Chapter 19: The Terrifying Helmeted Man

Number 9 clasped his hands together, using his head as a weapon. His body was rigid, like a peregrine falcon diving at terrifying speed from the sky.

The helmeted man thrust out his fist to meet him head-on.

Number 9 smiled.

This was a death wish.

Engaging in close combat with a vampire?

He must be out of his mind.

Even a four-star demon hunter comparable to Iris wouldn’t be so reckless as to confront a vampire head-on without weapons.

Humans were merely prey dependent on tools; their physical bodies were insignificant. Without weapons, they were lambs awaiting slaughter. Moreover, this human was weak—unadapted and unevolved.

Number 9 was brimming with confidence.

He delivered a headbutt.

After a thunderous crash, Number 9 was flung backward through the air. Stabilizing his body mid-flight, his face showed shock.

This helmeted man possessed strength surpassing that of an elite-level vampire. Weakened by sunlight, Number 9 could only muster less than 30% of his power, barely managing to suppress his opponent.

The surprise unsettled him, but it was inconsequential.

The human body was a delicate structure, incomparable to a vampire’s resilient form. At the moment of collision, he distinctly heard the sound of bones breaking.

That ignorant human was already gravely injured.

Number 9 intended to pursue but was suddenly struck by a sharp pain in his forehead.

A cross mark appeared on his head.

His entire head felt aflame.

Number 9 crashed to the ground near Number 12; the two tumbled together.

The flames quickly died down.

Number 12 sat on the ground, severely wounded and unable to recover.

Number 9 scanned the surroundings cautiously, searching for the helmeted man’s trace. To his surprise, the severely wounded human had vanished.

Both were drenched in sweat.

Number 12 warned, “It’s an Awakened. He’s fleeing with the person.” The latter part was shouted toward the distant vampires. Instantly, the three surviving elite vampires hoisted Mary and fled.

“Flee? Do you really think you can escape?”

A ghostly voice echoed again, coming from above.

Two vampires looked up to see the helmeted man leaping down from a billboard.

There was no sign of injury.

“I’ll buy you time. Recover quickly.”

Number 9 roared and launched an attack.

What horrified him was the helmeted man’s sudden multiplication; in an instant, more than ten duplicates split off, launching attacks from all directions.

Number 9 was punched in the lower back.

He tried to counterattack, but the helmeted man’s form blurred between real and illusion, making it impossible to discern the true body. Whenever Number 9’s strike was about to land, the opponent vanished instantly.

He was mercilessly overwhelmed.

Within a few breaths, Number 9 absorbed over ten blows.

Though powerful, these attacks could not inflict substantial harm on a vampire. What was terrifying, however, was the cross the opponent wielded.

Flames surged.

Number 9 howled in pain. Sensing a mortal threat, he erupted his small cosmos; red blood mist exploded from his body, dispersing the flames.

His body fractured.

Blood gushed forth.

This blood, controlled by an invisible force, condensed into blades—intricately linked strands spinning rapidly to form a storm, indiscriminately slashing the surroundings.

All duplicates vanished.

Just as Number 9 caught his breath, a grenade dropped before him.

Boom!

He scrambled up, his shattered body rapidly repairing itself. As the smoke cleared, a scene of despair unfolded.

Helmeted men were everywhere.

Nearby, far away, on billboards, utility poles, the street, even inside a passing car—it was as if he had fallen into a nightmare.

What terrified him most was that, at some unknown moment, the gravely wounded Number 12 had been seized by several helmeted men, his limbs bound tight.

One helmeted man toyed with a cross, wrapping iron chains around his hand, then punched Number 12’s heart.

“No!!!”

Number 12 let out a heart-wrenching scream, ignited completely; after two breaths, he turned to white ash and perished utterly.

All helmeted men turned their heads to face Number 9.

At that moment, the blood blades swirling around Number 9 dissipated mostly.

Fear pierced his soul like a poisoned needle, and his fighting spirit shattered instantly. He flapped his wings, attempting to flee, but as he took flight, a helmeted man pounced, locking his legs. Then, rapidly multiplying, a dozen helmeted men exerted force, dragging him down.

“Get away! Don’t come closer!”

Number 9 went mad, desperately driving the blood blades to strangle his attackers, but his attack speed could not keep pace with their multiplication.

Time passed indeterminably.

Number 9 followed Number 12’s fate. Controlled by the helmeted men, he was struck directly in the heart. Amidst his piercing wails, he turned into silver ashes scattered across the ground.

Moyu stepped out of the car.

All the mirrored images on the scene vanished, leaving only the cross.

He approached, picked up Confession, and drove back to the amusement park. Along the way, he released multiple mirror images to evade tracking, deliberately taking a long detour. Eventually, he stored Confession in a locker near the entrance.

For Moyu, this had been a protracted battle—his first time employing rewind in close combat.

He adhered to two principles:

If unable to hit the opponent, use rewind and attack alongside the mirror images.

If hit by the opponent, use rewind to let the mirror images draw their fire.

Only advance along timelines favorable to him.

To the enemy, it appeared as if his accuracy and evasion were perfect.

Mirror images could not be deployed infinitely.

Too many would interfere with each other, rendering attacks ineffective. Seven or eight mirror images attacking simultaneously was the limit, and also the limit of his close combat ability.

When deploying mirror images, his true body carried Confession; as long as the target was hit, he could wait for the mirror images to vanish and then unleash the next fierce assault.

This guaranteed that every strike carried Confession’s enchantment damage.

Other weapons could not be used this way.

Weapons could not be duplicated, but fists could. The enemy dodged his fists, not Confession.

This ambush was a stroke of luck.

The vampire was heavily weakened by sunlight, and he still held Confession, a powerful weapon.

Both were indispensable.

After storing Confession, Moyu activated rewind once more, returning to the moment before setting the ambush and generating mirror images.

He had an important task to accomplish.

Rescue Mary.

The surviving elite vampires had moved Mary elsewhere; their destination was unknown, but now it was time to intercept them.

He bought a car with zero cost and waited near the intersection. Upon hearing the grenade explosion, he immediately drove toward the scene.

When he arrived, he caught sight of three elite vampires carrying Mary and fleeing.

With a graceful drift, the car spun 180 degrees.

Moyu rolled down the window and called out to the vampires, “Get in quickly!”

The three elite vampires were initially tense, but upon recognizing Moyu, they opened the doors and got in immediately.

“Hurry, follow the road! We’ll meet up with Numbers 2 and 3 in Westwood Town!”

The vampire in the passenger seat gave orders, while the other two sat in the back.

Moyu pressed the accelerator hard.

While waiting, he had studied the map and confirmed the destination—a deserted factory.

Racing along the road, he changed course, which displeased the three vampires inside.

The vampire in the passenger seat asked, “Where are you going?”

Moyu snapped, “Are you idiots? Think about it—why were you ambushed? I sent the person ahead, yet you were intercepted midway. That only means there’s a traitor among us! Heading to Westwood Town now—what if the traitor sets another trap?”

“Makes sense.” *3