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Chapter 256: Ch.255 Honey-Loving Man

"For France."

Su Ming gave a slight nod. There was nothing he could explain, and even if this gave the owner a mistaken impression, at least it left him with some hope.

Leading the doctor and the sorcerer, Su Ming blended into the crowd of German soldiers, heading toward the Place du Trocadéro where the Eiffel Tower stood.

That place was bustling with people, making it easier to shake off any potential pursuers.

Shortly after they left the café, the squad of sorcerers tracking them indeed locked onto the café. They searched upstairs first, discovering the traces left by the trio.

Although the café owner tried his best to clean up, magical traces couldn\'t simply be wiped away with a cloth.

The pursuers interrogated the owner, but he stubbornly insisted he knew nothing, willing to die rather than betray them.

The leader of the sorcerers slowly lost patience. His men held the beaten café owner between them, propping him up at the bar.

"I\'ll ask one last time—where did the people upstairs go? What did they look like?" the sorcerer asked in thickly accented French, black flames igniting in his hand.

The ominous flames filled the café with an aura of danger, carrying the essence of destruction.

Fear flickered in the café owner\'s eyes but was quickly replaced by resolve. Glancing at the black fire, he struggled to open his swollen eyes and replied:

"I forgot."

The sorcerer leader let out a cold laugh, enraged by the defiance of this ordinary man. He thought, Foolish mortal. I\'ll just extract your soul and make you tell me everything.

He raised the black flames, ready to press them against the café owner\'s chest, while the surrounding Germans watched in silent terror.

Although many German officers were present in the café, they did not interfere. The sorcerer unit reported directly to the Führer, and their authority even surpassed that of the SS.

But not everyone was intimidated. From the corner, a young officer spoke up:

"Stop."

He stood up, adjusting his black leather jacket. His golden hair peeked out from under his cap, and a smile played on his lips.

In an instant, he became the center of attention, though moments before, no one had even noticed him sitting quietly in the corner of the café.

Despite his striking good looks, people instinctively overlooked him. If he hadn\'t stood up and spoken, this would have continued.

The sorcerer leader had no intention of obeying anyone\'s orders. But suddenly, a blue energy beam shot from the black flames in his hand, blasting a hole through the opposite wall.

The red bricks turned to dust, and the café\'s beautiful glass windows shattered into shimmering, semi-liquid particles, scattering like sand onto the street.

The black flames flickered and extinguished.

Furious, the sorcerer leader glared at the young officer, noticing for the first time the small squad of soldiers behind him. Though in plain clothes, their weapons glowed with a distinct blue light.

"Hydra."

The young man raised his hand, adorned with blue gloves, and flicked his lapel insignia, correcting the sorcerer with a smirk:

"To be precise, Imperial Army Major General. And a few days ago, I was also awarded the Knight\'s Iron Cross by the Führer himself."

The sorcerer leader wiped his hand on his robe, noting the gash on his palm where the blue energy had cut into him, black blood seeping from the wound.

"We are the Führer\'s occult advisors. We don\'t need Hydra\'s guidance."

"I mean no offense," the young officer said, now tracing his fingers over the tabletops as if mimicking a tiny figure walking. He casually strolled over to the sorcerer, his smile even brighter. "I\'m simply telling you that as long as I\'m here, the only one you\'ll kill is yourself."

A sharp hum filled the café as the soldiers behind the young officer raised their energy weapons, the sound of the power cells charging echoed in the now-silent room. The blue glow bathed everyone\'s faces, eclipsing the sorcerer\'s earlier black light.

The sorcerers were no pushovers. In an instant, they summoned various hellish magic shields, and those without offensive spells raised their submachine guns.

The sorcerer leader\'s face contorted as he realized the precariousness of the situation. He didn\'t want to provoke Hydra—these maniacs were known for their endless plots, and cutting off one head only caused two more to sprout. Even if he managed to kill the officer now, there would be no peace for him afterward.

Though the occult division claimed to be directly under the Führer, the leader knew that if he were killed, no one would seek justice for him.

"I hope you know what you\'re doing. I\'ll report this to my superiors."

The sorcerer leader waved his hand, signaling his men to lower their magic. For now, he\'d endure. Direct conflict with Hydra was unwise. Once he returned, he could conduct a ritual to silently curse this man to death.

The blond officer seemed unconcerned, his smile never wavering. He gestured toward the door with a graceful hand, offering a polite exit and speaking softly:

"Be my guest. I merely stopped a madman from murdering an innocent. My noble honor prevents me from standing idly by. And to help with your report, my name is Ludwig von Heine. You may also call me \'Blue Glove.\'"

The sorcerer recognized the name. Once, he had been known as "Blood Glove" for his penchant for skinning his enemies to make gloves. But he had recently changed his ways, becoming obsessed with the skin of Atlanteans—a man with a twisted sense of aesthetics.

But knowing his name would only make the curse more effective.

With a final snort, the sorcerer leader led his men out of the café.

Once they were far enough away, applause erupted from within. The German officers in the café, mostly Wehrmacht, disliked the mass killings and torturing of civilians.

France had surrendered, and these former Frenchmen were now second-class citizens of the Third Reich. The occultists storming in to kill people without evidence—this wasn\'t even something the Gestapo would dare.

In their eyes, Heine had done the right thing, even improving Hydra\'s image somewhat. Not all of Hydra were maniacs; some still maintained the dignity of nobles.

With a modest smile, Blue Glove nodded to the crowd, bowing gracefully. He said nothing more but gave a subtle signal to his bodyguard captain.

The elite Hydra soldiers knew exactly what to do. They would nip the problem in the bud. If those sorcerers thought they could resist the power of the Cosmic Cube with mere magic, they were delusional.

The sorcerers would never make it back to their camp. Anyone who thought otherwise must have studied magic so hard they fried their brain.

While the Hydra strike team slipped out through the back door unnoticed, the others remained focused on Blue Glove. He gently lifted the café owner from the ground, dusting off the boot marks on his clothes with a kind smile.

"You\'re not badly hurt—just some bruises," Blue Glove said in flawless French. "I\'ll compensate you for the damages to your café. It\'s a lovely place."

The café owner could only stare blankly at the young man. There was something deeply unsettling about him. The blue gloves had warmth, but touching them sent chills through the man\'s skin. The blood on them made the gloves seem even more sinister.

Lowering his voice, Blue Glove leaned close to the café owner\'s ear and whispered:

"Of course, I know you\'re not innocent. I see everything—you want to support the resistance against us."

The café owner\'s eyes widened in shock. He began to stammer a denial, but Blue Glove shook his head with a soft chuckle, pressing his bloody hand against the man\'s mouth.

"Shh. It doesn\'t matter. All resistance will be crushed by the Empire. I\'ll let you live, so you can watch your unrealistic hope shatter again and again, until your heart becomes an empty shell, and you kneel to pray to Hydra\'s power as your only faith... I enjoy watching transformations."

With that, Heine lifted the man with ease, as if he weighed nothing, placing him gently on the bar. He grabbed a pastry and stuffed it into the café owner\'s mouth.

The café owner, his lips smeared red with blood, sat dumbfounded, the pastry hanging from his mouth. He couldn\'t comprehend the young blond officer\'s twisted logic, but a profound sense of dread settled in his gut.

After tossing a wad of gold marks onto the counter, Heine bowed to the onlookers as if he were taking a curtain call. With a final flourish, he exited the café and disappeared into the crowd outside.

His eyes gleamed with joy as he licked the blood from his fingers. It was as if he had already tasted the honey, eagerly awaiting the moment when the bee would emerge from its cocoon.