Steve Chapter 907: Another War Maniac (Patreon)

“…Huh?”

Integra blinked at what Fang Mo said.

She’d been pointing at the thing, but her hand snapped back on reflex, her brows knitting tight.

“Alright! It’s over!”

Fang Mo didn’t care in the slightest—he just stuffed the two rings down his collar. “Thanks to my unbeatable op, the London endgame crisis has been perfectly resolved.”

“…Perfectly resolved?”

Integra glanced around on instinct.

London, right now—

“devastated” didn’t even begin to cover it.

On the Major’s orders, the zeppelin opened with an indiscriminate bombardment. Then came the vampire battalions—not just killing people, but going out of their way to wreck the city itself.

Any place with a name or a view—

St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Tower of London, museums, libraries—was put to the torch.

And on top of the vampires, the Vatican Crusaders piled in. With the citizens turned into ghouls and most Brits being Protestants, everyone got treated as a heretic.

And as we all know—

the Church’s specialty is the stake.

So a city already choked with smoke fell fully into a sea of fire under the Crusaders’ rampage. Buildings collapsed everywhere. Civilians died in droves.

Bad enough, right?

Unfortunately, that’s when Fang Mo the menace started “helping.”

At worst, London would’ve been a ruin—patch it up and maybe it limps along. But Fang Mo jammed a sword into the Golden Toilet, and the city was literally neck-deep in crap.

Waves of filth, tens of meters tall.

The reeking tide of rot even surged into the coastal waters.

Never mind London—the nearby harbors picked up that funky Tokyo Bay stench.

Then Alucard’s fight with Anderson set off methane explosions… Honestly, there’s nothing left here worth repairing. Since the whole city’s airborne now, might as well chuck it into the Atlantic.

And after all that…

this culprit had the gall to call it “perfectly resolved”?

“You resolved my ass!”

Integra finally snapped. She lunged, fisted Fang Mo’s collar, and hoisted the white-haired gremlin clean off the ground. “You! You! Turn it back—now!”

“Huh?”

The brat cocked her head. “Turn back? Aren’t you Brits into white-haired girls?”

“White-haired… what? What does that even mean?”

Integra froze.

“Oh, right, you’re a woman.” Fang Mo made an “aha” face. “So you wanted to admire my dashing figure? Tsk, you’re impossible…”

White light flashed.

In a moment, he’d shifted back to his original look—hair and all, now black.

“…Huh?”

Integra stared. “What are you doing?”

“Turning back,” Fang Mo said, baffled. “Didn’t you ask?”

“I meant turn LONDON back!” Integra’s face went darker. She yelled without thinking, “What good is you turning back!?”

“Oh, that.”

Fang Mo flicked his hand. “Can’t fix it. It’s done. Wait for the poop.”

He turned to leave. “Later—”

“Stop right there!”

Integra wasn’t having it. She yanked him back. “I get it now—you’re no jiangshi ‘zombie,’ are you… A zombie couldn’t drown a city in crap. What are you?”

“Oh? You figured it out?”

Fang Mo blinked, then intoned gravely, “Since you know, I’ll tell you the truth. I’m the God-Emperor’s golden toilet. Warped by the Warp and psyker energy, I gained self-awareness and became a god of the Swarm… limited to dung beetles.”

“…”

Integra just stared at him.

She’d been strung along by Fang Mo enough times to wise up. No way she was buying that.

“He’s the real monster here, Miss Hellsing.”

A familiar voice sounded behind her.

Integra turned. The Major—out of the airship at last—was approaching with a tall man at his side.

“What now?”

She tensed at once.

“Relax, Miss Hellsing.”

The Major smiled, unbothered by her stance. “I’m not here for you. I just want to meet this… hm, alien gentleman.”

“Alien?”

Integra frowned.

“Heh. That’s not quite right,” the Major said, nudging his glasses. “But he certainly isn’t native to Earth. We don’t really have words for what he is, so ‘alien’ is just a label.”

“…”

Alucard looked like he wanted to speak, then didn’t.

“So you came for me?”

Fang Mo glanced over. “Think I stole your war target? Blaming me?”

“No, no.”

The Major waved quickly. “There’s no one on this planet who can stop you. I’m not that delusional. Our original deal may have diverged, but the strong do have the capital to tear up treaties. I understand that.”

“So what do you want?”

Fang Mo eyed him. If he wasn’t here to steal the boss fight, what was this lunatic after?

“What do you think humans are?”

Instead of answering, the Major tossed out a riddle.

“Humans?”

Fang Mo rubbed his chin. “Too long to explain. I’m lazy. But yeah, I like humans.”

That part was true.

He’d been human once. Every “instance world” he’d visited—even MC itself—was born from human imagination. How could he not like them?

“Heh. I figured.”

The Major chuckled. “I heard what you told Alucard. You made sense. So… would you say I’m human?”

“Of course.”

Fang Mo didn’t hesitate. “You’re a lot more human than Alucard.”

In the original story, Alucard drank tainted blood and vanished from 3D space. The culprit? The Major.

But when Integra and the policewoman wrecked half his body,

his “guts” turned out to be gears—he was basically half machine, only alive thanks to hardware… which let him scheme for half a century and finally bring Alucard down.

Worth noting:

Back when Germany lost the war, the Major was mortally wounded.

Blood—like it had a will—flowed to his lips, tempting him to drink. He had the chance to become a True Ancestor.

Unlike Alucard,

the Major was obsessively attached to his “self.”

He drove the blood back by sheer will until the Doctor rescued him. He clung to being human the whole time.

So Fang Mo wasn’t wrong.

In some ways, the Major was more human.

“Can we cut the circles?”

Fang Mo sighed. “You come to check my papers?”

“Of course not.”

Sensing Fang Mo’s patience thinning, the Major got to the point. “It may be trivial to you, but it means a lot to me. So—do you want a handy tool?”

“You mean you?”

Fang Mo finally caught on. “What, defecting?”

“I want to witness what lies beyond this world.”

The Major spread his arms, openly intoxicated by the thought. “Some people will use any means for their ends. That’s me.

“To savor the joy of war without end, I’ll give up a lot.

“I doubt you’re some uptight paladin. So—work with me? I can be the best tool in your hand. As for payment, it’s simple: let me enjoy war.

“Any world, any war.

“Trenches, blitzkrieg, guerrilla, pursuits—streets, wilds, sea, sky—as long as there’s war! How about it? Sincere enough?”

“I don’t need a war junkie to—”

Fang Mo started to refuse, then paused. “…Huh?”

“Don’t say that, sir.”

The Major grinned on. “I’m useful. I can spare you a lot of hassle… You hate dealing with hassle, don’t you?”

“Hassle’s fine. What I do need is a stooge who can pull bits.”

A thought clicked; Fang Mo smiled. “Can you do bits?”

“‘Do bits’ meaning…?”

It was clearly his first time hearing it, but he caught on fast. “Well, whatever it is, if you need it, I’ll learn.”

“Mm-hmm!”

Fang Mo brightened. “Deal. I’ll teach you.”

Yeah, he’d figured it out. The Major was a maniac—but usable. He could hop worlds; in a multiverse as big as this, there are plenty of worlds full of maniacs. Some worlds are madness.

Like the ones cooked up by that lunatic Fujimoto Tatsuki.

Forget Fire Punch—Fang Mo walked away with nothing but “live on” carved into his brain.

Even Chainsaw Man—he’d already visited that world, saved Aki, and turned the Control Devil into the… Mating Devil.

Sounds deranged, right?

Honestly, he still underestimated Fujimoto’s brain.

Just the other night, he hopped to Earth through the dream door and binged some anime via shut-ins’ dreams—saw the wildest Chainsaw Man move.

Denji’s “little sister” got turned into conveyor-belt sushi.

Not a metaphor—literal kaiten sushi, head and all, circling on the belt.

And that “sister” was the new Control Devil, Nayuta. When Fang Mo left that world, Kishibe even brought Nayuta to meet him… She’d been a cute little girl. Then—chomp.

To be honest, on hearing that,

his first thought wasn’t “intervene” or “kill Fujimoto.”

It was: could he wrangle a collab between Fujimoto and Foxtail-sensei and get Strange Dao Immortal adapted… That would absolutely blow up.

Anyway, tangent.

Why did the Major make him think of Chainsaw Man?

Those devils are interesting—like the War Devil, one of the Four Horsemen like Control.

Fang Mo mused.

If he took the Major there and did some Nameplate tricks, maybe the Major could become the War Devil.

Way better than the original dunce.

And later, if he was lucky enough to unlock Warhammer 40K…

Now that’s a party. The fights never end. Knowing the Major, Khorne and Tzeentch would crack each other’s skulls fighting over him.

“Mm. Nice.”

Picturing all that, Fang Mo looked more and more pleased. “You’ve got potential. I’m taking you with me. I’ve got plenty of jobs right up your alley.”

“Oh? We have a deal?”

The Major looked genuinely delighted; he hadn’t expected Fang Mo to agree—his thought process wasn’t like most Earthlings’, too abstract to guess. “What do I do now?”

“Stand by in the ring.”

Fang Mo flicked a ring at him. As a normal man with no powers, the Major was sucked in almost instantly. “As for your first assignment…”

“…start by learning how to make fried chicken nuggets.”