The Kindness of Red Heart Can Never Be Repaid

In Birmingham, in the Lower District near the edge of the city, inside a newly renovated office.

"Ah, ah, thank you so much, Holy Grail Cult, Mr. Red Heart!"

With a sparse ring of hair circling his bald head, the middle-aged man in a suit spoke into the telephone receiver, thanking the other party excitedly.

"Thanks to your sponsorship, our pharmaceutical factory is thriving. Now you've even sent over such a large batch of raw materials; I don't know how to thank you enough!"

As if infected by the man's jubilant mood, the hoarse male voice on the other end of the line rose in pitch, revealing a hint of pleasure.

"That is truly wonderful, Mr. Stevens. I presume you have already distributed the potions?"

Although it was a question, the tone of Red Heart was extremely certain, as if he were merely describing an indisputable reality.

"Of course!"

Stevens patted his chest in assurance: "No one can resist this feeling, no one!"

A month ago, if someone had told Stevens that youth could be bought, he would have scoffed at the idea, or perhaps even considered sending that person to Sacred Heart Hospital to have their brain checked.

That was until Mr. Red Heart arrived with the formula and samples from the Holy Grail Cult.

It was like a dream; when Stevens unlocked his office door, Mr. Red Heart, who had been sitting on the sofa, gripped his hand with irresistible force and enthusiastically recommended the scarlet potion contained in a test tube.

Perhaps infected by that enthusiasm, Stevens, who had intended to sternly reprimand him, dazedly accepted the potion. After tasting the sweetness that flowed across his tongue and feeling the heat surge through his body, his hand had involuntarily signed his name at the bottom right of the contract.

Thus, the long-stagnant production line roared to life, using the raw materials provided by Mr. Red Heart to produce the potion he called the Kiss of the Holy Grail.

The Stevens family's failing pharmaceutical factory was revitalized by order after order. In the factory, more and more unfamiliar faces appeared, and from him, the boss, down to the lowest-level production staff, the air was filled with an atmosphere of joy.

Although he still felt that something was strange, Stevens's mind could no longer accommodate anything as complex as "doubt."

Mr. Red Heart's kindness was a debt he could never repay!

Now, he had even sent an unprecedented truckload of raw materials, leaving Stevens with nothing but tearful gratitude.

"I understand. Well done. There is one last thing I must trouble you with, Mr. Stevens."

On the other end of the receiver, the hoarse male voice continued, its tone becoming solemn.

"Please, perform the Sacrifice."

Hm?

What does that mean?

Sacri—

"Boom!"

A liquid with rapidly shifting colors sloshed inside as a literal glowing, heating retort was thrown into the factory's perimeter fence. The moment it shattered, a violent roar echoed, and billowing gray smoke erupted, rapidly covering the entire factory.

Amidst the haze, twisted figures followed the scent, baring fangs as they lunged forward.

From the opening blasted into the wall, a burly man in a leather jacket stepped inside, casually grabbing the head of a humanoid beast that pounced at him and slamming it into the ground.

"Hrr-hrr—"

Even though its spine had been snapped by the brutal throw, the monster still opened its drooling maw, attempting to bite the man's boots.

"Get lost."

Irritated, Ralph kicked the incapacitated monster away and rubbed his knuckles, which let out a series of "crack-crack" sounds.

As an active mercenary for the Golden Wolf Mercenary Corps, Ralph Vogleita certainly did not fear these half-finished products that lacked even a first Mark and attacked only on instinct. In the border wars, he had lost count of how many beasts stronger than this he had killed.

What truly made him feel a vague sense of unease was the timing of the breach, which could not have been worse.

How did these employees, who were perfectly fine just before they entered, mutate?

It was too coincidental.

So coincidental that it made one suspicious.

"Ralph, why are you standing there? At one o'clock, three mutants are charging at you. They're fast."

The ribbon tied around his wrist before departure grew slightly warm, and purple text appeared upon it, the strokes fresh.

Affiliated with the Saint Hydra Society and walking the path of record, Sophia's spiritual vision was broad enough to encompass the entire factory, allowing her to monitor the movements of dozens of red dots representing monsters and provide timely prompts.

Meanwhile, the Fog of War previously concocted by Olive obscured the keenest senses of smell and sight of the infected, sealing the influence within the factory and turning the battlefield into a one-sided slaughter.

Unfortunately, the number of enemies still exceeded their imagination!

On the rooftop of the building closest to the factory, an expressionless Olive removed an ampoule from her waist. She slowly dripped a thick, black liquid into the crystalline red needle-shaped ore inside and began to shake it.

Silver Salt Alchemy, initiating transmutation.

This time, she would go all out!

Beside her, even though her tied-up hair was blown into disarray by the wind, Sophia stared wide-eyed into the gale, looking at a massive red dot that had abruptly lit up in her spiritual vision.

Something was wrong.

This was absolutely not as simple as just destroying a small hideout.

Something big was coming!

At the same time, Stevens, whose legs had gone weak from the commotion outside the window, sat on the floor, clutching the telephone receiver in terror, trembling as he begged for help as if grasping at the only straw left:

"Mr. Red Heart, are you listening? Help, please help me, there are so many monsters outside!"

The only response to the inhuman, screeching roar was the sound of a disconnected line.

"Beep, beep, beep, beep—"

Listening to the dial tone, Stevens seemed to suddenly grasp something he had been ignoring all along; he froze in place, choking violently.

Human entrails were spat out from his gaping maw, landing on the newly purchased carpet, the bloodstains spreading as the organs rolled across the fabric.

His pupils turned scarlet, filled with bestial hunger and madness. The body of Stevens expanded, and expanded, and expanded again; thick fur covered his bulging muscles, and his mutated, sharp claws swung unconsciously, sweeping the office furniture away like trash.

The evil seeds sown long ago had taken root and sprouted, blooming into vibrant flowers. The newly incarnated Wolf Feaster shattered the wall as easily as snapping a soda cracker, leaped from the office, and charged toward the nearest living thing, devouring flesh and blood without distinguishing friend from foe.

Xenomorph!

On the surface, a fierce battle had only just begun.

Meanwhile, inside the semi-underground production workshop, the one-sided slaughter had already ended.

Proliferating granulation tissue clung to the entire production line, assembling a bizarre body that could only be glimpsed in nightmares.

A hundred legs, a hundred arms, a hundred eyes.

With steel as its bone and flesh as its garment, the terrifying monster that should have required heavy weaponry to suppress was now sprawled flat on the ground like a nesting bird, its secondary limbs twitching and carving deep gouges into the floor.

The massive body had been split right down the middle, severed into two perfectly equal halves, even in mass.

The wound was as smooth as a mirror.

"Huh?"

Sitting atop the monster's steel-plated head, Veronica gripped the glowing thin blade in her hand and asked in a low voice.

"What do you mean by 'you don't know'?"