Though his eyes were closed, Herzog's twisted face was forever frozen in an expression of shock and fury.
"Hello? It's me. Yeah, I'm done here. Memory cleansing? No, no, no, don't waste your time. Our so-called precious chess piece, Doctor Herzog, just died pathetically like some extra."
Rising to his feet, Mr. McCullen began communicating with his partners. His polished shoes crushed the frost on the cold storage floor, then he casually flicked Herzog's corpse aside with the tip of his shoe, as if it were trash, and left the chamber.
"You'll never guess what just happened here… Even being on the scene, I have to sigh—what a shame! Our painstakingly prepared White King vessel lost control. A key piece gone, just like that."
"No, no, stop guessing. All of your theories are wrong! It wasn't a problem with the bloodline. It was the White King itself. Clearly, a part of the White King was lurking inside the vessel. If it had only been a parasitic divine corpse, we could have suppressed it with the bangzi audio."
McCullen strolled into the empty lab, deftly cracked the system password, and began reviewing Herzog's logs and data.
"But this time, the part lurking inside must have been from Frigg Zero. The audio didn't help—it backfired, accelerating its awakening. Poor Herzog died stepping on the landmine for us."
"Fine, fine, I knew you'd start blaming me again—for not reclaiming Frigg Zero in time… Oh! Humanity really is so shortsighted. You can't grasp that the brothers who took it aren't just my kin—they've got alchemy skills and potential no weaker than mine."
McCullen smiled with elegance and mockery. "Anyone with half a brain, just looking at the uproar this Holy Grail War has caused, should realize that much."
"So, even if we know Frigg Zero is in their hands, unless we're fully prepared, we can't just take it back."
His long fingers rattled across the keyboard, transferring Herzog's remaining data via USB.
"But that doesn't mean we're powerless. If anything, the ones holding Frigg Zero should be the worried ones. In this chaos of the Holy Grail War, our timely entrance means we get to claim a share of the prize."
"Don't you agree?—Herveig, Olrun… and of course, our Saint, Reginleif!"
The laboratory doors opened. Two pale-skinned girls in dresses and boots stepped inside. One with curly long hair—Herveig. The other with a high ponytail—Olrun.
Behind them came a white-haired girl bound tightly in black chains. Her hands were shackled behind her back, ankles cuffed, faint golden light gleaming on the restraints. The cold overhead light cast a frosty sheen on her hair.
Her attire was similar to Herveig and Olrun's, though far more ornate. Her silver-gray eyes blazed with fury as they glared at McCullen. This was the so-called Saint, Reginleif.
"Well, well. Our most noble Saint. Didn't you always long to leave that frozen icebreaker chasing after the gate of the divine realm, curious about the outside world? Why is it, then, that after finally seeing it, your face is still twisted with anger?"
McCullen's tone was polite, but he didn't even turn to face her—as if addressing an unimportant object.
"Hmph!" Reginleif scoffed.
"Oh, my dear Saint, what have I done to earn such disrespect? Not even a single warm smile?"
"Don't forget, we paid dearly to buy you from Vincent. And I kept my promise—intending to show you the world's finest sights. I remember your eagerness quite clearly."
Unable to endure it any longer, Reginleif burst out:
"Enough, you deceitful liar! Look at me now, chained like a prisoner! How could I believe you'll ever fulfill my wish? Do you expect me to 'travel the world' like this, paraded in shackles like a convict before execution?"
"Eh? But wasn't your wish exactly 'to travel the world'? You never said I couldn't do it this way…" McCullen's voice was light, more like a gentleman's chat than an argument.
"You masked bastard! Don't play dumb! What I wanted wasn't tourism, it was freedom—to live my own life! Treating me like this only proves you're no different from that old bastard Vincent!"
Reginleif's fury burned, teeth clenched. Beside her, Herveig and Olrun simply watched coldly, indifferent. They'd acted as little more than guards-for-hire, preventing her escape, showing no respect for her title as Saint.
McCullen lifted his hand, signaling her to calm down.
"Ah, freedom! I understand. The caged songbird always longs for the outside world. Just as the weary traveler always finds home more beautiful in hindsight."
He spread his arms as though painting a picture. "Your Yamal nuclear icebreaker is no different. A fortress at the world's end. Outsiders want to enter, insiders want to leave…"
"But, Saint, allow me to pause our little talk. I need to confer with my colleagues."
He turned back to the comms. "Well, you all heard. I just spent some time placating our noble Saint…"
Reginleif bit her lip, furious, but stayed silent. She strained to listen as an old voice spoke from the receiver:
"Saint? Ah… you mean that ornamental fish we spent a fortune on?"
"Don't be so harsh, Alpha. The whole Medical Society agreed to this purchase—you voted yes too. You know as well as I do, the Saint is, strictly speaking, the direct bloodline of the Black Sovereign. Her value to our plan is immense."
"Plan?" Alpha's voice dropped. "You mean the New Era Plan?"
"Exactly! Why do you think we call ourselves the Medical Society? Different backgrounds aside, we all share one goal—eternity. To survive Ragnarok and replace the old gods as the new ones!"
McCullen didn't hide it. This was the very reason so many hybrid families, Gattuso included, had joined.
"Our first priority is self-preservation. Not chasing death like the Secret Party. Yet after all these years, our greatest achievement is a handful of life-extending and bloodline-enhancing serums. We still can't stop death's approach."
That truth silenced the call.
McCullen smiled faintly. Even the strongest formulas only bought hybrids another century or two. Elders like Alpha, already over three hundred, lived only by suspended-animation techniques, clinging to a decaying shell.
"But now, we have a promising new path! All thanks to inspiration from the recently spreading 'magic circuit' system."
"I've heard rumors… from Britain and the Vatican…" Alpha muttered, skeptical.
"True, we lack full theoretical details. Only glimpses of applications and guessed frameworks. It supposedly requires constructing new alchemy matrices within the body…"
"And while it's useful in combat, it doesn't break the limits of human lifespan."
"Pfft!" McCullen laughed as though he'd heard a joke. "Really? Is your imagination that small? To just steal their research and slap it on yourself?"
"What are you implying…"
"An alchemy matrix is simply a system for channeling and cycling energy! Always used on external tools, rarely on the body itself. Objects bearing alchemy arrays can last millennia—outliving human lifespans by far!"
"So why not apply it to life itself? Install such a system inside the body. Cut away the fragile parts of humanity. Replace them with a new cycle of energy. That is true transcendence!"
Alpha's breath quickened, though he quickly steadied himself. "And specifically? What part of life are you targeting?"
"Come now, it's obvious. A system of cycles… it has to be the circulatory system. Blood! It's our specialty. Using blood as the medium, we can seize the chance to leap forward in life itself. Immortality!"
McCullen's voice rose with conviction. Even Reginleif's ears pricked up.
"Of course, no cycle lasts forever. Arrays need maintenance, systems need nourishment. That's why, if blood is our medium, we must replenish it constantly."
"Blood-drinking…" Alpha hesitated. "That sounds like the Dead Servants…"
"Exactly. Feeding on the blood of the living is their instinct. A century ago, before the Academy era, the Secret Party still called them vampires. Undead. But what we seek isn't mindless husks—it's true evolution! Beings apart from those failures."
"I see. Then this new breed deserves a name distinct from those lowly undead."
McCullen chuckled. "Oh? Since you're so eager… why not call them 'Dead Apostles'?"
Alpha lost interest, muttering, "That's enough. We'll wait for your results."
"Fine, boring old man. Girls, it's time to leave. Herzog's wine was decent, but we've stripped this place bare."
After finishing the data transfer, McCullen whistled.
A thunderous neigh echoed through the underground base. Sleipnir, the eight-legged steed, burst forth from Herzog's cloning tanks, lightning sparking off its hooves. On its back hung a curved spear.
Crows swarmed, circling overhead, filling the air with their cries. McCullen mounted, grasped the spear of destiny, and transformed into none other than the Norse All-Father—Odin.
From beneath the mask, his voice thundered, no longer flippant but regal:
"My Valkyries! It is time. Join me in the Holy Grail War, and fight at my side!"
(End of Chapter)
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