Christmas is approaching.

Pedestrians on the streets shoulder to shoulder, gorgeous neon lights shining endlessly, and the sound outside the store’s store’s store displays the melodious and nostalgic Christmas Jazz Moon, which makes people feel sad and miss the wonderful times of the 1980s and 1990s.

The young child was naughty and broke free from his parents' hands and ran along the street. While waving the colorful swirl-shaped lollipops held in his hands, he stepped on the slightly gray-black semi-melt snow water under the steps of the store with the newly bought small leather boots.

Smack,

He bumped into someone.

Look up and your eyes are facing each other.

It was a majestic and solemn middle-aged man with short black hair, beard, and clear and deep eyebrows. The decent suit on him did not add a bit of elegance, but instead showed his burly and strong figure, making him look more deterring and oppressive.

Like a sleeping lion lying quietly under the shade of the tree - the naughty boy thought so.

The middle-aged man squatted down and pulled out a square thick cloth from his chest pocket. He helped the naughty boy wipe the sewage from his leather boots expressionlessly. There was no sound in this process.

The parents came and apologized to the man. It was not until this time that the naughty boy discovered that the man's big suit had his lollipop crumbs and fine crystal traces of saliva, like an ugly scar.

"I'm very sorry, sir," the naughty father apologized, while his wife promptly suggested that there was a good laundry nearby that could clean the traces.

"No need," the man refused, left straight and walked into the dark alley.

He was an Arab, and it was obvious that the traces of the years eroded by wind and sand were like dents left by a carving knife, and they could not be removed.

The vast sea of ​​sand in the center of Eurasia has buried countless generations of wise, stupid, heroic, or cowardly people, together with the real name of the Arab, and the past, into the soft and gentle quicksand.

People call him Al-Hhul, Ra’s-Al-Hhul, which means the head of the demon in ancient Arabic.

This complex name has a profound meaning. Since he has been the leader of the demons, there must be a corresponding subordinate of the evil men who are accomplices of the tiger.

The Assassin League, or Shadow Warrior, the organization built by Als Al Goul himself thousands of years ago has been hiding in the dark side, using the so-called "ultimate peace" as the final program, secretly destroying what they think is evil.

In 541, the noble character left by ancient Rome had fallen into depravity. The Assassin Alliance concocted the Justinian plague, which severely damaged the Byzantine Empire.

On September 2, 1666, when London was about to embark on the road to modern times, the Assassin League created another fire. After the fire demon that lasted for three days and three nights, only a messy ruin was left.

And this is just some cases where names are called...

The Assassin League is like a razor in the hands of Als Al Goul, using his own moral values ​​to eliminate the so-called "evil".

And in this narrow alley, only this vicissitudes of life who had lived for countless years stood alone, staring at the gloomy and low night through the gap between two tall buildings.

"Long time no see, Mr. Als Al Goul."

The husky voice of an inappropriate voice rang in the corner, and the Arabs turned around and stared at the darkness without a trace of light.

It was a man wearing a fierce and fierce full-body armor. He wore a yellow mask on the left and black mask on the right, accounting for half of each of the central axis, and was carrying two crossed samurai swords on his back.

“Death knell.”

Als Al Goul whispered the name, "The best killer in the world and the most competent mercenary, as long as you have money, you won't dare to take on any dirty work."

"Indeed, someone once spent $200 million to ask for your head on the neck," Death Knell curled his lips and walked out of the darkness. "Authentic, this price is indeed good, but for you, the leader of the Assassin League, it is still a bit cheap."

"Then I'm really relieved," the Arab curled his lips coldly and said calmly: "What are you doing in Gotham?"

"Some people spend money to eat and drink, some people spend money to order songs," said Death Knell indifferently: "As a killer, I just follow the employer's request and kill people."

The Arab raised his eyebrows, "Who hired you? Hydra? Or that fat penguin?"

"Sorry, trade secret." Death Knell spread his hands and asked, "But I want to know why you came."

“This city.”

"Hmm?" Death Knell was a little puzzled.

"This city." The Arabs repeated, turning a little sideways, allowing Death Knell to see the lively and colorful street scene outside the alley, "What did you see?"

Death Knell remained silent, and his expression could not be seen clearly under the mask.

"I always thought Batman existed to protect the city." The Arab sighed: "But without him, Gotham became even better."

"What you see is only one-sided," said Death Knell indifferently: "There are dark corners everywhere, and there is a place for people like us to hide."

"No," the Arab shook his head, "not enough."

"What's the meaning."

"I have destroyed the entire area of ​​Europe with the plague and destroyed London with fire. Whenever filth is immersed in the world, the Assassin Alliance will appear and maintain the existence of civilization."

The Arabs said slowly in a gentle and generous tone, "I saw the hope of Gotham, but this hope will be drowned soon. If you kill a bad person, there will always be a second and a third person. They will kill them endlessly like bloodthirsty fly worms looking for the stench of the corpse."

He spread his hands, as if he was holding something, "This city is corrupt."

Death Knell regretted negotiating with the Arabs, but he still maintained the reserve of a loyal audience and listened to the other party's long speeches.

"As you can see, the beauty in front of you wants to cast sand castles by the sea. As long as the tide comes, Gotham will collapse as before," the leader of the Assassin League clenched his fist, as if he wanted to take everything in his hands. "Instead of letting Gotham decay and defeat over and over again, it's better to let me finish it all."

Death knell finally came back and said, "You are going to destroy Gotham?"

"Yes." Als Al Goul nodded, "But I'm going to find out who killed Batman first."

Death knives twitched and said hoarsely: "It seems that our goals are the same."

"What information do you have?"

"Nothing to tell." Death Killer shook his head and turned away.

"The snow in the outskirts of the city," said the Arabs behind him, "maybe it will be very lively tonight."

"…" Death Knell turned his head and stared at the angular face of Als Al Gour, "I don't like anyone involved in my mission."

Before he finished speaking, he rushed to the head of the assassin.

The samurai sword was unsheathed, and the mirror-smooth back reflected the cold moonlight.
Chapter completed!