Christmas is coming.

The streets are filled with pedestrians, neon lights and the sound of the shops is playing a nostalgic Christmas jazz month, nostalgic nostalgia for the good times of the 80s and 90s.

The young child broke free from his parents' hand and ran wildly down the street, waving the colorful swirling lollipops he held in his hands, and trampling the slightly grayish-black half-melted snow under the steps of the shop with his newly-bought little leather boots.

Snap,

He bumped into someone.

Look up and look at each other.

It was a dignified and solemn middle-aged man, with short black hair, a beard, clear and deep eyebrows, and the decent suit on his body did not add a bit of elegance, but faintly revealed a burly and muscular figure, making him look more intimidating and oppressive.

Like a sleeping lion resting in the shade of a tree—the naughty boy thought.

The middle-aged man squatted down, pulled out a square coarse cloth from his breast pocket, and helped the urchin wipe the sewage off his boots with a blank face, without making any sound.

The parents rushed to apologize to the man, and it was only then that the urchin noticed that the corner of the man's expensive suit was glued to the crumbs of his lollipop, and there were fine scribbles of saliva, like an ugly scar.

"I'm very sorry, sir," apologized the boy's father, while his wife duly suggested that there was a nice laundromat nearby that would wash the marks off.

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

He was an Arab, and it was evident that the traces of time eroded by the wind and sand lingered like a dent left by a carving knife.

The vast sea of sand in the middle of Eurasia has buried countless generations of wise, stupid, heroic, and cowardly people, along with the real name and past of this Arab, filled in the soft and gentle quicksand.

He was known as Ra's-Al-Hhul, the head of the demons in ancient Arabic.

This complex name has a deep meaning, and since he is the head of the demons, there must be a corresponding villain who fights for the tiger.

The League of Assassins, or Shadow Warriors, an organization founded by Ars El Gul himself thousands of years ago, has been hiding in the shadows, with the so-called "ultimate peace" as its ultimate program, and secretly destroying what they perceive to be evil.

In 541, the legacy of ancient Rome had fallen into decay, and the Assassin League concocted the Justinian Plague, which dealt a heavy blow to the Byzantine Empire.

On 2 September 1666, as London was about to embark on its path to modern times, the League of Assassins created another fire, which lasted for three days and three nights, leaving only a ruined land.

And these are just a few of the names that can be named...

The League of Assassins was like a razor in the hands of Ars El Gul, using what he considered to be his morality to weed out the so-called "evil".

And in this narrow alley, only this man who has lived for countless years stands alone, staring at the gloomy and low night through the gap between the two tall buildings.

"Long time no see, Mr. Ars El Gul."

An inopportune hoarse voice rang out in the corner, and the Arab turned and stared into the gloom without a glimmer of light.

It was a man dressed in a fierce full-body armor, wearing a mask that was yellow on the left and black on the right, half of each of which was bounded by the central axis, and two crossed katanas on his back.

"Death knell."

Ars El Gul whispered the name, "The best killer in the world, the most competent mercenary, as long as you have money, there is no dirty job that you dare not undertake." ”

"It's true that someone once asked for your head for $200 million," Deathbell pouted and stepped out of the darkness, "Admittedly, it's a good price, but it's still a little cheap for you, the leader of the League of Assassins. ”

"Then I'm really relieved," the Arab curled the corners of his mouth indifferently and said indifferently, "What are you doing in Gotham?" ”

"Some people pay to eat and drink, some people pay to order songs," Deathknell said indifferently, "As a killer, I just follow my employer's request and kill people." ”

The Arabs raised their eyebrows, "Who hired you?" Hydra? Or the fat and bloated penguin? ”

"Sorry, trade secrets." Knell spread his hands and asked, "Still, I would like to know why you're here." ”

"The city."

"Huh?" Knell was a little puzzled.

"The city." The Arab repeated, leaning slightly sideways so that Deathstroke could see the lively and colorful street scene beyond the alley, "What do you see?" ”

Deathstroke remained silent, unable to make out his expression under the mask.

"I always thought Batman existed to protect the city." The Arab sighed, "But without him, Gotham is a better place." ”

"What you see is only one-sided," said Knell indifferently, "there are dark corners everywhere, and that's where people like us hide." ”

"No," the Arab shook his head, "it's not enough. ”

"What do you mean?"

"I have destroyed all of Europe with the plague, I have wiped out London with fire, and every time filth has infiltrated the world, the League of Assassins will emerge to maintain the purity of civilization."

The Arab said in a gentle and generous tone, "I see the hope of Gotham, but this hope will soon be drowned, and if you kill a bad guy, a second or a third person will come out, and they will kill like bloodthirsty flies and insects that come in search of the rotting smell of corpses." ”

He spread his hands, as if holding something, "This city, corrupted." ”

Knell regretted interfering with the Arabs, but he remained a loyal listener and listened to the other party's tirade.

"As you can see, the beauty in front of you is like a sandcastle by the sea, and as soon as the tide comes, Gotham will collapse as before," the leader of the Assassin League clenched his fists as if to take everything into his hands, "Rather than let Gotham rot and rout over and over again, let me end it all." ”

Deathstroke finally came back to his senses and said, "You're going to destroy Gotham? ”

"That's right." Ars El Gul nodded, "But I'm going to find out who killed Batman first." ”

Deathbell snorted and said hoarsely, "It seems that we have the same goal." ”

"What information do you have?"

"No comment." Deathstroke shook his head and turned away.

"That snowy field on the outskirts of the city," said the Arab behind him, "may be lively tonight." ”

"....." Deathstroke turned to look at the angular face of Ars El Gul, "I don't like it when someone interferes with my mission. ”

Before he could finish speaking, he hurried in front of the Assassin leader,

The katana was unsheathed, and the mirror-smooth back reflected the cold moonlight.