Chapter 11
Just south of London lies the Hellsing Estate, though it’s only listed as an estate on maps and land records. In reality, it’s a veritable fortress, combined with a military base. The vast grounds are surrounded by a four-meter-high wrought-iron fence, marked every five hundred meters by an eight-meter-high stone tower manned by three soldiers—a heavy machine gun crew and a sniper for long-range surveillance. Within a kilometer of the estate, there isn’t a single tree or building, only neat fields and a road junction that skirts the grounds.
At the center of the complex is the main building, the Hellsing Residence, a three-story building with high ceilings, built in 1651 in the Baroque style: the façade is decorated with numerous columns and large windows, and the walls are covered with luxurious stucco.
To the left and right of the main building are two five-story buildings, built in the early 20th century and no taller than the main residence. These are the main barracks for soldiers, each designed to accommodate seven hundred men.
Immediately behind the barracks are four garages for wheeled and tracked armored vehicles; further on the grounds there are five helicopter hangars, a shooting range, a small training ground, as well as a canteen for soldiers and a large semi-underground fortified arsenal.
But all this is not the main point. The most important secret of the Hellsing estate, like any important government facility, is hidden from the view of ordinary people, buried underground at a depth of about three meters. Every three hundred meters within the estate and a kilometer around it, anti-magic artifacts are hidden in a dense network, forming a demagic zone. This invention of the Holy Inquisition allowed for the fearless creation of training camps and also protected the castles and palaces of the ruling aristocracy from mages during the witch hunts, since only the owner and those sentient beings who had received their voluntary permission could cast spells within the artifacts’ effective range. Thanks to this, mages finally lost their leverage over the monarchs of medieval Europe, since previously any powerful mage could Apparate into any palace, unleash hellfire, and quickly escape. But with the mass production of these artifacts, mundane rulers lost their fear of mages, and the hunt continued with renewed vigor, until the adoption of the Statute of Secrecy in 1689.
The second secret of this place is the elite unit’s fighters. If you look closely at the two guards at the gate, you’ll notice that the newest Soviet AK-80 12.7mm rifles in their hands are completely covered in strange symbols, as is the Glock 17 on their belts. And each soldier wears three rings on their fingers, despite the prohibition in military regulations. Yes, all the weapons and equipment were heavily enchanted, including the rings—two protective artifacts and an emergency portkey. The government spares no expense on the Hellsing unit, whose duties include enforcing the Statute of Secrecy and protecting the Royal Family, because in the event of a conflict, these fighters are the first to engage in combat to destroy any enemy of the Crown.
***
Today, in early October, a council of the Knights of the Round Table was held at the Hellsing Residence. The order’s leadership discussed current issues and made plans for the future. On the third floor, in a spacious study with enormous arched windows and a large, cozy, crackling fireplace, four people gathered in comfortable leather chairs around a massive round mahogany table.
A slender platinum blonde, dressed in a black business suit, complemented by a red tie with a cross-clasp, sat with her legs crossed, a cigarillo in one hand, and with the other she adjusted her round-framed glasses, covering her cold blue eyes – Lady Integra Hellsing, the head of the Organization.
To her right sat a burly, dark-haired man in the uniform of the Imperial ground forces—Lieutenant General Rob Walsh—who sat leaning back in his chair with a glass of whiskey on the rocks in his hand.
In the chair to the right of the Lady sat a tall, thin, blond man, Vice-Admiral of the British Navy Sir Shelby Penwood, with a cigar in his teeth and some kind of report in his hands, carefully studying the papers.
Across from the blonde sat a powerful, completely gray-haired old man, whose figure, movements, and keen brown gaze bespoke an experienced and dangerous fighter. Sir Hugh Islands had been Integra’s father’s best friend, and after his death, he became Lady’s chief advisor. This elderly gentleman had no intention of retiring—given his connections in MI6 and the aristocracy, he was simply indispensable.
“So, the rebellion in the Indian colony has been completely suppressed?” asked the admiral, finishing his report.
“There are no heirs left?” Integra added.
“The fortress where Nasir Undi had taken refuge was first subjected to a massive aerial bombardment, and then the fourth and fifth Hellsing companies were sent to clean it up. This princeling ignored the Statute and recruited local shamans and ritualists for his army, so we didn’t risk sending line units to the assault. Ultimately, the soldiers of the first platoon of the fifth company discovered his wife and three children fleeing through a secret passage and eliminated them on the spot. And the rebel himself was captured alive!” the infantry general said proudly, continuing: “The bodies of his family are already on public display in Bombay’s central square, and tomorrow Nasir himself will be publicly hanged there.”
“Casualties?” Hugh Islands asked.
“Three killed, seven wounded!” the general concluded his report.
“Let them cut out his tongue before the execution,” said the lady. “The last thing we need is a deathbed cry for struggle.”
“It will be done!” the general barked and quickly made a note in his notebook.
“Everything is relatively calm in Canada,” the admiral began his report. “Last month, the Sixth Company destroyed three groups of Native American shamans who were attempting to illegally cross the border, and the Seventh Company helped the Canadian Auror Office pacify the raging cemetery in Beachwood. We have to help them more and more often every year.”
“Have you found out what caused it?” Sir Islands asked.
“It’s simple. That weakling idiot who managed to raise thirty corpses found an old book on the basics of necromancy while going through his late grandmother’s things, so he decided to give it a try. They tore him apart first, then the cemetery caretaker.” The admiral rubbed the bridge of his nose and continued: “The late grandmother turned out to be a witch, or a squib, as the local racists call her, who was exiled from her family in her youth, but managed to pilfer a few books. For what reason, we’ll never know.”
“I see. What about the biological threat?” Integra looked closely at her interlocutors.
“The Minister of the Magical Community of Britain reports that there are no werewolves left on the islands,” Islands chuckled.
“As usual, he’s lying,” the admiral exhaled. “Do they even control their enclave’s territory? Just last week, a family of these creatures was exterminated in Sussex: vigilant citizens reported howling and growling sounds coming from their neighbors’ basement to the police, and the arriving squad found four specimens recovering from the ordeal that morning. They were eliminated on the spot.”
“Well, what do you expect?” Integra spoke up. “After those creatures attacked the villages in Sherwood in the spring of 1980, the mages were saved only by the civil war and the Queen’s order to eradicate werewolves from the islands. The mages gave out the coordinates of all the settlements, and in a month we exterminated nearly five hundred individuals of both sexes and ages. The survivors hid in magical territories, willing to work for food and safety, and they’re in demand for ingredients. And since the Crown’s order is still in effect, slaves have a better chance of survival, so the mages are taking advantage of that.”
“And without a direct attack or a declaration of war, we cannot introduce troops into magical territories. The old Treaty is tied to the royal family, and we swore an oath to serve the Crown,” the infantry general concluded.
“The House of Lords has approved an increase in the unit’s strength by two more companies, with funding expected to arrive in November,” Islands said.
“So, we need to recruit another two hundred and forty sorcerers or weaklings, plus two support platoons,” the infantry general began to count. “Where else can we get loyal mages? Artifacts, potions, ammunition? Every bullet is hand-enchanted, by the way. We currently have thirty-six of them on staff, but the guys are already working hard! And after the werewolf genocide, our organization’s reputation has taken a serious turn for the worse.”
“Testing for line soldiers and police forces begins in a month, so we’ll quickly recruit the rank and file, but as for the gifted…” The Admiral paused. “There’s a proposal to recruit Hogwarts students, the children of ordinary people. Ideally, after their second year.”
“Sir Shelby, why after the second year?” Integra asked.
“It’s simple. According to reliable information, the unwritten rules forbid touching first-year students, but from the second year on, purebloods and the children of magical aristocracy begin to persecute the ‘mudbloods,’ because they are magically stronger and, thanks to their parents, they have much more knowledge.” The admiral smiled and continued: “And we will recruit them.”
A heavy, thick book in a leather binding fell on the table.
“The Code of Laws of Wizarding Britain!” Islands whistled. “Very clever! As far as I remember, they don’t study law or anything like that at school.”
“I’ve read that abomination,” Lady Hellsing snorted. “I especially liked the passage: ‘If the heir of a noble family has forcibly taken a commoner maiden, she shall pay a fine of fifty galleons, for by her debauchery she has damaged the boy’s family honor.'” In the magical enclave, only purebloods have full rights; everyone else is, at best, relegated to the status of vassals, or even serfs.
“And after their second year, they choose additional subjects. Let them take runes and arithmancy right away, so they don’t waste time teaching illiterate idiots later!” the admiral concluded.
“Okay, Sir Islands, I need the names and addresses of all the No-Maj students at Hogwarts by Christmas!” Integra began giving orders. “General, you’ll need sets of protective artifacts for the children, and think about a summer vacation program; they should survive until the end of their fifth year. And you, Vice Admiral, will need the text of the magical oath and the recruitment plan.”
– Yes sir!
– Eat!
– It will be done!
“That’s all for today, gentlemen, we’ll meet in a month.” Lady Integra concluded the meeting.
The men silently left the office. The woman leaned back in her chair and stretched out her legs with a groan.
“Integra.” A low, velvety voice came from behind her, and a tall man wearing a red cloak over an old-fashioned three-piece black suit emerged from the shadows of the fireplace. He approached the woman silently and began massaging her shoulders.
– Ok… Ah… A little stronger… – Lady said quietly, finally relaxing.
“This year, we’ve got a fascinating newcomer on the farm,” the man whispered quietly, leaning his head toward his interlocutor’s ear.
“Alucard, stop calling the shelter a farm,” the relaxed lady growled quietly.
“I’m used to calling a spade a spade, and your grandfather founded it for a reason: fresh children’s blood for me and loyal cannon fodder for the order,” the old vampire continued to whisper.
“Hellsing provides these children with protection, shelter, and education! And they volunteer to serve!” Integra said clearly, her blue eyes wide.
“Of course, of course, I’m not arguing with you,” Alucard said soothingly, and after five minutes of silence, he continued: “Integra.”
– What?
– You’re not getting any younger…
“You know how to compliment ladies,” she chuckled.
– The Hellsing family needs an heir.
“You know very well that I can’t conceive a child, the family curses have entered into full force…” the lady said sadly.
– According to the old oath, I obey only those in whose veins flows the blood of the Hellsing family.
– And that didn’t stop you from killing my uncle.
“He wanted to harm you.” Alucard’s lips were almost touching the blonde’s neck. “And after your death, I will be free.”
At these words, Integra shuddered, imagining what this ancient monster could do if it found itself free.
“You don’t want freedom? You like serving people?” the lady didn’t understand.
“I like serving you.” His lips touched her neck. “I found a way out of this situation.”
– What are you suggesting? – the woman tensed.
– There is one ritual, it was ancient even in the days of my youth.
– What kind of ritual is this? Don’t drag it out!
“An ancient blood adoption ritual. I found a candidate on the farm. She’s very much like you: smart, cruel, and very calculating. And her blood… Mmm… It literally drives me crazy with its strength and ancient magic. Perfect!” The vampire closed his eyes, recalling the pleasant memories.
“I wonder,” the lady mused. “What are the conditions and consequences of the ritual, and by what age must it be performed?”
– Timing: it must be performed before the girl’s first period. Consequences: by voluntarily accepting your blood and rejecting her parents, she will become your daughter by blood and will be more like you. Conditions: this is a truly ancient ritual, so it’s simple – just a sincere desire. The girl must sincerely want to become your daughter, and you must love this child.
“And if there is no desire?” the woman raised her head and met the vampire’s gaze.
“It’s okay, the girl will die.” Alucard’s eyes flashed scarlet. “There’s still time, we’ll look for another candidate… Or you’ll finally accept my offer.”
“Show her to me!” The iron lady’s blue eyes began to sink into the ancient vampire’s scarlet pools.
***
Meanwhile, in Saint Ursula’s shelter, a young witch couldn’t sleep; she was either overcome by hiccups or was infuriated by her blazing ears.
