Steve Chapter 890: Where's the boy? (Patreon)

“You…”

Staring at the flawless, sun-golden fruit in front of him, Walter finally wavered. His face betrayed a fierce inner struggle.

“You monster—y-you, just what are you…?”

He took two steps back, trying hard to resist the subtle lure in Fang Mo’s words. Yet after a brief silence he could not calm his pounding heart. His voice trembled as he asked, “What exactly do you want from me?”

“Just a small favor.”

Fang Mo smiled and tossed the golden apple to him. “Relax. I won’t have you hurt anyone.”

“…What favor?”

Walter caught the apple one-handed, a complicated light flickering in his aging eyes.

“Fine, I’ll be blunt.”
Fang Mo shrugged and spoiled the plot for him:

“You still remember that Millennium Major, don’t you? Fifty-five years ago, when you were just a kid, you and Alucard wrecked his vampire project. Oh, right—you even called him ‘fatty.’”

“How could you know that?”

Walter couldn’t help asking. “Did Alucard tell you? Or the Major? Have you met him?”

“I’d like to.” Fang Mo massaged his temples. “The Major’s real goal is the same as yours: kill Alucard. That big, blasted war you worry about is just a sideshow.”

“What!?”

Walter was stunned. “You’re saying Alucard is his true target? Why?”

“I’ve no idea.” Fang Mo shrugged. “Maybe he thinks they’re alike—both lunatics. Or maybe, after his plot was foiled decades ago and he saw Alucard’s power, he decided to defeat the monster no one else could and savor the ultimate thrill of war.”

Walter said nothing, his left hand clenching into a fist.

He felt slighted: He had helped beat the Major, yet the Major ignored him and focused only on Alucard—an insult to the “Angel of Death” Walter.

“Anyway,” Fang Mo went on, “the Major has spent fifty-five years preparing. One of his doctors has bred a creature that can truly kill the undead king Alucard.”

“Impossible!” Walter snapped. “Nothing on earth can defeat Alucard.”

“It just happens to counter him,” Fang Mo replied. “A cat-eared boy named Joseph Schrödinger. Quantum-poison blood flows in him; any vampire who drinks it dies.”

“…Huh?” Walter blinked, then frowned. “Why tell me this?”

“Because he is my target,” Fang Mo said frankly. “That little brat Schrödinger matters to me.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Simple. When he contacts you, let me know.” Fang Mo smiled. “I’ll handle the rest.”

Fang Mo’s reasoning was simple: he was searching openly for the Major, so the Major would seek someone who knew Fang Mo well—Hellsing’s butler, Walter—for intel.

“I see,” Walter nodded. “How do I reach you?”

Fang Mo flipped him a black ring, a shard of Shoggoth matter. “Wear it. When the Major’s people show up, I’ll appear.”

“Understood.” Walter caught it and nodded.

“Pleasure doing business~” Fang Mo patted his shoulder. “I’ll await your good news. By the way, eat the apple whenever you like. If anyone asks, blame me—I’ll handle the ‘after-sales service.’”

“So what is this thing?” Walter weighed the heavy apple.

“It comes from the sacred tree Gaia hauled from the western seas in Greek myth,” Fang Mo said solemnly. “A legendary treasure—eat it and a mortal regains youth, surpasses his limits.”

“You…” Walter hesitated. “Where did you find something so precious—and just hand it to me?”

“No biggie. I beat Gaia up and stole the tree.” Fang Mo waved it off. “Now it bears fruit endlessly.”

Walter was speechless.

“Well, I’m off.” Waving, Fang Mo headed toward the manor’s main castle to rest.

Several new construction crews meant Hellsing Manor was nearly rebuilt; though the interior was still bare, at least he no longer slept in the basement.

Back in his room he saw Cotton Mizuki dozing on the bed.

“Come on, pal,” he chided, patting her shoulder. “The Miracle Walker next door is already farming mobs—why are you still asleep?”

“Uweh~” The pink fluff ball rolled over lazily. “Uncle, I just can’t wake up…”

“Which uncle?” Fang Mo face-palmed. “This’ll shorten your life! Get up, or I’ll toss two little cuckoos on the bed to butt you off—”

She remained unmoved.

Fang Mo sighed. Anyone else would’ve been kicked to the floor, but these weapon-girls were just too cute. He lay down on the other side to nap.

“Mmph-hey, Master.”

The pink fluff twisted over like an eel, burrowing into his arms, a faint sweet scent rising.

“?”

“It’s fantasy time.” She wriggled like a kitten, heterochromatic eyes sly. “Hum-hum, Master, come dream with me.”

“What?”

“Sleep, silly—sleep.” She buried her face in his chest. “Close your eyes.”

“Okay.” He was tired anyway, still empty-handed in the hunt for Schrödinger. He closed his eyes and drifted off. With his mind healthier now, insomnia was a thing of the past.

He slept soundly—and discovered why she always napped: her illusion power shaped dreams, letting her build lucid fantasies. Fang Mo experienced some… novel things best left undescribed.

He slept a long time, waking not by choice but because something disturbed him.

“squek! squek-squek!”

Groggy, he cracked an eye. “Ugh, what noise…”

“squek-squek-squek!”

Tiny black tendrils waved; a small dark blob—the Shoggoth—bounced, trying to wake him.

Seeing the Shoggoth, drowsiness vanished.

“Shoggoth?” Fang Mo sat up. “You found the Major? No? He’s gone to Walter?”

At the report, Fang Mo grabbed the blob. “Take me—now.”

“squek!”

The Shoggoth became a curtain of black, engulfing him. Darkness receded; he now stood amid suburban ruins.

His sudden arrival startled Walter and several figures. Fang Mo glanced around—no Schrödinger, but the mad Major was present. He smiled. “At last, I’ve found you.”

“…Hm?”

The Major froze, then smiled in resignation. “Ah, so one can’t stay hidden forever. Discovery was only a matter of time.”

“W-what do we do!?” cried a lab-coat doctor with multi-lensed goggles. “Damn, caught out here—”

“Doctor, don’t panic,” the Major said gently. “Panic is useless; better to leave a good impression.”

“Y-yes, sir…”

“An honor to meet you,” the Major addressed Fang Mo. “I suppose introductions are unnecessary. How should I address you—still using that alias?”

“If you like, call me Mr. Adolf,” Fang Mo said casually, sizing him up: a stout man in an ill-fitting white uniform—an ordinary German shut-in, utterly unlike Alucard’s elegant frame, yet exuding the same madness.

“Ha-ha-ha, you have a fine sense of humor.”
The Major chuckled. “Let’s be direct—you sought me out for Warrant Officer Schrödinger, yes?”

“Exactly.” Fang Mo extended a hand. “Kid looks fun. Lend him to me for a few days.”

“Impossible.” The Major shook his head. “He’s vital to our plan—and you’ve scared him silly. I doubt he’ll meet you.”

“Oh, he doesn’t need to.” Fang Mo strode forward. “You’ll agree soon enough.”

“Major!” the Doctor shouted. “You lot—stop him!”

“Coercion, is it?” The Major seemed unafraid. “We used to coerce others often—quite experienced. Normally I’d submit; I fear pain. But now it’s pointless…”

“You sure?” Fang Mo asked.

“Quite.” The Major shrugged. “Warrant Officer Schrödinger no longer obeys anyone. Even if I order him back, he won’t come.”

“Oh?” Fang Mo raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“My final command to him,” the Major said slowly, “was to hide. Even my orders are to be ignored. No matter who calls, he must not appear.”

“I see.” Fang Mo sighed. “I hadn’t wanted to go to extremes, but now… extreme it is.”