The three quickly left the café. When Su Ming tried to pay with US Dollars, the balding owner nonchalantly shoved the money back into his hand.
He glanced at the Germans sitting in the café, a fleeting emotion crossing his eyes. He leaned in close to Su Ming's ear and whispered softly.
"For France."
Su Ming nodded slightly. He couldn't explain it, even if it just gave the owner some illusion, but it could also be considered a hope.
He led the doctor and the mage away from the street, quickly blending into the flow of German soldiers, heading towards Mars Square where the Eiffel Tower stood.
The crowd was dense there, making it easier to shake off any followers.
Just after they left the café, a squad of pursuing warlocks indeed locked onto the café's location. They first searched the upstairs and found traces left by the three.
Although the café owner did his best to tidy up, traces of magic couldn't be wiped away with a rag.
The pursuers interrogated the owner, but he insisted he didn't know anything and would rather die than speak.
The warlock leader gradually lost his patience. His subordinates grabbed the café owner from either side, placing the beaten man against the bar counter.
"I'll ask one last time, where did the people upstairs just go? What did they look like?" The warlock questioned in heavily accented French, a black flame rising in his hand.
This eerie flame shrouded the entire café in a dangerous atmosphere, containing destructive power within it.
The balding owner showed a hint of fear in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by determination. He looked at the black flame, struggling to open his swollen eyes: "I forgot."
The warlock leader chuckled angrily. Ignorant mortal, then let's extract your soul and interrogate you again.
He raised the black flame, pressing it towards the café owner's chest, met with terrified gazes from those around him.
There were still many German officers in the store, but they couldn't intervene with someone possessing such terrifying power. The warlock troops were directly subordinate to the Supreme Leader, their authority even above the SS.
But not everyone was idle; a young officer sitting in the corner spoke up.
"Stop."
He stood up, adjusted his black leather coat, and golden hair peeked out from under his cap, a smile playing on his face.
Instantly, he became the center of attention, and before that, no one had even noticed there was such a person in the corner of the café.
Despite his exceptionally handsome appearance, people always subconsciously ignored his presence. If he hadn't stood up and spoken, this situation would have continued.
The warlock leader had no intention of obeying others' commands, and a blue energy beam instantly passed through the black flame in his hand, destroying the wall on the other side.
The red bricks turned into dust, and the beautiful glass window transformed into crystalline, semi-liquid particles, scattering outside the café like someone had thrown a handful of sand onto the street.
The black flame flickered once and extinguished.
The warlock, enraged, looked over there, only to find a small squad of soldiers accompanying the young officer. Although dressed in civilian clothes, the energy weapons in their hands gleamed with brilliant blue light.
"Hydra..."
The young man raised his hand, wearing blue gloves, tapping lightly at his insignia, then straightening the badge at his collar: "Correction, still an Imperial Army Major General, and a few days ago, awarded the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross by the Supreme Leader."
The warlock leader wiped his hand on his magic robe, the blue energy just now had split the skin on his palm, and black blood oozed out.
"We are the Supreme Leader's mysticism consultants, we don't need Hydra's guidance in our work."
"Haha, I meant no offense," the young man tapped his fingers on the tabletop as if mimicking a person walking, his fingers jumping from one table to another, and he himself sauntered over to the warlock, a brighter smile on his face: "I'm just telling you, as long as I'm here, you can't kill anyone but yourself."
"Buzz..."
The soldiers behind the young man raised their energy weapons, the sound of batteries charging echoed in the now silent café, the blue light overwhelming the previous black light, casting every face into a shade of azure.
The warlocks were not to be underestimated either; instantly, various Hell Magic Shields covered their heads, and attack spells began chant, for those who couldn't use attack spells, they raised submachine guns.
The warlock leader's expression shifted, unwilling to provoke Hydra, these maniacs had endless devious schemes, cutting off one head only for two more to grow. Even if he could kill the people in front of him, there would be no peace in the future.
And while the mystic troops were said to be directly under the Supreme Leader, he was merely one warlock among them. If he were killed, the Supreme Leader wouldn't seek justice for him.
"I hope you know what you're doing, I will report today's events to my superiors."
The warlock leader waved his hand, signaling his subordinates to withdraw the magic. This time he would endure, direct conflict was unwise; only after returning to conduct a ritual to silently curse this guy to death.
The blonde young man remained unconcerned, his smile unwavering. He gestured towards the door with a flourish and softly uttered a string of words.
"Please go ahead, I merely stopped a madman who was trying to murder ordinary people, as my noble sense of honor cannot allow me to stand by. In case you're unsure of what to report to your superiors, my name is Lucivide von Heine, or you can call me 'Blue Gloves'."
The warlock knew this name, though previously his alias was not Blue Gloves but Blood Hand. He liked to peel enemies' skins to make gloves, but later developed an obsession with Atlantean skin, a pervert with twisted aesthetic views.
But to curse someone, knowing the name is even better.
The warlock leader snorted, leading his men out of the café.
Once they were far enough away, applause erupted in the café. Most of the officers here were from the Defense Army, they didn't like mass slaughter, nor did they enjoy torturing civilians.
France had already surrendered, and these former Frenchmen were now considered second-class citizens of the Third Empire. These ghostly warlocks barging in to kill someone...did they have proof? Even the secret police weren't as wanton as they were.
What Heine did was deemed correct in their eyes, even improving their impression of Hydra somewhat. At least not all of Hydra were maniacs, some maintained noble manners, right?
Blue Gloves, maintaining a polite smile, nodded to the crowd, exuding elegance. He didn't say much to anyone else but exchanged a look with his Guard Captain.
These elite Hydra warriors knew what they had to do, nipping danger in the bud; relying on magic to resist the energy of the Cosmic Rubik's Cube was wishful thinking.
Did those warlocks truly believe the Major General would let them return to their camp? If they thought so, they must have been practicing magic to the point of losing their wits.
No one noticed the fully armed Hydra strike team sneaking out the back door, going to hunt down the former pursuers.
Everyone else's eyes were on Blue Gloves, who bent down to lift the owner off the floor, kindly dusting the footprints from his clothes.
"Not seriously injured, just superficial...hmm, I'll compensate for your shop's damages. It's a lovely café." Blue Gloves conversed fluently with the owner in French.
The owner didn't know what to say; this person in front of him exuded something ominous. His blue gloves were warm to the touch, inducing a creeping sensation when contacting one's skin, and blood smeared on them looked even more eerie.
Lowering his voice, Blue Gloves leaned toward the owner's ear and whispered: "Of course, I know you are not innocent. You wish to support the rebels against us, I see everything..."
The owner startled, ready to deny, but Blue Gloves merely shook his head with a smile, covering the man's mouth with his bloodstained hand: "Shh...it's irrelevant. All rebels will be crushed by the Empire. I'll let you live, to see your unrealistic hope shattered, time and again, until your heart turns hollow and you kneel to pray the great power of Hydra becomes your faith... I enjoy watching transformation."
Heine stood up, his upper body bursting with immense strength, lifting the owner like a child and placing him on the counter, then stuffed a pastry in his mouth.
The owner's mouth was streaked with red, dumbly biting that piece of biscuit, unable to grasp the logic of this blonde young man before him, yet inwardly feeling an indescribable chill.
After doing this, Heine tossed a stack of Golden Marks onto the counter, bowing to the bystanders like an actor exiting the stage, and stepped out of the shop, blending with the crowd outside.
His eyes sparkled with joyous brilliance, sneakily licking the blood off his fingers, as if savoring honey while waiting for the bee to emerge from its cocoon.