Steve Chapter 880: The Last Battalion (Patreon)

“How about you just kill him already?”

Seeing this twisted scene before her, Integra frowned deeply.

Jan Valentine was now barely recognizable as human—just a mangled torso and head, with his limbs torn off and devoured by the summoned zombies.

And even that wasn’t enough.

Fang Mo stood over him, holding a glass bowl full of minced garlic.

“Garlic mince, doused in boiling holy water, plus finely ground 100% pure silver powder!”

Planting one foot on Jan’s chest, Fang Mo tilted the bowl with a smile. “Now I’m gonna drench your wretched vampire face with this sacred soul-juice—aren’t vampires afraid of garlic? Enjoy the ultimate humiliation!”

Hssss—!!

Although the mixture of ingredients sounded random, it proved remarkably effective against vampires. Jan’s head began to dissolve and bubble, only to regenerate and melt again, tormenting him with endless waves of searing agony. He could no longer speak, only spasm like a half-crushed insect.

“…”

The policewoman couldn’t bear to look, turning away instinctively.

“Kukuku.”

Alucard chuckled without a hint of pity. “Even torturing a dog entertains you? I suppose you really hold a grudge.”

“That’s enough already!”

Integra, too, had reached her limit. Stepping forward, she grabbed Fang Mo’s arm. “If you’re not going to interrogate him properly, then at least finish him off! Quit inflicting this pointless torture.”

“But I already questioned him,”

Fang Mo answered lightly, tossing the bowl onto Jan’s ruined face before crushing it underfoot.

“When exactly did you interrogate him?”
Integra demanded. “All you’ve been doing is torturing the guy!”

“I was just helping him ‘ascend the ladder.’”
Fang Mo grinned. “You might not believe it, but I’m actually a super Ao‒Jing King—”

“Cut the nonsense.”

Integra took a deep breath, her expression grim. “I need proper intel, and soon. The Round Table members will be here any minute. I’m begging you—cooperate?”

“Oh, fine,”

Fang Mo relented at her earnest plea. “They’re with Millennium—that last-ditch bunch of lunatics who lost a war decades ago.”

“...What did you say?”

At that, Integra’s face went rigid. Even Alucard froze for a moment, and the policewoman just gaped in shock. “That group… But—but, Uncle Jiangshi, weren’t they wiped out decades ago?”

“Hold on a second,”

Integra said, forcing herself to stay calm. “I’d like to believe you, but tell me: How did you actually get that information?”

“You know how jiangshi are born?”

Fang Mo asked abruptly.

“Huh?”

Integra looked to Alucard, confused. “Uh… by being bitten by another jiangshi? Or by burying a body somewhere with too much negative energy?”

“Nope.”

Fang Mo shook his head. “Strictly speaking, they’re formed from resentment—jiangshi are monsters born from a buildup of the world’s grudges.”

“So?”

Integra prodded impatiently.

“The reason I’ve been tormenting this guy is to stir up the purest hatred in him,”

Fang Mo said, pointing to Jan Valentine lying on the ground. He spoke in a grave, solemn tone.

“That rage lets me erode and sense his thoughts. That’s how I got the intel.”

“I see.”

Integra nodded absently, not doubting him. After all, Alucard had a similar power—by draining a foe’s blood, he could absorb their memories as well, since memory was part of their life force.

“All right, keep talking,”

she said. “I’m listening. Please give every detail you have on them. Don’t leave anything out.”

“They’re the remnants of the losers from back then,”

Fang Mo recounted. “Supposedly they call themselves ‘The Last Battalion.’ They lost the war, so they went from using technology to dabbling in the occult, trying to build an invincible army of undead to realize their ‘Millennium Empire.’”

“‘The Last Battalion,’ huh?”

Integra repeated softly, her brow furrowing.

“Yeah, they like to brag they’re the ‘true successors,’” Fang Mo scoffed. “Heh, they’re just war-crazed freaks, if you ask me. They don’t know jack—”

“You don’t strike me as someone who hates evil,”
Integra observed. “So what’s your beef with them?”

“‘Beef’ might be too strong a word—it’s just my stance, that’s all,”

Fang Mo shrugged. “They’re hopeless madmen who’d do anything to start a war. Might as well snuff them out before they cause more trouble. If they were willing to chat, maybe I’d have some fun and show them the wonders of 202… er, the future.”

“Huh?”

“Anyway,”

Fang Mo waved off her confusion. “They left an impression on me, but if we really meet, I’ll just slap ’em down. I can’t stand those who forget their original goals…”

“‘The Last Battalion?’”

A familiar voice echoed from afar, prompting them to look over. Walter the butler stepped closer, covered in blood.

“Walter? You—”

Integra tensed, eyes showing concern.

“Don’t worry, Milady.”

Walter forced a reassuring smile, wiping some blood off his face. “This isn’t mine—it’s from the enemies. I may be old, but I’m not too old to handle those punks…”

“I see.”

Integra relaxed slightly.

“Still, weren’t those remnants supposedly destroyed decades ago?”

Walter went on, still dabbing at the blood. “I remember Alucard and I checked carefully back then, so there shouldn’t be anything left.”

“Who knows,”

Alucard chuckled. “Maybe another branch inherited their research.”

“That’s why we need more details.”

Integra fixed her gaze on Fang Mo again. “Do you know anything else? Where’s their base? What’s their goal? Who’s really in charge?”

“They don’t have a fixed HQ, but I think most of their forces are down in South America,”

Fang Mo said, recalling the storyline. “The one pulling the strings is some ‘Major.’ I don’t know his real name, but he used to be one of that guy’s personal guards. Their aim’s simple: wipe out Hellsing and Alucard… and enjoy endless war.”

“South America, this ‘Major’…”

Integra began repeating Fang Mo’s words under her breath, trying to gauge how reliable the intel might be, or how best to respond.

Meanwhile, Fang Mo—bored—resumed torturing Jan Valentine on the ground: “Imperial Release: Huang-Style Exorcism,” he muttered. “The Nine-Clan Separation!”

A wave of invisible spiritual energy struck Jan’s mind like an illusionary torment. Similar to an infinite Tsukuyomi: first forging a perfect dream of happiness, then slaughtering his loved ones, over and over, driving the almost-dead Jan into renewed spasms of agony. Ragged wheezing emerged from his ruined throat.

“Why are you still at it?”

Integra complained, irritated by Jan’s wet, raspy gasps. “Can’t you just kill—”

But before she could finish, the clatter of footsteps echoed from the mist.

“Hmm?”

All eyes turned to see a staggering crowd emerge. At that sight, Integra, Seras, and Walter paled immediately.

“That’s…”

“They’re…”

Integra’s face grew grim. “They’re our own people…”

Yes. The stumbling shapes were the Hellsing guards and construction workers who’d been killed earlier by the ghouls. Now they limped forward, bodies half-devoured, tears of blood trailing from their eyes. They looked like they wanted to cry for help, moaning and shuddering in a deathly shuffle.

“This…”

Integra took a shaky step back, recognizing each face clearly. Many had served here for over ten years—practically family. Now all were turned into ghouls, denied peace even in death.

“Milady… they can’t be turned back,”
Walter said quietly, his expression pained.

“I know.”

Integra’s face wavered, but after a breath, her resolve hardened. “Walter… let’s at least lay them to rest.”

“Yes, Milady.”

Walter bowed and started forward with his steel wires. But he only managed a few steps before his exhausted body betrayed him, forcing him to a knee. “Ugh…”

“Walter!”

Integra rushed to help him.

“Getting old, I suppose.”

A flash of bitterness flickered in Walter’s eyes, though he masked it with a wry smile. “Sorry, Milady—I’m a bit useless right now.”

“You—”

“Oh, c’mon, I can handle a little clean-up,”
Fang Mo cut in. He inhaled, then exhaled toward the ghouls: “Fire Release: Great Fire Annihilation!”

“No—!”

Integra’s heart lurched, but she was too late. An enormous torrent of fire erupted like a tidal wave, incinerating the ghouls and any remaining bodies in its path, turning them all to ash in a heartbeat. The wind scattered the powdery remains across the ruins.

“All done,”

Fang Mo announced, snapping his fingers. He turned to Seras. “Niece, fetch a broom, yeah? Gather some ashes for a memorial or something.”

“Huh?”

She stood there, startled, glancing uncertainly at Walter.

“Milady,”

Walter said, noticing movement at the gate. “It looks like the Round Table members have started to arrive. Should you prepare?”

“I… never mind.”

Integra opened her mouth as if to speak, but clamped it shut, a swirl of emotions contorting her face. Finally, she just heaved a heavy sigh and strode off toward the rubble. “You handle things here, Walter.”

She paused halfway, turning back to Fang Mo. “And you, Wang Zhaosheng…”

She hesitated before her eyes flicked to Jan Valentine’s pathetic state. “I take back what I said— torture that bastard as much as you damn well please!”