Chapter 173

At Gotham City Police Department, Schiller stared at two lists in thought; Gordon walked over and saw several names listed, some circled in red ink.

"These are the students who fell ill?"

"That's right."

"So which batch of Easter eggs was faulty? The ones bought externally or the ones distributed by the president of Gotham University?"

"The problem lies here—my colleagues purchased the external batch, and over seventy percent of the students who received those eggs suddenly fell ill."

"In other words…" Gordon picked up the phone and spoke into it: "Find out how many Easter eggs are currently circulating in Gotham's market. Tell them to move quickly and recall that batch—it's likely a biochemical weapon that drives people insane."

Gordon's tone was grave; the thought of hundreds or thousands of biochemical weapons capable of driving people mad circulating through Gotham's streets gave him a pounding headache.

"There may be a connection," Gordon said, taking a breath to calm himself. "A batch of Easter eggs that drive people insane has appeared on the market, yet at this exact moment, the president of Gotham University is distributing ordinary eggs and instructing professors to make them by hand. What does that mean? Did he know in advance that the externally sold eggs might be compromised?"

"Perhaps. But first, mobilize your personnel to recover those eggs from the market," Schiller yawned, sounding weary. "I'm going back to rest—I haven't slept in two nights because of those insane students."

"If you suspect me of murdering Xie Dun, come arrest me only after you've found concrete evidence."

With that, Schiller turned and left; Gordon made no move to stop him—clearly, something far more urgent than the murder of Gotham University's president demanded attention.

If these eggs spread, they'd be a terror attack worse than flooding Gotham—who knew how many madmen would take to the streets to kill? Gordon thought. He had to stop this.

After returning to his estate, Schiller had planned to shower and sleep, but as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, he heard the bell of the mailbox downstairs. He went down and found something placed inside.

He opened the mailbox and found a box inside; when he opened the box, it contained a brightly colored Easter egg.

The moment he lifted the egg from the box, it exploded with a loud "bang," shards spraying outward as an unknown gas spread through the air. Schiller asked Huiwu: "Is this the same substance as in the patients' blood?"

"It's identical," Huiwu replied.

Then Schiller noticed that not only had the shell shattered, but a small slip of paper was slowly drifting down. He reached out and caught it mid-air, unfolded it, and found a string of words written on it:

"Happy Easter—Holiday Killer."

Schiller narrowed his eyes. Holiday Killer? Wasn't that a character from the comic "The Long Halloween"?

But that one was the Halloween Killer—why is this Holiday Killer appearing for Easter?

And killers kill people—what kind of killing is sending out Easter eggs that drive people insane? Worse still, he sent it here—to me.

When Batman arrived at Schiller's estate, he found Schiller painting a goose egg. Schiller was so absorbed in his work that even when Batman deliberately made a sound, he didn't notice.

Batman had to cough. Only then did Schiller react, glancing back at him and saying: "What do you want? Don't interrupt my creation."

Batman glanced at the egg Schiller was painting: a large black smiley face was drawn in the center, but the brushwork was crude, making the smile look oddly distorted.

Clearly, regardless of its near-nonexistent technique and utterly unartistic subject, this process of scribbling carelessly couldn't be called creation.

"Did you receive the Easter egg sent by this Holiday Killer?"

"Precisely because I received his egg that I decided to send him a gift in return," Schiller picked up the egg he was painting, examined it, and said: "I think mine is far superior to his."

"Some of Gotham's crime bosses and upper-class figures received those Easter eggs, went insane, were subdued, and sent to psychiatric hospitals."

"Did you receive one too?"

"Bruce Wayne received one."

"Aren't you going to send him a gift in return?"

"More than that, I want to know what exactly this mind-altering substance is."

"It seems you already have some theories."

"I think it's similar to the fear toxin."

Schiller shook his head. "The symptoms are similar, but there are differences."

"You think they're not the same thing?"

"Correct. Similar outward symptoms don't prove the same cause. At least in my view, this isn't caused by fear toxin."

What Schiller didn't tell Batman was that he had already ruled out fear toxin—he was the one who used it most frequently, even more than the inventor, Scarecrow.

He had used fear toxin against many people in Hell's Kitchen; he knew its effects better than anyone.

Although the symptoms of these cases resembled those of fear toxin inhalation, they weren't identical, and Huiwu detected no trace of fear toxin in their bodies.

"We can't rule out the Owl Court's involvement—they haven't been fully eradicated," Batman concluded.

"What are you going to do?" Schiller asked, turning to him.

"He has a purpose in doing this. If he wanted to kill them, he'd have better methods."

"Many people weren't affected," Batman added. "Crime bosses are too cautious to open unknown packages, and many have no interest in buying Easter eggs. If his goal was murder, this would be the least efficient method."

"This feels more like a warning, doesn't it? He's saying: I'm about to cause chaos—starting three days from now, on Easter."

"He'll kill on Easter—otherwise, why call himself Holiday Killer? The only question now is: who is his target, and what is his goal?"

"Perhaps seemingly unrelated events can offer clues."

"For example?"

"For example, Xie Dun's death. You know better than Gordon—it wasn't me. If he had angered someone or learned something vital that warranted silencing, it wouldn't have happened at this exact moment."

"Gotham is undergoing massive reconstruction," Schiller sighed. "Even if the crime bosses had a grudge against him, they wouldn't strike now. Not only because of manpower shortages, but because assassinating him now would anger others focused on rebuilding, causing panic."

Schiller pulled a list from the other side of the table and handed it to Batman. "This is a key clue: before Easter, Xie Dun distributed materials to many professors, instructing them to make Easter eggs by hand and give them to students, rather than buying them from the market."

"The subsequent events prove the Easter eggs circulating on the market were tainted—so Xie Dun likely knew in advance."

"Perhaps for his own interests, he blocked the logistics department's proposal to buy ready-made eggs and instead ordered professors to make them himself—to avoid the tainted ones."

"Then how did he learn of this in advance? Could it be connected to his death?"

"I thought you weren't going to get involved in this," Batman said, looking at Schiller.

"Regardless, the Easter egg the Holiday Killer sent me was the first gift I received for Easter. I want to return the favor."

"The Guard Is Here"

"I think this clue should be enough for you to find something. If you locate where the Holiday Killer is hiding, deliver my gift to him."

Schiller handed the egg to Batman, who stared at the crude smiley face and narrowed his eyes.

Meanwhile, in a hospital room, Wensi and Cobblepot were chatting. Wensi sighed: "Gotham Cathedral had just been repaired, but now the foundation has cracked—it might need total reconstruction. Even the old priest who had been stationed there left. I have nowhere to go this weekend."

"I didn't know you were such a devout believer," Cobblepot said, looking at Wensi.

"Of course," Wensi said, troubled. "When our president moved up the Easter schedule, I thought it was good—I could attend church on Easter evening. You know, Easter celebrates Jesus' rebirth; prayer and rituals are essential."

"But now look," Wensi spread his hands helplessly. "First, it rained nonstop, floods broke out, then Gotham was hit by an ice storm—roads cracked, buildings collapsed."

"Just when things improved, Gotham University had a murder case—still under investigation—and now this Holiday Killer, who knows where he came from, has driven several crime bosses insane…"

"This Easter has been so long…" Wensi sighed.

"Regardless, in three days it will be Easter," Cobblepot said from his hospital bed. "I need to go back and take care of my mother. Yesterday, when I went home, I tried to bring her to the hospital, but she refused—and insisted on returning to the old house, not staying in the new apartment."

"Elders are always like that," Wensi said, empathetic. "My father is the same—sometimes I feel he's kind to me, but other times, he seems overly rigid and stern."

"Your godfather tolerating your odd hobbies is already impressive," Cobblepot told Wensi. "Which crime heir spends all day singing and dancing, even neglecting gun training?"

Wensi shrugged. "I can feel my father disapproves of my lack of seriousness, yet he still indulges me—I don't know why…"

Then he opened his mouth hesitantly. "I remember my father and my older brother had a terrible relationship—maybe because my father was too strict with him."

"I was young then, but I still recall them arguing—fiercely."

"After my brother died, my father forbade anyone from ever mentioning his name again."

Wensi sighed. "Many people don't even know my godfather had an eldest son named Alberto Falcone."

——————Extra Notes——————

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