The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 816: Chapter 379 Black Black Heart (6K2)_4

“So… sorry, Mr. Hastings.”

Robin’s father struggled to hold back tears. Bowing his head, he said, “But, but I really don’t want to trouble you anymore!”

After speaking, something seemed to come to his mind, and he quickly urged his companions beside him, “Don’t harass him. Mr. Hastings is not like other policemen; he is a good man.”

“A good man? I think you must be crazy! Are you a snitch for the police?”

The rioter, hearing someone speak for the police, immediately turned his gun and gave him a hard punch in the stomach, knocking him to the ground.

“Get away from me!”

Arthur kicked over one of the demonstrators attacking Robin’s father.

However, his roar still echoed over the Tower of London, but in an instant, it was replaced by the terrified screams of the rioting crowd.

“Run! The Guard Cavalry is coming!”

The rioters’ fear of the Guard Cavalry seemed innate since, in this country, their glorious achievements in this area far exceed their victories on the battlefield.

When they arrived, it was like a flood, and when they retreated, it was like a waterfall. Robin’s father was pushed forward by the crowd, and seeing this, Arthur hurriedly grabbed his hand, trying to lift him onto his saddle to take him away.

But fate always liked to play such tricks. Seeing this, the surrounding demonstrators who were retreating thought that Arthur was going to attack their companion; a stick as thick as an arm directly struck Arthur’s shoulder, and behind him came the sound of the cavalry’s charge and continuous gunfire.

“Protect Chief Inspector Hastings!”

Arthur suddenly turned his head, and time seemed to stop at this moment. He saw a bullet, a dark bullet, heading towards his armpit. The cavalry’s marksmanship was always good; at least this shot was well-placed. They knew how to save their key figures from the rioters, but what they didn’t know was that Arthur was holding his friend.

And not far ahead, Tom and Tony’s contorted faces were clearly visible. They waved their hats, shouting something that Arthur could no longer hear.

All he could feel was blood, gushing from his chest after leaping forward.

The bullet lodged in his heart felt cold, like raindrops falling on his face.

June’s summer night rain, warm with a hint of coldness and sweetness.

Arthur had once thought that he might fall somewhere one day, but ending his story in this way was something he hadn’t anticipated. It was like a ridiculous comedy where no one could guess such a conclusion.

Robin’s father stared blankly at Arthur, who had fallen in a pool of blood, his hands covered in blood, seemingly not yet awoken from the scene before him.

He watched as blood continued to ooze from Arthur’s twitching lips, and that gentle and playful voice rose again: “I… I really am ridiculous.”

He closed his eyes and suddenly remembered the Devil’s whispers in his ear once before.

It was the same rainy day, the same farewell between life and death.

He still remembered how the Devil once said to him: “Arthur, do you know? God doesn’t always live in Heaven, and even He has His own Hell, which is His love for mankind.”

And just now, he heard the Devil saying again: “But recently, just recently, God died, died of His sympathy for mankind.”

Agares’ figure slowly appeared beside Arthur like a flame, still holding that parchment scroll, still wearing that monocle.

The Red Devil bent down, examined the bloodstains on the lens and on Arthur’s body and face, showing neither mercy nor sympathy, only a hint of fleeting anger in his eyes.

“Tell me, Arthur, does being a fool give you a sense of pride?”

The Red Devil paced back and forth, spreading his arms and reciting, “Do you think you’ve won, won this gamble with the Devil? And the price of beating me is to die like a dirty worm?”

Arthur opened his eyes and, staring at the Red Devil’s emotionless face, responded with a smile: “Agares.”

“What is it?” The Red Devil appeared patient: “Do you have any last words to say?”

Blood trickled from the corners of Arthur’s mouth, but the pain in his chest couldn’t stop his mocking words: “I’m sorry.”

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the Red Devil’s silhouette. His wings extended, making it seem as if he were covered in blood.

Black, sharp nails gripped Arthur’s throat, as if trying to tear him apart like a rag.

“Arthur, you are my Hell!”