The skinny, hippie black man tilted his head and looked at him, uttering words that sent chills down his spine: “Can I kill him?”

“Whatever you want...” The pale-skinned man with a cigar in his mouth glanced at James Thompson with boredom and said, “Don’t waste time...”

“Hey, you guys...”

He couldn’t finish his sentence. A black hand pierced into his fat neck, and after a series of sickening sounds, the black man with a ring embedded in his lips slowly tightened his grip, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he suddenly snapped the man’s neck. The round head rolled off his shoulders, and blood covered his hand.

“Even in death, his expression is so cute.” The black man wore a bizarre smile, slowly licking the blood and bits of flesh from his fingers, revealing sharp canine teeth.

“Ah!” Samuel Harris screamed, collapsing to the ground, scrambling to his feet in panic, and stumbling backward, only to have his legs’ movement cut short by a sudden pain.

Losing his balance, he fell to the ground. The intense pain finally hit him, and the warm sensation in his legs vanished along with his legs themselves, as blood gushed out.

He howled shrilly, crawling forward with all his might, snot streaming as he wailed, until he suddenly felt a foot stomp down on his back.

“Your screaming is really unpleasant.” In his ear, he heard a voice in Chinese, thanks to the watch on his wrist.

Then, darkness fell completely.

Like a balloon stomped flat by a mischievous child, the black man withdrew his foot from the mess on the ground, wiped it on Samuel Harris’s discarded clothes, and, as if to emphasize his point, repeated, “Really.”

After pulling his foot back, he turned his head, put his smile back on, and said, “Where was I just now?”

“Oh, right... haha, that guy even brought a dentist along...” The hippie black man shrugged and cackled, “Supposedly a plastic surgeon, too. Ha, would drive his patients mad... even asked him to drill a hole in his own skull and embed glass, so his brain would wobble around... haha... what does he want to become, brother...?”

Listening to his brother’s incessant chatter, the man with the cigar ignored him, frowning impatiently as he continued forward.

A black man and a white man, a pair of brothers, along with five sunken buses, were slowly advancing, drawing closer to the headquarters of Hellsing...

※※※

Henry Clark suddenly heard the voice of the middle-aged man Uncle Clark: “What kind of weapon do you need? Um... I remember your name is Bai...”

“Henry Clark.” Henry Clark turned his head, facing the direction the voice came from. “What weapons do you have?”

“Weapons... uh...” Uncle Clark scratched his chin awkwardly. “Actually, I’ve got handguns, regular weapons, even brought two RPGs... but...”

Hearing this, Henry Clark nodded with a wry smile and said, “I understand, a blind man with a gun isn’t much use, right?”

“Well then, could you give me a handgun and a knife? Is that okay?” Henry Clark reached out his hand. “When it comes down to the last stand, you have to have something, right?”

William Carter looked up, gave him an approving glance, and sighed.

This newcomer was calm, decisive, and judging by his relationship with that girl, not lacking in compassion and kindness.

Much better than I was back then. Every squad would fight to have a rookie like this, wouldn’t they?

Too bad... he’s blind...

Henry Clark suddenly felt two objects placed in his hands. He explored them with both hands, his fingers gripping the blade, then feeling around the handgun. “This is the safety, right?”

“Yeah, just make sure not to point the muzzle at anyone... uh, just keep it aimed at the ground.” Uncle Clark replied.

Henry Clark nodded, lifted his bloodstained shirt, stuffed the handgun into his pocket. On his white shirt, the blood spreading from his chest looked like a strange, gorgeous flower.

Watching Henry Clark skillfully put away the knife, the middle-aged man Uncle Clark shook his head and sighed, “You really don’t seem like a blind man.”

“No choice. For a blind person to live a decent life, it’s much harder than for others, so just think of me as being used to it.” After Henry Clark finished putting away the weapons, he reached out his hand again.

“Huh?” Uncle Clark looked at his outstretched palm.

“I know it’s a bit much to ask, but there’s someone else. You don’t mind giving out one more, do you?” Henry Clark reached back with his other hand, grabbed Grace Brooks’s hand, and pulled her out, though she was a bit scared.

“N-no, I can’t shoot...” Grace Brooks shrank back, waving her hands at the sight of the gun Uncle Clark produced.

“If you can’t shoot, I’ll teach you. Without any weapons, forget about completing the mission, you can’t even hope to survive.” Henry Clark said, hearing the timidity in her voice. “At the very least, you can still kill yourself at the end. In vampire novels, you know better than this blind guy what happens to people who get bitten, right?”

“AR57, uses a blowback system, can take a 50-round P90/PS90 magazine. For a beginner, it couldn’t be more suitable.”

The black firearm was placed in Grace Brooks’s slender palm, which clearly sank under the weight, but she managed to lift it with effort.