"I am Konrad Curze. I was the one you called Midnight Judgment, the bat that haunted the nightmares of gangs and nobles, the king of the dark who wrote the law in blood."
In the streets, countless people stopped fleeing.
Miners threw down their picks, workers set aside their tools, and even the thugs looting amid the chaos looked up in stunned silence.
The name itself was a curse, a legend, a terrifying presence they had cursed in private, yet secretly prayed in their despair would descend to punish "those at the top."
"But I stand here today not to prolong my rule." Curze leaned forward slightly on the screen, as though he meant to reach through it and seize every listener's soul.
"I am here to tell you a truth: you were not born slaves."
"The blood flowing through your veins is the same color as that of those who live at the tops of the spires, drinking fine wine and watching you struggle in the mud."
"What you have been denied is not strength, but the right to know your own strength."
"Look around you!" Curze's voice abruptly rose, harsh as scraping metal.
"Look at whose bones were used to build those magnificent palaces! Look at how many children could be spared cold and starvation with the energy those mansions consume!"
"Look at whose bottomless pockets swallow the wealth you produce by working twenty-three hours every day!"
Every sentence struck like a hammer, shattering the numbness instilled in them for so long.
Anger, like magma that had long simmered underground, began to surge and heat within every chest.
"They tell you to know your place, tell you suffering is a virtue, tell you resistance will bring destruction!"
"Because they are afraid!"
"Afraid that once you realize how many