless. A few, knowing he was Batman, even returned his look with a provocative glint.

"One month. One million dollars per person. Under my command, I will assign missions of varying difficulty. Complete them, and you'll receive bonuses."

The mercenaries looked at one another in surprise. Some solo operators, small teams of two or three, or squads of five began to stir excitedly.

A five-person team splitting a million dollars meant 200,000 each. That was a decent payout. Compared to other high-risk missions, Gotham seemed relatively safe.

From the largest mercenary group, nearly fifty members strong, a man named Zuo Ke frowned and said, "Our team would only get about twenty grand each. A month is too long. We're out."

"One million per person. For one month."

Bardi's tone was cold and calm. This wasn't about negotiation.

He had no reliable people at his disposal. Even with Batman's wealth, he had never considered assembling a large force. But for his current plan, that was no longer an option. He would use money to forge a legion.

Bringing light to Gotham would never be Batman's job alone. Batman was a symbol. What Bardi needed now was manpower.

One man couldn't do it alone.

"Whoa!!!"

The entire hall exploded in an uproar.

There were 872 mercenaries here. That meant Bruce would have to pay $872 million for a single month—an astronomical figure for them.

Now they understood why this man could be Batman, and they were just mercenaries.

"I'm in!"

"Me too!"

"Haven't seen a payday like this in years… I mean, an employer!"

"Alright, count me in."

"After this gig, I'm going home to get married!"

"I accept!"

As a wave of enthusiastic agreements spread, a different voice rang out with cold disdain.

Deathstroke leaned against the wall, his one good eye filled with indifference.

"One million? You think you can buy my time with that? Batman, your imagination is wild."

Bardi turned to look at the lone mercenary. Deathstroke was different. He had real skill, far beyond the average gun-for-hire.

"You'll be my bodyguard. Two million."

"You forget we have a grudge."

"Three million."

"I'd rather cut off your head than take your money."

"Four million."

"Heh. You think money can buy anything?"

"Five million."

"Deal."

(To be continued.)