The saint on the cross had its eyes closed and head bowed. The quiet streets were utterly silent, while inside the church, the priest calmly told a story.
It had happened in Gotham several centuries ago. No one knew whether it was true or false, and even the priest himself was uncertain. After all, his family had long since declined, and very little had been passed down.
But the stories in the Bible had happened even earlier, and weren't there still plenty of people who believed them?
Sometimes, whether a story was true did not matter. What mattered were the ideas and beliefs it contained. Paul, whose life was nearing its end, also wanted to hear the truth about himself and about the city.
It was a story about madmen, vampire bats, betrayal, and deception.
Everyone knew the history of the New World's development. Several centuries ago, some people crossed the ocean from Europe to North America and built a small town along the East Coast. That was Gotham's predecessor.
At first, everyone worked together. Life was difficult, but it was still better than living under European monarchies.
But the dark foreign land slowly changed everyone.
Gradually, the place became a city. A noble recruited every kind of scoundrel into an army and slowly seized control of the city. He then pledged loyalty and paid taxes to the King of the United Kingdom, obtaining the position of colonial governor.
That man was Raphael Arkham. After drinking a wine-red liquid, he went mad and committed all sorts of atrocities with constant laughter.
For example, he would imprison residents and tickle the soles of their feet until they laughed themselves to death. Or he would hang people on crosses, insert reed tubes through their eyes, and drink their blood.
After torturing prisoners