Chapter Twenty-Three: Special Operations Forces

Li Yang decided that this time, the allocation of the serum would be determined by the resources collected. In truth, the vampire clan suffered a significant disadvantage in this arrangement.

Most of the social unrest was caused by the crude werewolves. The vampires, by contrast, were extremely cautious; possessing vast influence, they always formulated meticulous plans before taking any action. The werewolves were different. Lacking the intelligence network of the vampires, they generally preferred to buy resources, but if they couldn't, they would simply seize them by force, which naturally threw social order into chaos.

Yet, the vampires were always the ones left to take the blame. After all, both factions were Li Yang’s subordinates, and naturally, those with more capability were expected to do more. In the past, it was manageable; if the werewolves lacked the financial means, the two sides could cooperate. Often, the vampires would provide the funding while the werewolves provided the muscle. But this time was different: they were now competitors, and cooperation was no longer an option.

This meant the vampires were left cleaning up the messes caused by the werewolves. Amelia, however, found it difficult to voice these grievances directly to Li Yang. The only consolation was that in the previous month’s assessment, the vampires had secured three of the four available Tier 1 serums. Though the werewolves were unscrupulous in their pursuit of resources, they simply could not match the immense wealth and power of the vampire clan.

Even the single serum the werewolves received was granted only because Li Yang remembered they were the first to follow him. Otherwise, based on the quantity and quality of the resources they collected, they likely would not have received a single one. Consequently, Li Yang’s subordinates now included seven Golden Centipede Warlocks: four werewolves and three vampires. The werewolf serum was naturally used by Lucian, while among the vampires, besides Amelia, the remaining two were bestowed upon a male and a female pureblood.

***

Meanwhile, inside a secret military fortress in London, James, dressed in a dark military uniform, entered the passcode for the facility and descended deep underground in an elevator.

"Reporting, Colonel James!"

As James stepped out, a tall, robust black man waiting by the elevator saluted him.

"Treat, go and order the Superhuman Special Forces to assemble immediately!"

Waving his hand at the man, James strode toward the underground training base.

"Reporting, Colonel, the Superhuman Special Forces have assembled!" It did not take long before the black officer returned with a group of bizarre, slovenly men in tow.

"Is this the result of your training? What do you think my military camp is? Do they look like soldiers to you, Captain Treat? I need an explanation."

Looking at the lazy, eccentric brutes, James frowned, his anger simmering. The fact that they stared back at him with utter indifference, some even curling their lips in disdain, only fueled his rage. Had these truly been his subordinates, he would have been tempted to draw his gun and execute the lot of them. But he knew that while they were nominally under his command, he only had administrative authority, not operational control; this unit had been formed by the personal order of Marshal Hawk.

Seeing his superior lose his temper, the black captain hung his head in embarrassment. In reality, he felt stifled; these individuals were unruly and defiant. He had been sent to train them, but it had been a miserable experience. None of them were easy to deal with, and he couldn't command them at all. If he provoked them, he was liable to receive a brutal beating. It was a helpless situation, but he could not explain this to his superior. Regardless, they were under his charge, and failing to train them was his responsibility.

"Hey! Are you guys done yet? If you have something to say, say it. If you have something to do, do it. It's midday; you're disturbing my sleep for no reason. Are you itching for a fight?"

As James berated the captain, one of the brutes stepped out of the group. He had protruding canine teeth, eyes filled with defiance, and he spoke with an impatient, snarling tone. The man was of average build, with a lazy expression and a voice that carried a faint, bestial growl. His eyes flashed with a terrifying, predatory glint, his fangs jutted out, and his fingernails were sharp as a tiger’s claws, making him look less like a human and more like a beast.

"Victor, what do you think you’re doing? Get back!"

Seeing the man approach his superior, the black captain was alarmed and shouted sharply. He had a vivid memory of this brute. Victor was one of the two most volatile members of the group; he had once torn a soldier to pieces simply because the man had walked past his room too loudly while he was sleeping. The bloodiness of that scene remained fresh in his mind.

"Victor..."

Just then, a man standing beside him—a bearded fellow with hair sticking out to the sides—reached out to stop him, shaking his head slightly.

"Jimmy, this doesn't concern you. Stay out of it!"

Victor pushed the man aside with one hand and continued toward James.

"You bastard, enough with the arrogance! Click..."

James had reached his limit. As a full colonel, to be treated with such disrespect on his first day was unbearable. Had he been a few years younger, he would have rushed forward to fight the man. Knowing he would lose in a physical brawl, he drew his sidearm, disengaged the safety, and pressed the muzzle against Victor’s head.

"Shoot then! If you have the guts, pull the trigger..."

Victor was unfazed by the gun at his temple. Instead, a wicked grin spread across his face as his beastly eyes remained locked on James.

"Shit... what are you doing? You bastards! This is a military camp, not a place for you to run wild!"

As the tension reached a breaking point, a tall, burly white man with a thick beard stormed into the room. Seeing the standoff, he roared with rage. The old man had white hair and a white beard, stood over two meters tall, and despite his wrinkles, his voice was booming and showed no signs of frailty. His bare chest was covered in white hair, making him look like an upright grizzly bear. His eyes were wide and filled with authority.

"Reporting, Marshal Hawk. I was merely disciplining my subordinates!"

The moment the old man appeared, James holstered his weapon, stood at attention, and saluted, looking straight ahead.

"Bang..."

"You bastard, is this how you discipline your soldiers? By pointing a gun at their heads? You idiot!"

Before James could finish, the white-haired man kicked him several meters away, pointing a finger at him while cursing.

"And you, Victor, I’m warning you—stay in line. Don't think that because a handgun is useless against you, I don't have ways to deal with you. I have plenty of methods to make you wish you were dead."

After reprimanding James, the old man turned his finger toward Victor and spoke with chilling emphasis.

"Alright, old man, say what you have to say and stop wasting breath. I'm busy!"

Victor was unimpressed by the threat, brushing the old man’s finger aside with a nonchalant air. Though his words were arrogant, his demeanor softened slightly after the old man’s appearance; it was clear he held some fear of the Marshal, despite his outward defiance.

"I won't keep it from you—it is time for you to act. Those filthy vermin hiding in the shadows... it is time to wipe them out once and for all."

"For over a dozen centuries, they have been clinging to our British Empire like parasites, feeding on our blood. If not for them, would our Empire have fallen to such a state?"

"Previously, the situation was not ripe, but now, faced with the realities of the global battlefield, not even the Prime Minister can stop this operation. It is time to root them out. No matter what you have done in the past, if you cooperate fully with James this time, I will personally see to it that all your past crimes are wiped clean."

Looking at the group of misfits, the old man’s expression was grave, his voice ringing with finality.

"Marshal Hawk, are you serious?"

As soon as he finished, a short black man stepped forward, his eyes gleaming as he stared intently at the Marshal. The others also looked hesitant, seemingly wary of something.

"If you want our cooperation, you need to tell us the actual plan!"

The man with the hair sticking out to the sides chimed in, lighting a cigar he had been chewing on, his brow furrowed.

"Rest assured, I have the authority to grant you amnesty. As for the operation, you will be notified in due time."

"James will lead the team, and you will follow his orders. But mark my words: if anyone dares to drag their feet during this operation, don't blame me for turning heartless!"

Seeing the interest in their eyes, the old man nodded with satisfaction, though his face remained stern. He harbored a deep, bone-seated hatred for the vampire clan. Officially, their control over state affairs and their plundering of national resources had severely hindered the development of the British Empire. The Empire had once been a renowned powerhouse of the Western world, but since the dawn of the Steam Age, the vampires had sensed that human technological progress threatened them, and they had been sabotaging it from the shadows ever since.

Personally, his parents had died in the crossfire of a skirmish between vampires and werewolves when he was a child. How could he not loathe them?