Next, it's your turn, Mr. Mo Da.
This sentence spoken in such a setting felt like a threat, like a coercion,
but Batman's tone was flat and straightforward, without any fluctuation.
The crowd below was in fear and unease, some martial heroes standing at the edges of the crowd near the woods, looking at the deep pits in the forest emitting green smoke,
looking at the blurred flesh hanging from the trees,
cried out in terror and unease,
shoving and pushing their way towards the crowd.
They had seen Palm Thunder before, they often used Thunderbolts themselves,
but something like this, that could blast a person into blurred flesh without a piece of iron armor left, this "Palm Thunder",
was unheard of, unseen.
On the platform,
the tall and thin, face as withered as tree bark elderly dressed in a green gown was silent for a while, looking at the iron stick in Batman's hand, asked: "What you hold, is it a hidden weapon?"
"Yes,"
Batman nodded, "This item is named a gun."
A gun?
