To the north of Saint Paul lies a lavish and opulent district of the wealthy.
Yet, in the deepest reaches of countless manors and mansions, there stands a desolate, abandoned, and out-of-place dim church.
Under the pitch-black night, dim and yellow candlelight is reflected on the iron crucifix inside the church. A hunched, gaunt, and cloaked old man in a black robe is gently sweeping the floor with a broom.
At that moment, under the bright moonlight, a black speck grows larger and larger, as a four-winged bat slowly flies from afar to the window.
The dim red glow on the four-winged bat's body flares up, effortlessly entering the church enveloped by a barrier, and slowly flies to the front, perching on the top of the iron crucifix.
The old man in the black robe does not shoo away this divine-defying four-winged bat, not even raising his head, continuing to hold the broom and sweep, as if completely unaware.
