Qin Lun pondered for a moment, then took a button-shaped object from his clothes pocket and spoke calmly into it, “Lieutenant, are you there?”
“Haha, Major Gerthard—Lieutenant Schrödinger at your service!” Wisps of smoke rose from the button-shaped item, rapidly coalescing into the image of a young man—precisely the Lieutenant who had met Qin Lun and the others before.
Schrödinger looked cheerful, his feline ears atop his head twitching intermittently. Though he offered a smiling military salute to Qin Lun, his mischievous grin made him look every bit a troublesome imp.
“Lieutenant,” Qin Lun said sternly upon seeing him, “You should be able to locate Captain Hans and his strike team. Summon them here! Dawn approaches swiftly—this will be our final engagement.”
“Well…” The young man tilted his head, a look of trouble crossing his features.
“By now, whether their scheduled mission succeeded or failed, it is concluded,” Qin Lun declared coldly, an icy glint piercing his eyes. “Major Montana entrusted command authority over the battlefield to me. They will obey orders. Fulfill your duty, Lieutenant!”
The young lieutenant stiffened mentally, no longer daring to protest. Offering another salute to Qin Lun, he dissolved back into smoke and vanished.
“That boy’s likely reporting to Montana now. Do you think the fat man will truly grant you command?” Grant asked with a light chuckle.
At this stage of the battle, the objectives of the three major Nazi factions were effectively achieved. After this conflict, regardless of the British government’s direction, a deep seed of distrust would be sown within the Allied Forces. Combined with the diminishing superhuman powers, Montana and his cohort’s hopes for nation-restoration were no longer mere illusions.
Moreover, Gerthard—the persona Qin Lun inhabited—though bearing the title of Imperial Hero, was not originally from Millennium Bug. During crisis, the organization valued his power. But in favorable circumstances? Keeping command in his hands became uncertain.
“A fifty percent chance. We’ll see what the fatty decides. I doubt he’ll openly confront me just yet,” Qin Lun said with a faint smile. “After this battle, while we remain here some days, significant gains are unlikely. Any goodwill with Millennium Bug must be cashed out now.”
“No lingering intentions for the future?” Grant’s gaze flashed as he looked into the distance. “I’m quite fond of this world.”
“Unnecessary. It’s only a Low Magic World.” Qin Lun glanced down at his hands, a slight smile touching his lips. “After the Class Change… I sense entry into Low Magic Worlds won’t be frequent.”
“And… what of your Monica?” Grant turned his head, a suppressed chuckle in his voice.
Qin Lun’s smile froze. He sighed softly. “She fares well enough here. Venturing into the Shattered Starry Sky? That brings the perpetual threat of death…”
“You, at least, should grant her that choice,” Grant retorted, turning his back as if recalling something heavy. Silence fell.
“The right to choose…” Qin Lun watched Grant’s silhouette, thoughts flickering behind his eyes. Rumors of this man resurfaced.
Within the Earth Federation, Grant was known as “The Joker”. His modus operandi? Kidnapping attractive men and women. Peeling their faces. Crafting Human Skin Masks. Undeniably, he was a Serial Killer.
Yet, few understood Grant had principles. He extended a choice: food, water, weaponry, an escape window… sometimes, even leaving clues for the police to track him down. To attempt rescue.
Law enforcement deemed his rituals an extension of a cat-and-mouse game. Yet, fellow killers like Qin Lun saw differently. Beneath the mask and imposing frame, they perceived an echo: A lonely child’s choked sob—the remnant of a tortured soul granted no choices. The Joker’s acts were the guttural roar of compressed fury and a deformed cry for justice—rage amplified because his own innocence was obliterated without choice. For Grant—marked by relentless childhood cruelty—becoming a monster wasn’t chosen; it was inflicted. The grotesque rituals mirrored the savagery once visited upon him. Grant never received the right to choose; he became the embodiment of its brutal absence. In his actions against victims lay a distorted plea: forcing others into choices he was denied, enacting agonies he endured, striving—with impossible horror—to fill the infinite void of his stolen autonomy through the violent administration of simulated ‘choice’ upon others.
…
“Major Gerthard!” Lieutenant Schrödinger’s voice crackled from the button-shaped device, shattering the stillness. “Captain Hans and Lieutenant Solin are engaged with the Avengers! They cannot disengage. However, Lieutenant Lieber and Lieutenant Luke approach as ordered!”
Schrödinger paused, a strange note entering his voice. “Also… Major Montana… he has descended.”
Qin Lun glanced up sharply. “Major Montana? Descended? For what purpose?”
“The Major states,” Lieutenant Schrödinger sounded increasingly strained, baffled, “He comes to greet the heroes returning in triumph!”
“Lieutenant,” Qin Lun commanded instantly, “Direct Captain Hans and his strike team to extract Major Montana from the battlefront. Ensure his safety immediately. Inform them this is my order—as field commander, I override any unreasonable demand by the Major.”
“Ah… understood!” This time, Lieutenant Schrödinger acknowledged without hesitation before fading out.
“Qin Lun,” Grant mused eyeing him with interest, “Pulling Hans away… that adds pressure. Some scheme brewing?”
“Ha! Grant, we underestimated him,” Qin Lun stated in a low tone studying his hands. “I judged the fatty merely a politician. But underneath? He’s… a warmonger. Driven.”
“Hmm… gambling everything like this? Commendable resolve.” Grant nodded slowly. “Using himself as bait… entrap the remaining Avengers and Green Hunters? A warmonger’s logic stands alone.” Respect wove into Grant’s tone.
“Precisely why we aide him. Watch… Hans’ abrupt retreat will catch the Allied Superhuman’s attention.” Qin Lun gestured toward the distant conflict, his expression calculating. “I ponder… if the Avengers and Green Hunters learn the Millennium Bug’s commander walks among them? Will duty compel them against the source? Or will vengeance bring them… to me?”
“Intriguing…” Grant lifted an infrared telescope, moving onto the rise. Eagerness charged his manner.
They were positioned in a small park near the Thames River in North London. Two kilometers lay between them and the HELLSING estate. The view revealed key engagements. The distance was strategic: close enough to let the power of Lancelot be sensed, yet remain indistinct…
…
“Major Gerthard! Lieutenants Lieber (Luke) reporting!” Shortly after, a man and woman emerged from the darkness. Black SS uniforms defined their forms. They moved toward the rise.
Lieutenant Lieber carried her distinctive bolt-action rifle. Lieutenant Luke Bairontae—who had cheated death—no longer appeared broken. Immaculate white naval uniform replaced rags, projecting striking vitality.
“Your wounds? Stable?” Qin Lun appraised them, surprise touching his eyes as they rested on Luke.
“Your life-saving grace endures. My injuries pose no issue.” Luke inclined his head politely.
The Dane possessed fair hair, blue eyes, aristocratic features—a noble upbringing likely. Following the fateful attack on MI7, Luke’s fate remained uncertain. Millennium Bug feared him gone. Resurrection was unforeseen.
Though Lieutenant Luke Bairontae bore lowly rank, his strength rivaled only Captain Hans’; surpassing both Solin and Lieber. Swiftness defined him—dagger and trench knife wielders thriving amidst high-velocity combat. When Hans returned from retrieving that ‘God of Death’—Walter—to The Zeppelin, Luke accompanied him. The contamination and corrosion inflicted by Hound’s beasts were largely treated. Millennium Bug Superhumans drew vitality from lineages blending vampire-kind and demonic spirit beasts. Their regenerative prowess was immense. Even grievously wounded, Luke remained functional… reaching the climactic moment.
Lieber and Luke’s arrival eased Qin Lun. Both possessed respectable abilities. Each surpassed an average Novice Apostle. They qualified… as capable shields.
“You both…” Qin Lun began, then stiffened. Grant sensed the shift and turned toward him.
“Hmm… pests trailed you both,” Qin Lun observed grimly, his gaze snapping sharp—towards the slope’s right flank. “Why linger unseen? Unveil yourselves!”
“Gerthard… remember me?” A gaunt man stepped forward through the gloom, voice etching accusation. Simultaneously, two slender figures detached from shadowed park sculptures on the right.
Gaunt frame. Gold-rimmed spectacles. Sickly pallor. Hate flared openly from the man’s eyes meeting Qin Lun’s.
The other figures were women. One: Raven hair, obsidian eyes, Gothic dress—crimson-black lace. Long boots. Scarlet hooded cloak draped backwards. Stark contrast beside her: Golden eyes without decoration. Wild black ringlets. White shirt under a tailed black vest. Black tights vanished into heeled boots.
Their demeanors differed: icy precision versus coiled ferocity. Both were unparalleled beauties. Both now radiated visceral hatred, eyes fixed with cold fury upon Qin Lun.
“Hah! All familiar faces!” Grant chuckled dryly, elbowing Qin Lun pointedly. “Though… it seems your admirers outflank mine! Somewhat… galling.”