Chapter 766

In the Goth Manor, Lady Goth waited anxiously for news.

Her plan was simple: if she wanted to cover up the unspeakable things she had done, all she needed to do was kill everyone who had handled the matter—this was standard Gotham thinking; only the dead could keep secrets forever.

But now, finding assassins in Gotham was no easy task.

After all, the logistics industry needed so many workers that former assassins had all been seized by gangs to do labor; if she hired killers employed by other crime bosses, Lady Goth felt uneasy—they might leave traces; outsiders were even worse, utterly unprofessional. After much deliberation, Lady Goth settled on one person.

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She had heard rumors that a Joker truck driver had emerged in Gotham, specializing in explosions and killing many people. In Lady Goth's view, why would anyone kill without benefit? So this Joker truck driver must also be an assassin, creating such a spectacle just to build his reputation—this wasn't the first time such a thing had happened.

If so, why not hire him? Even if it cost more, it would buy peace of mind.

After arranging everything, Lady Goth exhaled in relief. She felt that once tonight passed, everything would improve.

Gotham's nights were always dark and heavy, deeply terrifying; even the harbor lights could not warm this night.

At a distance from the docks stood many strange machines, their control rooms glowing with light; sometimes, busy dockworkers would pause and look up at these devices.

They all knew that workers here earned far higher wages—even the security guards had it far easier than they did.

Perhaps the overly easy work and excessive pay had made the guards complacent; they curled up inside guard booths, asleep, while outside, the faint glow of dim lights rendered the sign on the gate blurry: "Goth Shipyard."

Suddenly, a shadow appeared outside the guard booth, leaping in with swift precision and silently eliminating the guard.

Several other shadows darted "whoosh, whoosh, whoosh" into the shipyard, moving through the courtyard into the buildings, beginning to search.

From their attire, it was hard to tell who they were—but when they captured an employee, they revealed their identity.

"FBI! Cooperate with our investigation! Where is the data storage room? Where are the important invoices and blueprints kept?"

"F-FBI?" the employee stammered in terror. "I haven't done anything! I've only been here two months!"

This response aroused suspicion. The agent said: "You haven't done anything? That means someone else has. Where's the data storage room? Take us there."

"Okay, I'll take you right away—please don't kill me!"

As the employee turned, the agent choking his neck didn't see the mad grin beneath his lowered hat brim.

Minutes later, a figure in work clothes and a hat appeared outside the shipyard, leaning casually against the building's sign, his body resting directly against the word "Goth."

In his hand, he fiddled with a remote. As he straightened and took two steps forward, the shipyard behind him erupted in a massive fireball—BOOM! shrapnel sprayed everywhere.

The entire sea was lit by the explosion's glow, while the small figure vanished into Gotham's darkness, accompanied by a cascade of mad laughter.

With a soft "click," the phone receiver slipped from Lady Goth's hand and hit the floor. Her eyes widened in disbelief, her face twisted into a grotesque snarl as she let out a piercing scream.

Suddenly, her face turned ashen; she clutched her chest and collapsed, twitching twice on the ground, then lay still.

Leon, who had just entered the manor, found Lady Goth unconscious. He rushed forward, lifted her onto the sofa, then rubbed his face, inhaling sharply with pain.

Three scars marked his face, like claw marks from a cat; blood now covered half his face, staining even the right collar of his shirt. The pattern clearly came from a feline—obviously, his communication with Catwoman had gone poorly.

The pain clouded Leon's mind; the smell of blood filled his nostrils. The thought that he might be permanently scarred fueled his rage.

After a while, Lady Goth slowly regained consciousness. She let out a desperate wail, unable to form a single coherent sentence.

Leon's return route had been far from the coast, so he hadn't seen the explosion's firelight. He didn't know what had happened—only that he felt deeply annoyed. "What are you crying about?! Nothing's progressed— isn't that your fault?!"

"You only care about your damn shipyard! If you weren't so stingy, our plan would've succeeded long ago!"

At the word "shipyard," Lady Goth leapt from the sofa like a madwoman, gripping Leon's throat with both hands. "It's your fault! Your fault! The Goth family's foundation is gone!"

」

"If not for you—if not for pushing me to deal in those illegal weapons—how could the Goth family's shipyard have… how could it have…"

Lady Goth's long, sharp nails dug into Leon's neck. The pain further enraged him. He roared, shoved her away, and bellowed: "You damn fool! Because of your hesitation, I've been disfigured—how am I supposed to return to the West Coast?!"

」

Lady Goth crawled and scrambled to the coffee table, grabbed a vase, and hurled it at Leon—but she was too frail, too weak. The vase missed him entirely, smashing beside him.

Leon, narrowly escaping death, went completely insane. He seized the unbroken neck portion of the vase and charged at Lady Goth, slashing her throat with the jagged, broken edge.

Blood sprayed instantly. In his frenzy, Leon kept hammering the vase's neck against Lady Goth's head and neck until the flesh was unrecognizable.

Outside, Gotham's rain grew heavier. Rain fell equally on all; every night, every storm here added fuel to the madness of the soul. The lambs lost in it never realized—until they became sacrifices swallowed by darkness.

Many pairs of rubber boots trampled through the rain; black clothes reflected in puddles, glistening silver-gray. When Falcone's men stormed the Goth Manor, they found only one corpse—and a madman.

Leon had lost his mind. He thought these were Goth family bodyguards, so he screamed and charged, ready to attack. But Falcone's assassins were no helpless noblewomen. Seeing Leon rush forward, their leader drew a gun.

A single "bang." The world fell silent—except for the steady patter of rain. And why Falcone's men had come here? It all began with the shipyard explosion.

Upon receiving Catwoman's tip, the CIA immediately moved to investigate the Goth family. The only problem: the Goths were in Gotham—and the CIA had been defeated there multiple times before.

Previously, they'd sent large teams, driving openly into Gotham, renting homes like any other city—after all, they operated under the FBI's name, so they could investigate boldly.

But after repeated failures, they changed tactics. No longer did they enter the city openly; instead, they slipped in under cover of night.

In such a vast city, not every gang focused on strangers. They entered without trouble—but to avoid attention, they planned to investigate covertly first. Their first target: the Goth Shipyard.

Unfortunately, the accident location Lady Goth had given the Joker happened to be right at the shipyard's entrance.

Never mind how Lady Goth believed the Joker had accepted the job—what mattered was that, as an assassin, the Joker was efficient: one strike, and nothing alive remained within several kilometers.

The CIA agents investigating the shipyard were wiped out completely.

The CIA had learned from past mistakes: each agent carried a black box that, before destruction, transmitted their final moments back to headquarters.

When headquarters reviewed the footage, suspicion immediately arose.

If they'd uncovered something, fine—but they hadn't even begun investigating before everyone was killed. Didn't that suggest the Goths were deeply guilty? Or worse—was this a trap set by the nation across the sea, aimed squarely at the CIA?

Originally, the CIA hadn't prioritized this matter—there were more urgent tasks. But now, its priority was raised to the highest level.

Yet sending more agents might cause them to vanish silently, as before. This time, the CIA grew smarter: they needed a reliable partner. Who better than the Godfather, Falcone?

Falcone didn't want to cooperate with the CIA—but he'd noticed certain small moves by the Goth family. Heavy weapon components required raw materials transported through many hands—hard to avoid notice.

Falcone wanted to know what the Goths were up to. So he sent assassins to investigate. But he hadn't expected Lady Goth to die, Fatty Leon to go mad, and nothing left but chaos.

Of course, Miss Goth was still alive—but she was currently studying at Gotham University, and Gotham University lay within the Professor's territory.

Falcone considered, then decided to begin his investigation at the Goth Manor. The family was gone; the entire manor was defenseless.

Thus, they could examine it thoroughly. Even the hidden compartment escaped the eyes of professionals. There, before the CIA's gaze, lay Lady Goth's secret warehouse of treasures.

The good news among bad: there were indeed seven Soviet Order of the Patriotic War medals. The bad news among good: there was also a Nazi medal—the Golden Oak Leaves, Swords, and Diamonds Knight's Cross, the highest honor in the Nazi military.

That night, Gotham's final chilly spring breeze swept across the entire city.

Outside Gotham, atop the highest peak, a towering, mysterious shadow gazed down upon the city like a sovereign from above.

He noticed several locations stood out: Wayne Tower held the best strategic position; Gotham University radiated the most tranquility; the most unique was a cave base nestled in the mountains on the other side.

Then, his deep voice spoke:

"Go. Recon these locations… Mirror Master."