Chapter 763

As the saying goes, it's not the thief who steals that you fear, but the one who keeps watching—but in Gotham, this saying doesn't apply; most thieves here are at the bottom of the food chain, because the top are all armed robbers.

But there are a few exceptions, among them the infamous Catwoman.

The other major flying thieves on par with Catwoman are mostly professional burglars with strong ethics; their targets share several traits: relatively easy to victimize, weak vigilance, insufficient firepower, poorly guarded locations, and terrain conducive to escape.

Logically, thieves prefer such places—but Catwoman became

She specifically targeted places that were hardest to rob, with extremely high vigilance, overwhelming firepower, strict defenses, and virtually no escape routes.

In short, these included the estates of the Twelve Families, jewelry stores in downtown Gotham, bank vaults, the Gotham Auction House, and even Shiler Rodriguez's estate.

And her record didn't stop there— as a thief, she had seduced Gotham's most famous vigilante and moved into his estate without hesitation.

As the leader of the East District's Four Great Cat Burglars, Catwoman was legendary in the East District, and her reputation was known even in other districts.

Most residents of the southern and western affluent neighborhoods weren't afraid of Catwoman, because it was common knowledge that she only cared about jewelry.

In fact, most of the jewelry wasn't even particularly valuable; residents simply thought, in a place like Gotham, it was a miracle that Catwoman had this skill yet only stole jewelry and never assassinated anyone—thank heaven for that.

So Catwoman had made a few prior warning heists before, but they drew little reaction; most affluent residents simply thought, come if you must, steal if you will, just don't break anything, don't set off bombs, don't point a gun at me—take whatever jewelry you want, you can always buy more.

After all, under Gotham's crime-ridden conditions, losing property was the least of one's worries; if you could pay to buy your life, everyone would gladly do it.

Someone might ask: why don't they try to stop Catwoman?

The problem is, even Don Falcone couldn't stop her; their futile attempts would only waste energy, effort, and bullets. Since she wanted so little, it was better to pay off the problem.

This only amplified Catwoman's reputation—her flawless record spread throughout Gotham, and Madame Goth knew this well.

Ordinary families didn't fear theft, but Madame Goth was different—her estate truly contained things that couldn't be exposed: certain gifts she had received from the Great King.

Since partnering with Leon, Madame Goth, leveraging her social status and wealth, had done many favors for the Great King and received many strange and unusual collectibles in return.

Madame Goth had never met the Great King herself, but merely from these collectibles, she could glimpse a sliver of his true identity—this only strengthened her resolve to serve him.

But the Great King had ordered that now was not the time to reveal his identity; if Catwoman, this unparalleled master thief, broke into the Goth estate and turned it upside down, exposure was inevitable.

Thinking of this, Madame Goth immediately contacted Leon. Upon arriving at the Goth estate, Leon immediately rebuked her, saying:

"What are you panicking for? It's just a thief—why are you losing your composure over this?"

Madame Goth wiped sweat from her forehead and said, "But… but my identity can't be exposed—if the Don finds out I've been using the shipyard and docks… I'm dead!"

Leon snorted coldly. "Is the Don the one stealing? If he isn't, why are you panicking?"

"It's just a petty thief, and you're already this flustered? What will you do when you're tasked with bigger missions for our Great King? Will you mess up every day?"

"Yes, yes, I was just a little panicked," Madame Goth said, pressing a hand to her chest. "After all, my daughter hasn't sent any word in days—I've been anxious…"

Leon sat on the sofa and glanced at Madame Goth. "A thief is coming to rob your home and even sent a warning—why aren't you calling the police?"

"Call the police???" Madame Goth gave an absurd look. "In Gotham, no one calls the police—the cops are useless, and anyone who calls them looks weak and might get killed!"

"How can you still be stuck on this? Do you really want a thief rummaging through the Great King's gifts to you?!"

Madame Goth hesitated, but Leon had already walked to the phone, picked it up, and dialed: "Hello? Is this Gotham Police Department? This is what happened…"

Half an hour later, at the entrance of the Goth estate, Gordon, notebook in hand, looked up and asked: "... atwoman said she's coming to steal? Did she say when? Tonight? Alright, we'll send officers over. Keep the estate gates locked—don't let any strangers in…"

After speaking, Gordon went to dispatch officers. Madame Goth hesitated and asked, "Will this even work? I never expected the police to help—in Gotham, no one ever relies on the police…"

After returning to the police station, Gordon immediately called the Wayne estate.

Others didn't know Catwoman's identity—but didn't he? Batman hadn't been out fighting crime these past few days, fine—that wasn't his duty—but shouldn't he at least keep his girlfriend in check?

Although theft wasn't a serious crime in Gotham—even if the court convicted her, there were no jail cells for petty thieves—Catwoman was still Gotham's most famous cat burglar, and Gordon felt he owed her at least a token gesture of respect.

Gordon called the Wayne estate. Alfred answered. Gordon said into the phone: "Hello? Oh, Mr. Alfred? Yes, it's Gordon…"

"I need to speak with Bruce. Is he there? He hasn't been home for days? Where did he go? On vacation?"

"Studying hard at Gotham University? Aiming for top graduate? Alright, alright, I understand—I'll call the university and look for him…"

After hanging up, Gordon called Gotham University's registrar's office. The office sent someone to Bruce's dormitory—but he wasn't there. Eventually, Gordon had to call Shiler and ask if he'd seen Bruce on campus.

Shiler, just back from school and about to rest, took the phone from Merkel and said: "Hello? Yes, it's me. You're looking for Bruce? Sorry, you can't reach him—he's fully focused on his studies. Yes, the prodigal son has returned…"

"What's Catwoman done now? She's targeting the Goth estate and sent a warning?"

"That won't do—if Bruce finds out, he'll put on that suit again and try to stop her. After spending the night chasing her, he'll need to sleep all day—and what about my classes?"

"Forget it. The Goth estate, right? I'll go with you later. If Catwoman tries anything, I'll stop her—then she won't interfere with Bruce's studies."

After hanging up, Shiler put on his coat again and drove to the entrance of the Goth estate. When Gordon's police car arrived, the two entered together.

Madame Goth seemed surprised Gordon had returned—she'd assumed the police were just going through the motions and wouldn't come back.

At Shiler's instruction, Gordon introduced Madame Goth: "This is the police department's security consultant—he'll assist with your security deployment…"

Madame Goth and Leon both shook hands with Shiler, but paid him no further attention—they were busy hiding valuables in secure locations.

After sitting on the sofa for a while, as dusk fell, Shiler stood and said: "Excuse me, where is the bathroom?"

"Upstairs, second floor, turn right," Madame Goth pointed. Then she resumed chatting with Gordon. Shiler walked straight upstairs to the bathroom, then dissolved into a cloud of gray mist to survey the estate's layout.

At that moment, Catwoman arrived at the edge of the Goth estate.

It turned out that Leon, the outsider, had completely underestimated Gotham's criminal capabilities—the police deployment and security cameras were useless. Catwoman entered the estate effortlessly.

But once inside, she discovered the storage rooms, warehouses, and bedrooms were all empty—not a single piece of jewelry remained.

This puzzled Catwoman. If bulk goods had been moved and safes relocated to safer spots, why were there no items in Madame Goth's vanity box either?

In her career, Catwoman had encountered many wealthy people. Most, when relocating valuables, sacrificed the less important: diamond necklaces went into safes, plain pearl necklaces were tossed aside, gold jewelry was carefully stored, and ordinary silver pieces were left out.

But Catwoman searched every bedroom belonging to Madame Goth and Miss Goth—and found not a single decent piece of jewelry. This only stirred her defiance.

You think you can hide them? Fine—I'll find every last one.

So she began using her expert thief techniques to search for hidden passages and traps, her hands carefully tracing the walls—unaware that a cloud of gray mist was drifting behind her.

A soft "thud" echoed. Catwoman spun around instantly into a defensive stance—but saw no one. Only a cloud of gray mist.

The mist "popped" into an arrow, pointing at a spot on the wall.

Catwoman tilted her head, confused—then her expression cleared with sudden understanding. She fetched a stool, reached up, and touched a plant-patterned carving on the wall—it could be pressed.

As she pressed it, a small door opened at the bottom of the wardrobe. Catwoman bent down with supple grace and slipped through. The mist followed.

Down a series of stairs, they reached a secret underground storage room. Catwoman froze in shock at the sight.

The small room was packed with all kinds of crates—military crates, wooden pallets, cardboard boxes—all filled with bizarre objects.

Catwoman, flashlight in hand, frowned as she examined each item. Suddenly—"click"—the lights turned on.

Catwoman spun around sharply—and saw Shiler standing behind her.

"Shiler? What are you doing here?" Catwoman asked, bewildered.

"I'm here to stop your crime. Well, that sounds like Batman—but actually, I'm here to stop Batman from stopping you, because he has a paper to write."

"Good heavens! How do you have a professor like you?" Catwoman groaned. "If I had a teacher like you, I'd drop out immediately!"

"Forget that. Grab your flashlight and look at what's here."

Catwoman rolled her eyes but refocused the beam on the crates. As she stepped forward, something tripped her ankle. She bent down, grabbed it, and yanked it free.

"What's this? Hmm… a combat knife?" Catwoman examined the object.

It was a curved blade, more like a long dagger, inlaid with countless gems—exquisitely ornate. Based on her years of experience, she knew it wasn't modern—it was ancient.

Suddenly, the flashlight beam caught another object, reflecting intensely. Catwoman picked it up—it was an ancient bronze mirror, clearly an Asian antique.

Curious, Catwoman opened another crate. It was a military case—and inside, she saw a Nazi emblem.

"What the hell is all this?" Catwoman was utterly confused. But Shiler, as if remembering something, said to her: "Look for the oldest item here."

Catwoman didn't understand, but she obeyed—she could tell this situation had gone beyond theft, resembling the discovery of some terrifying secret.

Finally, at the very bottom of the crates, Catwoman found a stone fragment. "This isn't just old—it's older than dinosaurs."

Shiler glanced at the stone fragment but didn't take it. He had already thought of certain people. Then Catwoman saw him smile—a chilling, unsettling smile.

"Let's leave," Shiler said, turning to go. Behind him, Catwoman watched as he casually tossed several metallic badges into a nearby crate.

They had barely returned to the bedroom when Catwoman heard an unusual sound. She turned—and saw Shiler pointing an umbrella at her. His voice echoed through the Goth estate:

"I've caught Catwoman!"

"Come here, everyone!"

"!"

Catwoman stared at him. Then she heard him whisper: "Don't want to go to jail? Do as I say."

Twenty minutes later, at Gotham Police Station, Gordon looked at Catwoman and asked: "You said you need to use the phone—who are you calling?"

"Mind your own business!" Catwoman snapped.

Gordon shook his head and told a nearby officer: "Give her the phone. I want to see who you're calling. If it's that man we all know, I doubt he'll come to get you out."

"Not him," Catwoman said, picking up the receiver. Gordon exhaled in relief—if Bruce Wayne showed up to bail her out, the police chief would rush to release her.

But what Catwoman said next nearly made Gordon fall off his chair.

"Hello? Central Intelligence Agency? I'm a thief. While robbing the Goth estate, I found seven Soviet Patriotic War Medals in their vault."

"Yes. All loyal to the end."