Fatty's mind buzzed when he heard that. He couldn't remember No. 1's face, but the pain of losing a loved one was all too real. He was sure this person had held an important place in the memories he'd lost.
Jiang Cheng fell silent. Crimson was now all but a name. No. 1, No. 4, and No. 5 had fallen in battle one after another. The President had stripped No. 3 of his abilities, leaving him crippled. Nearly everyone else was wounded, and their combat strength had been reduced to a fraction. They had given everything in the war against the Night Watch, and lost everything, too.
But in the next second, No. 13 seemed to remember something. He turned around and carefully took out a hat.
It was small, cowboy-style, and looked cheap and casual—the kind of hat children liked.
The moment Fatty saw it, his heart clenched. He remembered that the hat belonged to No. 2, who never went anywhere without it.
Now, there was a huge hole in it, the edges spattered with blood.
"No. 2 died too, didn't he?" Fatty had already given up hope. He'd lost two loved ones in such a short time. The blow was devastating, and the Night Watch had just added two more blood debts to the score.
No. 13 paused, then immediately grabbed the on-the-verge-of-fainting Fatty and hurried to explain. "No. 10, No. 10, you've got it wrong! Don't pass out yet. No. 2 left the hat behind. He was injured, but he's still alive. When No. 2 saw that his hat had been damaged, he went berserk and eventually caught the idiot who did it. He borrowed No. 8's saw and cut the guy in half."
Hearing that No. 2 was still alive, Fatty managed to hold on to