Chapter 1685: Bruce Wayne and the Secret Chamber (XI)

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Anyone could see the flames of rage burning within this girl — a fury so intense that even the storms over the Himalayas couldn't extinguish it. However, few could truly understand what she was so angry about.

"She lacks empathy."

Bruce attempted to profile her. Though he never scored well on such assessments from Schiller, his detective instincts made his psychological analysis stand out like a flower growing from manure.

"She exhibits classic psychopathic traits: hyper-focused, charismatic, and ruthlessly detached," Bruce listed the three primary characteristics of a psychopath and continued his analysis.

"Also, she has a typical antisocial personality disorder: incapable of love, with a natural tendency to manipulate others. She is an expert liar, capable of deceit as easily as breathing, completely devoid of guilt or adherence to societal values, with almost no moral compass — though she abides by her own set of rules."

Constantine stole a glance at Schiller, then quickly looked down as if searching for a crack in the floor to disappear into. After a moment, he glanced at Bruce, then Pamela. He was seriously contemplating his chances of finding a way out in a room full of psychopaths and antisocial personalities.

"If you could go beyond textbook definitions and share some of your own insights, your professor would be much happier," Schiller remarked.

Bruce fell silent, deep in thought, replaying Harley's behavioral patterns he had witnessed in the past, trying to piece together the clues.

"Unlike other psychopaths and antisocial personalities who exhibit narcissism, Harley Quinn displays a sort of dependent madness. She needs constant observation — either to observe others or to be observed herself... or perhaps, to ensure that she has an audience. Only then does her madness truly manifest."

"Why such a contradiction?"

"It stems from..." Bruce paused, clearly searching his mind for the answer. His words were interspersed with thoughtful hesitations, but his reasoning remained coherent.

"No one listens to her," Pamela interrupted Bruce, speaking with certainty. "Since she was born, her genius ideas, rooted in madness, have never been taken seriously. No one truly sees her. She longs for someone who can truly understand her, not just Harley Quinn, but her essence — that of a monster. She wants someone to gaze upon her, fully comprehend her, and fall in love with her twisted brilliance."

"This is merely another form of narcissism," Bruce concluded after a moment's contemplation. "She’s willing to sacrifice all her other emotions, including her self-respect and personal principles, just to gain recognition, just to be loved."

"But it's a tragedy by nature. Normal people who understand love cannot understand her, while those like her — psychopaths and antisocial personalities — are incapable of love. So she is doomed to seek but never receive it."

Bruce paused, and Pamela continued, "Without attention, she cannot fully unleash her madness. Conversely, to release that madness, she must first seek attention."

"So, that's why she opened that book," Strange raised an eyebrow. "Is she really serious? She opened that book not to seek power from mysterious entities but simply to gain attention?"

"This excites her immensely. Clearly, she belongs to the high-functioning group among antisocial personalities. When their brains become hyperactive and their adrenaline surges, their intelligence can compensate for any power gained from external sources, perhaps even surpassing it."

Pamela’s tone finally wavered slightly as she spoke, "That book serves as a self-induced stimulus for her. The idea that some entity is observing her crimes with complete focus drives her to an almost ecstatic state. This is the nature of human madness, perhaps even more so than actions driven by external temptations — more like gifts of nature."

The screen vividly displayed Harley’s actions, confirming their assessments.

"I need to find someone who doesn’t exist among the students."

Harley tore a page from the Book of the Dead — an act that anyone could recognize as shockingly irreverent. Yet, curiously, the book seemed unbothered by her sacrilege; the gray maelstrom on the page only rotated slowly.

"Your thoughts are diverging," a line appeared on the surface of the paper. "What has influenced you?"

"I already have all the answers," Harley’s eyes glowed brightly in the dark corridor, her platinum blonde hair shimmering like a waterfall in the moonlight.

"Clearly, I no longer need you to provide answers because the evidence is laid out so plainly."

"Narita Keiko, a fifth-year student, went mad and was dragged out of the girls' dormitory hallway the morning after we arrived; Li Zian, a fourth-year student, went berserk the same night, injuring her roommate; Aridane, who attacked me, is another fourth-year student whose eye I pierced — she’s still lying in the infirmary. Their grades, backgrounds, and movements are confined to a small area with a clear intersection point."

"Helen was right. There’s an elephant in the room, but we’re not blind to it — we’re deliberately ignoring it."

Harley quickly descended the staircase, not hesitating for a moment as if the unfamiliar school she had just entered was as familiar to her as her own home. Every step was confident.

"We might be dealing with a deity. They may have ways to make us unable to see them, but they can’t leave no traces behind. Or rather, if they intend to keep messing with someone's mind, they will inevitably reveal themselves."

"Before that happens, I need to find myself a weapon." Harley said, darting through the corridors, braving the blizzard as she sprinted through the darkened walkway toward another building.

Passing through the eerily desolate canteen, Harley found herself in the kitchen. She approached a rack on the wall near the butcher block and grabbed a cleaver that was slightly oversized for her frame.

Clearly, even in Kamar-Taj, food wasn’t conjured out of thin air. Most of their meat came from livestock raised in the nearby villages at the foot of the mountain, occasionally supplemented by supplies teleported from elsewhere. However, given the proximity of these sources, they seldom had meat from animals slaughtered in the more civilized fashion typical of urban societies. Here, the task often fell to the hands of a butcher.

Given the limited manpower in this school, the roles of butcher and cook aren't clearly separated. Most of the time, if meat was needed for the day's meal, the cook would simply grab a knife and deal with the livestock kept in the backyard. Here, no one was troubled by ethical qualms about slaughter.

Harley gazed intently at the knife with an expression bordering on obsession. She ran her fingers along the blood grooves etched into the blade, murmuring, "Sometimes, I feel a deeper resonance with Eastern culture because their books are filled with the concept of 'survival.' I’ve found some pretty ruthless signals in their words."

Taking a deep breath, Harley stood up and glanced at the dimming sky outside. "The next step," she said, "is to figure out how to make this knife hurt the person I want it to. Considering that my target is likely not an ordinary human, we’ll probably have to resort to magic."

A voice responded, "Do you want my power?"

"No." Harley licked her dry lips and replied, "Leaning on borrowed power isn’t my style. I need something stronger and more potent—and it has to be freely given."

"Who do you think fits that requirement?"

Just then, a boning knife stabbed into the wall, less than ten centimeters from Loki's face, startling him. He had only just realized someone had breached his room.

A normal knife shouldn’t be able to pierce the skin of a Frost Giant. But first, Loki needed to figure out how Harley had bypassed his magical wards—something he was meticulous about setting on his doors.

"It wasn’t difficult," Harley said, pulling the knife free. "Given that they call you the God of Mischief, those runes on your door were just for show. The real protective magic was on the carpet—the one inside the door."

"I slid the knife under, shifted the carpet, and that created a small gap I could squeeze through. I bet you didn’t expect someone of my size to break into your room," she added with a smirk.

"I certainly didn’t expect you to be carrying a knife like that," Loki remarked, still calm. Dressed in his robe, he leisurely poured himself a glass of water from the bedside pitcher. "Miss, what exactly do you want?"

"I need a bit of power."

Loki turned to face Harley. She toyed with the knife in her hands, saying, "I’m going to kill an elephant. It’s in the room right now, but regular people either can’t see it or don’t realize it’s an elephant. Can you enchant this knife to pierce through disguises?"

"Are you out of your mind, young lady?" Loki blinked, completely thrown off by her rapid shifts in thought.

"You’re a god, aren’t you?" Harley shot back.

Loki gave a small shrug and replied, "I’m afraid we’re a bit different from what you imagine. Asgardians are merely powerful aliens—we don’t lend out divine powers like cosmic gods do."

"Then help me find someone who can."

"Don’t you think you’re being a bit—"

With a sudden swish, Harley drove the knife into the bed frame. She said, "Your daughter, Helen, she has an astonishing gift for learning."

Loki stared at Harley, bewildered by the sudden shift. He could see the intelligence behind her manic eyes, as well as a unique mix of calmness and madness.

"I can sense her drawing from my wisdom, but if she keeps it up, she’ll inevitably absorb my darkness and insanity. Is that something you’d want for her?" Harley asked with a twisted smile.

"You’re threatening me using my daughter?"

"No, I’m simply offering you a necessary exchange," Harley replied, tapping her temple with one finger. "I’m saying, help me gain some power, and I’ll give her everything in here—everything that’s making me the way I am right now. Trust me, this could become her secret weapon in surviving some catastrophic event."

Loki's green eyes locked onto Harley's, clearly weighing the potential benefits of this deal. But considering his daughter, he eventually relented, "You might be suffering from some kind of delusion. I don’t believe there’s anything in this school that can escape my eyes—I am, after all, the true master of illusions."

"What if it’s a powerful god?"

"There’s a Magic Defense Network in place. They can’t get in."

"Every defense network has its vulnerabilities."

Realizing that there was no reasoning with this maddened girl, Loki’s mind shifted. He said, "I can help you acquire power. It’s a rather... unique kind of power, but I’m sure it’s strong enough to pierce through illusions."

"And what is it?" Harley asked.

"Chthon," Loki replied, "and his chaos power."

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Next Chapter =>Chapter 1686: Bruce Wayne and the Secret Chamber (Part 12)