Vol·18 [Devils Never Cry Devil Mustn't Cry]
3:36 AM London time.
Outside the Christmas Cheese Bar, in the bustling city street, the cold rain could not extinguish the fighting spirit of the bloodthirsty nobles.
The long, dark red table was packed with people; even the street thugs who slept rough on the streets were considered lowly characters. To paraphrase a passage from "Kong Yiji," behind the long, narrow counter stood the bartenders and waiters. Further upstairs were the vampire VIPs in their long gowns and formal attire.
The story begins with a pair of brothers.
The older one is named Hendler Turalyan.
The one who isn't that old is named Liman Turalyon.
The brothers lived separately, one in Queen's Parish and the other in the Bloody Hand Brotherhood.
The older brother is a dentist, and the younger brother is a bassist.
Neither of them were vampires; they would occasionally take on dirty work from nobles and aristocrats as a supplement to their livelihood.
The so-called dirty work is nothing more than intimidation, extortion, blackmail, and kidnapping.
Although they belong to different parishes, the two brothers are like two watermelons that grew from the same vine.
The Hendler, earns a high salary in Queen's Parish and occasionally works part-time as a football referee.
The younger brother, Liman, took all the family inheritance. They weren't short of money; what they lacked was fun.
Until today, things got really funny.
The two brothers met at a long table in the bar district.
Nostalgia is a letter of authorization written in pounds sterling.
The older brother was on the Red Queen's side, and the younger brother was on the Brotherhood's side.
The three noblemen, steeped in blood, argued heatedly on the second floor about the division of territory—like three different ways of drawing a piece of beef in Tom and Jerry.
The food stalls and liquor counters on the first floor were crowded with people.
Counting from one end of the street to the other, there were roughly several hundred young people carrying weapons.
The people around the long table were a motley crew.
Hockey sticks, golf clubs.
A hammer from a hardware store or a thick-spine cleaver from a slaughterhouse.
You can find every murder weapon that an ordinary person can get their hands on here.
People gathered in small groups, waiting for the signal to start the battle from the second floor.
Consuls from different parishes and lower-ranking members of their groups talked about the bounty for heads.
In this civilized society, people no longer need to use the primitive method of calculating wages by the ears, nor do they need to bring back enemy heads or teeth as spoils of war—the heroic fighting postures of these ordinary people working for vampire gangs will be recorded by cameras, and these videos may even be auctioned on the dark web.
The families of the Blood Nobles would lean against the second-floor windowsill, playing cards at a large round table. Occasionally, a servant would bring over a large iron tray containing numbered cards for different tables.
--It is well known that there is a long-standing bad habit of horse racing betting in Hong Kong, and this ritual of acquiring huge wealth is inseparable from the teachings of the British concession.
The items in these iron plates are the "horses" on the table numbers; one person at a table is counted as one horse.
Not only inside and outside the casinos, nobles would recruit any outstanding horse that won first prize into the vampire ranks. Those who could gain the favor of the Blessed Holy Blood would have their Blood Ceremony by the parish matriarch.
Compared to the mine cart races at Mimir Hot Spring Market, the Blood Nobles are very rule-abiding and civilized.
They forbade their men from bringing firearms into the arena, and had long ago colluded with the Commonwealth police to demarcate the hunting grounds. After paying enough protection money, many righteous police officers were occasionally able to participate in the horse race after get off work.
For the nobles on the second floor--
--How London's territory was divided, and who owned the Blood Pool, were not things they fought for themselves.
"After all, adults' clothes are very expensive." Hendler brother, furtive-looking, covered his phone and spoke privately with his younger brother, "They won't do it themselves."
"Bro, what do we do later?" Liman, rubbing his forehead, felt lost and helpless amidst the group of punks. "What if a fight breaks out? What should I do? I can't bring myself to swing a stick at you."
Hendler ruffled his thick black hair, looked across the street, spotted his younger brother among the dense crowd, and said, "This is our first time participating in such a ceremony; it's a rare opportunity."
Liman's breathing quickened. "It's been a very, very long time since a Marseille race like this has been held."
Hendler: "It's all thanks to the Red Queen's Godfather dying young, otherwise we would never have had the chance to enter the social circles of the nobility in our lives."
Liman: "But brother, let alone first-class horses, can we really become top-class horses?"
Hendler: "Are you scared?"
Liman: "No, I'm not afraid. I just don't want one of us to become a dead horse."
Hendler: "I've prepared a secret weapon."
Liman: "What is it?"
About twenty meters away, a large Doberman emerged from under the long table and booths on the west side of the street, from the bright red tablecloth, its leash hanging on Dr. Hendler's wrist.
"Hmph," Brother Hendler said smugly, "The consul only said that firearms are not allowed, but he didn't say that pets or hunting dogs are not allowed. With this, at least no one will dare to cause me trouble. It's my lifeline."
Liman was consumed by jealousy. "Brother! You're so despicable! You're a doctor, pulling teeth and treating patients—do you spend your free time training hunting dogs? Giving orders to kill these wild beasts?"
Hendler glared at him coldly, tearing off the mask of politeness. "Foolish brother! I handed over all my assets so you could pursue music and your dreams—you owe me that favor, and now you must repay it. No matter what, I demand that you work for me in the Bloody Hand Brotherhood and deliver the heads of the bands around you to my baseball bat."
"Impossible!" Liman cursed, "You motherfucker! You motherfucker! You actually want me to sell my soul?! Music is my life! How could I so easily betray these friends?! Brother! Don't hurt me anymore!"
"So what are you going to do? I can hire the best lawyer in all of the United Kingdom to fight you for your share of Mom and Dad's assets." Hendler squinted, scratching the Doberman's fat chin, and negotiated with his twin brother, who was more than twenty meters away. "One word from me, and I can make you penniless. That's what you owe me."
"You! You!" Liman broke out in a cold sweat, her eyes flashing with murderous intent. "You!"
Hendler's tone was icy. "Do you want to kill me? Kill my brother? Like we sent our parents to their graves? To kill me legally and legitimately? You've been drooling over the gym teacher's tight-fitting trousers since you were thirteen, you're a filthy, despicable bastard—you begged me to help you forge your report cards to avoid your father's beatings and your mother's scolding, and in the end, because you had no money, you conspired with me to kill them."
Liman: "Shut up."
Hendler: "I've done everything for you, little brother. This is the only request I have as your older brother."
Liman gritted her teeth. "You son of a bitch, you talk so sweetly, but you're just like me, a rotten bastard—for a moment I really did believe you were doing it for my own good, that you saw me as another version of yourself. But today, I finally understand."
Right now, at this very moment.
Across from the young man Liman the table sat a tall and imposing young man.
A Xing just ordered a glass of whiskey from the consul; it's cheap and delicious Iron Knight.
A large 700ml bottle of this bright yellow liquor, served with two ice cubes, costs less than ten pounds.
Before leaving, the consul spoke to Bu Liuxing.
Are you sure you're an adult?
A Xing took the bottle and replied with a grin, "I just turned 18! You can rest assured!"
The consul didn't recognize the unfamiliar face. He only knew that the Bloody Hand Brotherhood's underlings were rotated in and out. These punk rebels' criminal businesses usually didn't last long. Occasionally, a clever and resourceful guy would grow big and powerful, but he would usually make a fortune and then immediately run off to Italy to retire.
The consul had seen many young people like Bu Liuxing, so he didn't pay much attention to him.
He was wearing a black overcoat with a hood, and in his hand he only carried a gleaming silver cane.
His attire almost made the consul mistake him for a shooting star sitting at the wrong table; perhaps this young gentleman should report to the Red Queen Parish.
He should be inside the building; he shouldn't be downstairs.
Meteor, carrying a bottle of wine, casually found a spot and sat down next to Liman, acting as if they were old friends.
He listened to the brothers' conversation and grew angrier and angrier, until sparks seemed to fly from the rose ruby inside his hood.
"Is this how your brother treats you?"
Liman covered the microphone, looking panicked.
If his punk bandmates knew he had an older brother making a living in the Red Queen Parish, those rebellious kids would never want to play music with him again.
After all, what punks hate most are the rigid, rule-abiding goths.
Or rather, these musicians really liked vampires but hated nobles.
--Especially those strange people who, even before becoming vampires, wear long robes, carry canes, and adopt a retro style in the Red Queen District, speaking in a pretentious and literary manner.
Liman: "Keep your voice down!"
Bu Liuxing's voice grew louder and louder. "What's wrong? What's wrong?! What's wrong?! Your brother wants you to be a traitor to our Bloody Hand Brotherhood! Can't you say this? Is it something you're ashamed to talk about?"
Liman's face turned deathly pale in an instant.
The sound of the meteor was as loud as thunder; you couldn't cover the microphone with your hand at all.
Dr. Hendler's expression across the street became quite interesting; for a moment, he didn't know what to do.
In short—it was awkward, incredibly awkward.
These words didn't need a cell phone to transmit; the noise of raindrops hitting the plastic sheeting couldn't drown out A Xing's loud shouts at all.
I saw this strange Easterner, flamboyant and exaggerated, as if he were performing in an opera.
"Brothers of the Brotherhood! There's a traitor here! He's planning to sell out his friends for personal gain, sending his own brother to his death. How can you tolerate such a person? I can smell the stench just sitting next to him! It's unbearable!"
Meteor covered his nose and acted coy, then immediately stood up, grabbed the wine, and hurried towards the center of the road.
The musicians at the same table all turned to look at the young man named Liman, their eyes filled with suspicion.
"No, he didn't say that! That's not right!" Liman wanted to explain, but he didn't get a chance.
On the west side of the street, quite a few people had already stood up with A Xing, wanting to gather around and ask him for clarification.
Bu Liuxing strolled in the rain, his Iron Knight cane leaving dents on the blue bricks of the pedestrian street, while the Iron Knight wine bottle in his hand gleamed with a golden hue.
He stood tall and proud, challenging the Red Queen Parish.
"Hendler Tulayan! How dare you insult this sacred ceremony? Look at yourself, neither human nor ghost! Are all the people at your table like you? Trying to use money to blackmail your own brothers into betraying their friends? Don't you ever recite the Madness Butterfly Bible? Have you forgotten all about friendship and doctrine during your initiation ceremony?"
He pointed at them one by one, maxing out his taunting skills.
"Your suits and tuxedos are more expensive than the last. Do you think wearing expensive clothes makes you an aristocrat? The Bloody Hand Brotherhood take over Buckingham Palace within three days, and we'll even pull the life support tubes off your comatose Red Queen!"
The tripartite meeting on the second floor has just ended.
Diplomats from three different parishes and their relatives, like a harmonious family, were drawing different lines on a satellite map of London, using elegant letters to deliver sarcastic remarks and uttering harsh words and profanities in the style of British dry humor.
However, the noise and commotion coming from the first floor disturbed the diplomats' concentration.
They felt intensely anxious, as if a surge of passionate, exhilarating Inspiration was bursting forth from the wine cellar containers downstairs.
Why is it so noisy?
"What happened?"
"They've already started fighting? No! The match hasn't even started yet! We haven't even finalized the odds! How do we make money without odds?"
The consul hurried up from the first floor to the second floor, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, and told the nobles about his predicament and the reasons behind it.
"I apologize for making this a spectacle for you gentlemen. Here's what happened. There are two brothers in our two factions who have conspired to pull some tricks in Marseille."
When the consul explained the whole story, especially mentioning that the brothers' little tricks had been exposed to the public, it was only after the consul had explained everything that the matter was resolved.
The nobles finally understood where the impassioned shouts downstairs came from.
But it would take at least three minutes to explain these things clearly.
These three minutes are enough for A Xing to do a lot of things.
His connection with the Turalyon brothers was over, and his innocent and romantic face was replaced by a cold and angry expression.
He pointed at the people on both sides of the street and drank all 700 milliliters of liquor in one go.
"Brothers, what is it that we risk our lives for the Red Queen and the Brotherhood?"
"It's nothing more than three things: holy blood, social status, and money."
"These two brothers went to great lengths, using such dirty tricks in Marseille. I'm afraid this race is dirty too! The big shots sitting on the second floor have already decided the champion. We've just wasted our time!"
"No way? Nobody really believes that just by wielding a knife and a baseball bat, and having a bit of ruthlessness, one can become a member of high society? A bloodthirsty aristocrat among ghosts?"
A deathly silence enveloped this old street with a history of over four hundred years.
Liman was beaten black and blue by his classmate.
Faced with the disdainful looks of his colleagues, Dr. Hendler just wanted to disappear into the ground. Several times, under this overwhelming and terrifying pressure, he almost lost his grip on the dog leash.
The Doberman seemed to sense its owner's embarrassment, baring its teeth and barking loudly at Bu Liuxing.
The sudden barking shattered the leisurely atmosphere of the nobles on the second floor. The diplomats' wives were still playing cards; the cards trembled along with the barking of the hounds. The ladies frowned, looked out the window, and immediately grabbed their pistols—
--Four blinding flashes of gunfire erupted from the second floor.
More than a hundred bullets were thrown at this Doberman, a relentless and merciless attack on its body.
Dr. Hendler dodged repeatedly, and he and his tablemate scrambled and rolled on the wet brick pavement, ending up bruised and battered, but they managed to survive.
This is really going to be hilarious!
--At first, I could still hear his heavy breathing.
The cold flashes of gunfire extinguished all of people's delusions.
"Keep quiet." The consul stood in the rain, his expression solemn, rudely pointing his finger at Meteor's nose. "Who do you think you are? If you dare to say another word, it won't just be this dog dying in the street! Understand?"
Meteor gritted her teeth. "I don't understand!"
The consul's eyes flashed with a bloodthirsty light. "Are you looking for death?"
Meteor, enraged, grabbed the consul's blouse and lining, shouting, "I don't understand! What did it do wrong? What did this dog do wrong?!"
The big-eyed young man from the East pouted pitifully, pointing at the Doberman in the rain, which had turned into a steaming corpse with an excessive amount of heavy metals.
"It only barked a few times! It only wanted to protect its master! It faithfully carried out your orders time and time again! All for a few pieces of meat! A few banknotes!"
"It just wants you to see it as a human being!"
"But does it have to die just because those bloodsucking bitches upstairs are playing cards?"
"You beasts! Are you prepared to shoot me over a hundred times, just like you killed it?"
The consul was stunned; he had no idea where this strange kid's temper came from.
However, the other party's arm was tightly gripping his throat, and even though he was a vampire, the sturdy arm wrapped in black and gold clothing began to emit a terrifying sound of bones cracking.
"You vomit."
Bu Liuxing's eyes burned with fire.
"--The most important thing is! The most crucial thing is!"
The consul was speechless, so he could only shake the Summoning Bell from inside his clothes.
The attendant came at the summons and tried to pry open Bu Liuxing's arm, but when his palms came into contact with the broad arm, the sharp rifling cut open and drew blood.
"The thing I can't stand the most is!" Bu Liuxing snapped the vampire monster's neck, "You actually made my dearest waiter cry!"
At this very moment--
--Dr Hendler found it unbelievable.
Beside the carcass of the Doberman Pinscher, a beautiful woman from the East squatted.
The girl held the pieces of flesh, trying again and again to piece the corpse back together.
Her face was covered in tears, and her expression was one of utter misery, as if the bullets had struck her.
3301's heart is breaking. He finally met a kind-looking big dog in a foreign land. Maybe he could even use his wolf howl to awaken the dog's ancient memories and chat with it in a different language.
Just as she bent down and peered over to try and understand the restless inner world of the hunting dog, a merciless hail of bullets turned the loyal dog into more than thirty steaming pieces of dog meat.
To use a more whimsical analogy, it's like you see an innocent, helpless, fierce, and adorable little girl on the roadside, and then she dies right in front of you, right under the noses of hundreds of people, in the jurisdiction of the Commonwealth police, riddled with bullets by four guns and eight magazines.
The vampire consul's neck was broken, but he was still breathing.
Destroying the central nervous system alone is not enough.
These bat-shaped freaks have extremely strong vitality.
But to ordinary people, the meaning is completely different.
This is not a fair and open melee competition, but a bizarre ritual where blood is shed, people die, and even vampires personally participate by shooting and killing.
Almost everyone was pondering the unspoken meaning behind Bu Liuxing's words.
Aren't they dogs too?
For the VIPs on the second floor, dressed in long gowns and formal attire—
--Perhaps if the guns were simply turned away, no matter what kind of horse it was, it would be served as fragrant horse meat, and the nobles would even complain that the horse meat was too coarse and hard to chew, not as delicious as the blood of a young girl.
In the cold, rainy night, only a single, dark clap of thunder boomed.
"Even if I break your neck, I can't kill you, right?!"
Bu Liuxing suddenly picked up the headless blood bat.
"I learned a trick from Teacher Victor! It's a fantastic method for treating the spine with cold compresses!"
A shimmering golden butterfly suddenly leaped up—
--A deep pit resembling a dreamcatcher was left in the flat ground.
You have to hang in there!
At this moment, A Xing recalled the execution techniques taught to him by Master Victor. It was the special skill that Wen Bucai used when he first dealt with David Victor. Because the method was too cruel, Master David learned this move. Later, Wen Bucai renamed this move the despicable name "[The Devil Never Cries]". Why despicable? Because the direct translation of David's real name is "[Devil]". Perhaps every time Master Victor thought of this move, his heart would tighten and his nose would sting.
The dignitaries on the second floor of the west side of the street saw a human-shaped cannonball, embracing the consul's bat-like body, crash through the railing—a flying tackle—and slam into the second-floor platform.
Blood gushed out like a fountain, turning satellite maps of London completely red.
The three diplomats didn't understand what was happening; they only felt a little warm saliva on their faces.
The radiating blood left a strange pattern on the carpet resembling a warrior drawing his sword—a pattern drawn by the varying pressures of blood from the veins in his neck, a testament to the high efficiency, precision, and exceptional skill in destroying the spinal keel.
The vampire noblewoman who was nearby was stabbed in the face by the flying bone fragments, resulting in her being covered in blood and disfigured on the spot.
The vampire woman, keeping a distance, approached the seemingly invulnerable, muscular young man while firing her gun, finally striding forward—
--A powerful punch.
A Xing's body was knocked off balance, and he saw stars from the bat spirit's immense strength. Even his wolf head mask was shaken off and closed smoothly, revealing blood-red eyes shining from the black hood, revealing the third eye of the Rose Shining Stone that connects to the divine and leads to rebirth.
--Ah A Xing stopped and returned a fair and just punch.
The beautiful and sexy woman's head spun around ten times before finally stopping; she wasn't completely dead yet!
--Ah A Xing followed up with a second punch, displaying his bullying and utterly lacking manners.
The fist wind that shot out from the skull was like molten lava, splashing onto the counter at the second-floor counter, turning the cold-blooded animal's body temperature from 20 degrees Celsius back to 37 degrees Celsius.
Then the terrifying golden-masked kobold raised his Iron Knight's warhammer and lashed it repeatedly at the demon's corpse.
The diplomats finally wiped the blood from their faces. Just then, they saw the fake werewolf pull Summoning Bell out of his backpack.
A "ding-a-ling" sound.
A real werewolf, equally enormous and also dressed in the same shimmering butterfly armor, descended from the ceiling.
The blood bats fired their guns, their facial features contorting and deforming in an instant amidst their howls.
The onlookers on the first floor had already begun to flee, and some busybodies who were about to watch the spectacle were immediately smashed into mincemeat by the bat carcasses that were flying and tumbling down from the second floor.
There were no harsh words exchanged in the betting.
There were no gang codes.
Only the sounds of gunfire and rain.
There was the sound of demons crying.