Chapter 416: Everything Begins in Winter (Part 2)

"Wine Pool… Gotham Cathedral…"

A hand with prominent knuckles brushed past book after book, then suddenly paused on one titled "The History of Gotham's Construction," its index finger hooking the spine to pull it from the shelf.

The other hand lightly brushed dust from the cover, opened the book, and followed the table of contents downward, when a soft sigh came:

"Gotham Cathedral… found."

Outside the rows of bookshelves, a meticulously dressed old butler walked by with a tray, standing between two shelves as he watched Bruce, utterly absorbed in his reading, and said: "Master, it's tea time. Shall I bring the tea over?"

"No… thank you, Alfred." Bruce didn't look up, still focused on the passage about Gotham Cathedral. After a pause, he said: "Just set it on that table. I'll come over later."

Bruce stood there for a while, feeling the light here was too dim to make out fine details in some of the diagrams, so he took the book out of the shelf and walked to the nearby resting area, sitting down in a chair.

Alfred stood by the table, took out some snacks from the cart beside him, then pulled out a teapot and began brewing tea. Bruce kept his head lowered, reading, as the sound of tea pouring into the cup mingled with Alfred's voice:

"Master, you've recently become absorbed in research related to magic and the occult?"

"Mm." Bruce responded. In private, he spoke even less, but when alone with Alfred, his tone relaxed, and he was willing to explain things.

"Constantine showed me another possibility of magic. The way he uses his duplicates seems more like a technique. I wonder—could magic itself be a form of energy, like heat or kinetic energy…?"

At the mention of Constantine, Alfred's brow twitched slightly. Bruce noticed the expression and said: "I know Constantine has no redeeming qualities except the knowledge of magic in his head."

"Curiosity and a thirst for knowledge are good things, Master," Alfred replied with ambiguous tone, then added: "But I'm not sure whether he sees anything redeeming in you…"

This sentence used several softening particles. Bruce understood: Alfred was gently warning him that Constantine might have ulterior motives. As Batman, he knew well—just from Constantine's past actions, he had every reason to be wary.

"I Have a Scroll of Ghost and God Records"

Though this scoundrel had not a single admirable habit, there was no doubt his mind was sharp. He devised multiple plans, ran them simultaneously, none interfering with the others, all progressing rapidly. Had it not been for one final mishap, every goal would have been achieved.

This was the first time Bruce had faced someone like this. He had to admit—beyond magic, he found Constantine's modus operandi intriguing.

"And, Master, you must consider Elsa and Dick. They're still young. They still need adult care." Alfred spoke with implication: "Guidance and protection at this age are vital. A single lapse could lead to serious consequences."

Bruce nodded. He agreed Alfred was right—but he didn't take it to heart. Not only were Elsa and Dick far from ordinary children, but Wayne Manor's security system alone was more than enough to protect two kids.

Bruce kept murmuring under his breath, staring at a line in the book: "It records that a priest once raised funds for the cathedral's repairs. Not only Falcone and his criminal families donated vast wealth, but the Wayne family also contributed. So did Gotham's major business clans…"

He frowned, muttering to himself: "What's so special about the cathedral? Could it be connected to the wine pool beneath it?"

Aside from Constantine, the only things Bruce could access that even touched on magic were the cathedral and the wine pool beneath it. So, after being unable to track Constantine due to his own schedule, Bruce shifted focus and began investigating Gotham itself.

The Wayne family possessed vast libraries, including records of Gotham's founding history. Bruce uncovered many clues—but none could be linked together. So he decided to investigate in person.

Distracted through tea time, Bruce left in a hurry, leaving the book on the table.

As Alfred tidied the tea service and dishes, his gaze fell on the book's cover.

The font on the cover was a simple cursive script, typically used for shop signs and names. Now, the curves of the strokes slowly shifted, forming a short name—"Hal Jordan."

As the pen lifted after the final stroke, Schiller capped the pen and returned it to the holder.

Alone in the study, Schiller looked at the medical record he'd just written and smiled.

Elsa's recent anomalies were surely enough to spark Hal's curiosity—and concern.

He continued writing beneath Hal's name:

"…Exhibits strong identification with the Green Lantern Corps' ideals. Projects anxiety over failed flight aspirations onto his Green Lantern career, striving for flawless mission completion, determined not to repeat past failures…"

"Likely assigned missions by the Green Lantern Corps: investigate Parallax, investigate Sinestro, investigate Gotham…"

Hal, having just left Schiller's estate, had no idea his condition had been documented in a medical file.

After drinking some alcohol, Hal was slightly drunk. He leaned against a tree trunk, coughed twice, sniffed hard, pulled his coat tighter, and hurried across the street.

Images of Elsa's strange behavior during dinner kept swirling in his mind. Hal grew anxious. His reason told him Victor had been right—Elsa was now just a human girl, not the terrifying Parallax.

Though unusual, she showed no sign of aggression. On the contrary, from her movements and expressions, Hal could see she was learning human communication—like a true infant.

But another possibility haunted him: if he ignored Elsa, and she later caused chaos, would the Green Lantern Corps blame him? Would they take away his ring, stripping him of this power?

Each time he thought of it, his mind tangled. He'd failed to become the fighter pilot he dreamed of—reasons were complex, but undeniably, Hal was dissatisfied with his ordinary life.

Now, the Green Lantern power had changed him. He saw new hope in this change. He didn't want his failure in one role to doom his other role too.

What if the Green Lantern Corps ordered him to kill Elsa?

What if he did nothing now, and Elsa later erupted, endangering civilians? What then?

If… if… Hal thought of too many "ifs." He was still a novice, not yet the greatest Green Lantern. Though he possessed the potential for invincible will, he still felt torn and lost.

After much deliberation, Hal decided the only solution was to confront Elsa face-to-face. If Parallax was uncommunicative, destined to be the Lanterns' enemy, then this human girl—Elsa—might still be reachable.

With this thought, Hal changed direction, found an empty alley, activated his Green Lantern power, and teleported near Wayne Manor.

Standing before the main gate, Hal hesitated. First, he knew Bruce Wayne would be hard to deal with—he'd likely refuse him entry, and if negotiations failed, they might fight. That wasn't what Hal wanted.

Second, he believed Lantern matters should be settled by Lanterns. Issues between Yellow and Green Lanterns belonged to them alone.

So Hal convinced himself not to use the gate—but he also wouldn't use the side door. In short, he wouldn't use any door at all. He'd locate Elsa's position and teleport directly before her.

His recent surveillance on Elsa hadn't been wasted. Based on her return times and when lights turned on in Wayne Manor, Hal deduced her bedroom was likely on the second floor.

When night fell, Hal noticed a room on the second floor lit up.

Though he came to do good, for some reason, Hal felt inexplicably guilty. He kept convincing himself: this was for Earth's safety. For Gotham's safety.

He took several deep breaths. The ring glowed green. The light spread from his finger across his entire body. In an instant, Hal vanished.

"Clack." He landed on the wooden floor. Before him stood a princess bed unmistakably belonging to a child. The covers slightly rose—Elsa seemed asleep.

But Hal didn't approach. Instead, he stepped back two paces and whispered: "Elsa? Elsa, are you there?"

"Parallax? Parallax?"

The figure on the bed gave no response. Hal's face twisted in distress—but he still didn't move forward. He stood with hands on hips, unsure what to do.

Then, suddenly, he felt a hard object pressed against his back.

Hal froze. Slowly raised his arms. From the shadows behind him emerged a figure with snow-white hair. No one had ever seen Alfred look so cold.

Nor had anyone ever seen him holding that shotgun.

Following Alfred's gaze out the window, the moon shone brightly.

Moonlight fell on the broken spire of the old church. A shadow with pointed ears landed atop it, then leapt down along the eaves.

Through the church's corridor, into the chapel, then right into a side passage, past the confessional, deeper inside—Batman recalled the architectural blueprint he'd seen in the book.

Soon, he stopped before a door. The old padlock didn't stop this lockpick master. With a barely audible "click," the weathered wooden door slowly opened—revealing the priest's living quarters.

It hadn't been used in years. After the last disturbance, the entire cathedral closed. The old priest moved elsewhere.

Batman's first sight upon entering was a desk directly opposite the door. Moonlight streamed through the window above it, casting a hazy glow on the surface. Besides books and documents, it held a small photo frame.

A gloved hand lifted the frame. The thumb gently wiped away dust.

The photo showed three young men, dressed as if from a bygone era.

Two of their faces were familiar to Batman.

One wore a black suit, tie, and a red poppy pinned to his pocket—Falcone, the Godfather of Gotham. The other wore a long black robe, his expression gentle and kind—the cathedral's priest.

The third man, Batman knew even better. He wore a long trench coat, a beret, and held an old-fashioned shotgun.

That was Alfred Pennyworth.