Steve Chapter 888: Prophecy Changed! Attack first! (Patreon)

It turned out pretty much the way Integra had predicted.

Before long, Her Majesty announced that she would personally convene a Round-Table Conference.

Unlike previous sessions, even the Vatican had sent an envoy this time to discuss how to deal with the Millennium and the coming “Millennial Year.”

“Remember—this meeting is being called by the Queen herself.”

On the way to the conference Integra kept drilling that point into Fang Mo. “I know you love causing trouble, but I beg you: at least tone it down in front of Her Majesty. She’s elderly—she can’t take your shenanigans….”

“What are you talking about?” Fang Mo rolled his eyes. “I’m not some Soldier Boy. Why would I torment your Queen?”

“Soldier Boy? Who on earth is that?” Integra shot back.

“Oh, he’s the moderator in the sub-forum of Reddit’s Propaganda Section….” Fang Mo had only gotten halfway through the sentence when Integra, sensing disaster, cut him off. “That’s enough. I don’t want to know. I just hope you’ll behave like a normal person once we’re there.”

“Relax. I have plenty of respect for the Queen,” Fang Mo chuckled. “She’s practically half immortal, and she made it into the finals of the Modern-Era Succession Grail War….”

“Immortal? What are you talking about?” Integra massaged her temples. “Her Majesty is a perfectly ordinary human.”

“That’s exactly what I admire most,” Fang Mo said cheerfully, nodding. “Holding the Crown Prince in check for nearly six decades with nothing but a mortal body—what resolve! what tenacity! I didn’t live that long in my last life. By the way, when’s her birthday? Maybe I’ll give her an apple as a gift.”

“Is that apple of yours legit?” Integra frowned. “It’s not the black apple from some fairy-tale witch, is it?”

“Nonsense. My apple is made of gold dust.” Fang Mo waved her off, then pulled out a golden apple and twirled it in front of her. “Want a bite? One nibble and you’ll live longer than a geoduck….”

“Honestly, what are you?” Integra eyed the apple, then sighed deeply; the scene reminded her of the serpent that tempted Adam and Eve. “Are you a devil from Hell—Satan himself?”

“I’m Satan’s father—Sat-dad, pleased to meet you,” Fang Mo said off-handedly, tossing the golden apple from hand to hand.

“….”

While they bantered, the hallway soon ended. Integra pushed open the great double doors, and the already-seated ministers looked up.

“Sir Hellsing—you’ve arrived,” colleagues greeted her.

“Your Majesty, please forgive my tardiness,” Integra replied, giving special deference to the elderly woman on the throne.

“Very well….”

While everyone exchanged courtesies, Fang Mo scanned the hall. This was royal palace territory, magnificently decorated—far grander than the meeting-room in Hellsing Manor.

Most seats were taken; Fang Mo didn’t recognize the faces—likely high-ranking officials. One man, though, stood out: a gaunt figure with slicked-back white hair dressed as a senior Vatican cleric. Behind him stood a young priest whose aura felt chilling.

“So that’s the Vatican envoy….” Fang Mo recalled the storyline. “The head of Section XIII Iscariot—Maxwell, right?”

Indeed: Enrico Maxwell, de facto leader of Section XIII. Though he led Iscariot, Maxwell himself was weak—no stronger than an ordinary human—and completely insane. His fanaticism, unlike Millennium’s or Alucard’s, sprang from blind faith.

In the original story he urged the Pope to launch a new Crusade, which plunged London into a three-way war. Deeming Protestants heretics unworthy of life, yet lacking the Major’s intellect, he was finally killed by his own mentor Father Anderson, who pierced Iscariot’s barrier and left him to the ghouls.

Just then Maxwell sensed a stare, looked up—and recognized Fang Mo.

“You? You’re the monster that beat Anderson half to death….”

“Amen.” Before he could finish, Fang Mo whipped out a pink, ribbed crucifix and blessed him. “May the Lord be with you….”

“You wretch!” Maxwell slammed the table and shot to his feet. “You dare blaspheme God!”

“Incorrect—this is blaspheming the gods plural,” Fang Mo smiled, spinning the crucifix like a pen. “Look: Jesus spins, spins, spins….”

“Hahaha!” Nearby, Alucard couldn’t help laughing.

“Enough. Quiet,” the Queen interjected, casting Fang Mo a curious glance before turning to business. “Vampire Alucard.”

“Your Majesty.” Alucard curbed his laughter.

“Report.”

With a nod, Alucard turned to the ministers. “Fifty-five years ago a mad Major tried to build a vampire army. Walter and I crushed that ridiculous plan—but those people never gave up….”

With a manic grin and a tone of disdain, he explained the origins of Millennium. Everyone listened intently—even the furious Maxwell.

Fang Mo alone kept sweeping his gaze through empty space, mind linked to the World-Tree Sword, ready to freeze time. In the original timeline, the Major sent Schrödinger to declare war right about now. Fang Mo doubted Schrödinger could escape a time stop; once the cat appeared he’d freeze it and run experiments until he unlocked that mysterious module.

“…and now their research is almost complete. That is the truth about the Last Battalion.”

“What?!” The ministers were stunned. “They’ve mastered vampire creation—and plan to use it in war?”

Fang Mo frowned—still no sign of Schrödinger.

“Could it be…they’re too scared to show?” he wondered. “Is the Major skipping the declaration?”

No one answered; everyone was debating the vampire threat.

“Uncle Ba? What’s wrong?” Police-girl Seras, bewildered by the details, noticed Fang Mo’s troubled face.

“Oh, just worried about the stew I left on the stove,” he waved her off—she was too adorably dense for a real explanation.

He waited another half-hour. Still no Schrödinger. The declaration scene had evaporated. Millennium had vanished.

“Damn….” A real headache. He wasn’t afraid of open war—Fourth-Wall cheats solved that. But if the enemy hid in the dark? The Major could wait decades; Fang Mo couldn’t. Even a full-map search might find the Major, but Schrödinger’s power—existence only when observed—was another matter.

He could handle fights: even Alucard could be one-shot by Steve devouring him, or erased by a conceptual dagger. But how do you kill something that doesn’t exist?

A literal game-breaking bug.

“Bloody hell….”

…

“That is the situation,” Alucard concluded. “Does anyone have a strategy?”

“Er….” The ministers hesitated.

“Sir Hellsing—your opinion?” The Queen turned to Integra. “You know vampires best.”

“Your Majesty,” Integra began. “First, we must investigate the military. The promise of immortality could tempt our own people into treason. Eternal life is hard to resist.”

“Quite right….” The others nodded. “If key positions were infiltrated, the consequences would be catastrophic….”

“We must also pinpoint their location,” she added. “Right now we’re utterly passive. According to Alucard, their officers equal high-class vampires. If they run rampant, the damage will be terrible.”

“I understand.” The Queen nodded. “As for their whereabouts—any leads?”

“Well….” Integra glanced at Fang Mo and Alucard.

“Their base was once in a South-American jungle, but they’ve likely left,” Alucard said. “Given their insanity, they won’t stay quiet for long.”

Glancing at Fang Mo, he added, “My undead partner dabbles in divination. He says London may be their next target.”

“What!” “London?!” “Those lunatics dare attack here?!” The ministers were furious, not fearful. “We must not let them succeed!”

“Wait—Wang Jiangchen?” Integra noticed Fang Mo’s grim expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Erm….” Fang Mo hesitated. “Integra, the prophecy may have shifted….”

“What do you mean?” A chill ran through her.

“The plan has changed.” Fang Mo pulled a blazing white great-sword from thin air and rose. “I must strike first, drag those bastards out, and crush them. London—London is mine to defend.”