Chapter 556: Go be a playboy far away from here
The casino hallway was muffled, the clatter of chips and electronic music fading with each step Vergil took. He walked unhurriedly, adjusting the collar of his dark blue suit with a lazy movement, as if he were really just going to the bathroom and hadn’t just noticed the movement of dozens of undercover agents around him.
When he pushed open the chrome-plated steel door and entered the men’s room, the sound immediately changed. The echo of dripping faucets, the hum of the air conditioning, and the white reflection of the cold lights created an almost clinical atmosphere—far too cold for a place like Las Vegas.
Vergil paused in front of the mirror for a moment, studying his own reflection. His blue gaze sparkled with an ironic glint, as if even the reflection challenged him.
Writing nothing, he turned and sat casually on the central sink, crossing his arms. His leather shoes clinked on the marble, echoing softly.
It didn’t take long. Two men entered, their steps firm, their clothes too sober to go unnoticed in that environment. The first closed the door, the second remained a few steps behind, like a guard dog.
Vergil lifted his chin, and a lazy smile formed on his lips.
“Hey,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence. “Tell Natasha to come here. I don’t have the patience for annoying people.”
The two agents exchanged glances. A resigned sigh escaped the older man, who opened the door again.
And there she was.
Natasha.
The Interpol director strode into the men’s room as if invading a conference room. Tall, with impeccable posture, her heels echoing off the marble, her fitted blazer failing to hide her athletic build. Her gaze was sharp as glass, and her black hair tied in a perfect bun reflected military discipline.
Vergil let out a short laugh. “Really, Natasha?” He tilted his head, examining her from head to toe. “You have the nerve to enter the men’s bathroom?”
She raised an eyebrow, without losing her composure. “Vergil… you’re on my Interpol watchlist. It’s not a bathroom that will intimidate me.”
His smile widened, amused, echoing through the room. “A subtle touch of arrogance. I like that.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “But you know what the funny part is? I’m not committing any crime.”
Natasha sighed, taking off the glasses she wore only for reading, and tucking them into her blazer pocket. The gesture seemed more like a calculated pause than actual necessity.
“I know,” she replied coolly. “That’s precisely why I’m here.”
Vergil arched an eyebrow. “Hm. So what’s the game?”
She stopped a few steps away from him, keeping a calculated distance. Her gaze was clinical, as if analyzing every detail of his expression before answering.
“It’s not a game. It’s… prevention.” Natasha took a deep breath, her lips pursing for a moment. “I just want to make sure you don’t run into the wrong person tonight.”
Vergil tilted his head to the side, his blue eyes flashing with a predatory glint. “And who would that… ‘wrong person’ be?”
Natasha hesitated. It wasn’t like her to show doubt, and Vergil sensed it immediately. The silence that followed was thick, charged. He watched her every microexpression, savoring her discomfort as if it were a fine wine.
Finally, the director stepped forward, lowering her voice slightly, almost as if the marble itself had ears.
“Hela,” she murmured. “The ruler of the Norse realm of the dead.”
Vergil blinked slowly, taking in the name as if turning a rare piece in his hands. Then he laughed. He actually laughed, the deep sound echoing through the bathroom.
“Hela…” he repeated, savoring every syllable. “You Interpol people really outdo yourselves. Tell me, Natasha…” He leaned in closer, until their faces were close enough for their eyes to meet in pure electric tension. “What the hell does Interpol think they can do against a goddess of death?”
Her gaze didn’t waver, but the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed the pressure.
“We don’t underestimate gods,” Natasha replied firmly. “But we monitor movements. And hers… can’t be ignored.”
Vergil leaned back again, chuckling softly, as if it were a private joke. “Monitoring gods…” he repeated. “That’s a good one.”
He paused, studying her face. Natasha wasn’t easily shaken, but there, in the icy silence of the bathroom, he could sense there was more. Much more.
“So, let me get this straight,” he said finally. “You’ve got a ton of agents out there, sixty of them at least, and it’s not because of me. It’s to watch the queen of the Nordic underworld.”
Natasha nodded slowly. “Exactly.”
“And you’re here”—he gestured theatrically with one hand—”to ask me… what, exactly?”
Silence returned. Natasha bit the inside of her cheek, a barely perceptible gesture, before answering.
“Don’t interfere.”
Vergil blinked. The smile on his lips grew thinner, more dangerous.
“Don’t interfere…?”
“Yes.” She fixed her gaze. “You’re already… complicated enough. Getting in her way could be catastrophic.”
Vergil laughed again, but this time there was no humor. It was a low, dark laugh. He rose from the sink calmly, his height dominating the space as he approached her.
“Natasha, Natasha…” he murmured, almost caressing the name with his voice. “You walk into the men’s room chasing a demon, asking for favors like you’re talking to a diplomat, and you still expect me to just… stay quiet?”
She stood firm, but the air seemed heavy. Vergil’s aura expanded slightly, enough for the two agents near the door to look away, sweat breaking out.
“I don’t expect you to stay quiet,” Natasha finally replied, her tone lower. “I hope you choose.”
Vergil stopped in front of her, so close she could smell the subtle scent of expensive perfume mixed with the cool ozone of his aura.
“And if I choose the wrong path…?” he whispered, his gaze flashing.
Natasha didn’t look away. “Then maybe not even you will live to regret it.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
And then, Vergil smiled.
A slow, sharp smile, like that of a predator facing prey that dared to bare its teeth.
“You really have courage,” he murmured. “And I respect that.”
He took a step back, finally breaking the suffocating tension. He leaned back against the sink, crossing his arms, relaxed again.
“But tell me, Natasha…” He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I don’t want to find Hela?”
The director didn’t answer immediately. There was a flicker of concern in her eyes—genuine, rare concern.
“Because…” she finally murmured, almost in a whisper… “I don’t want to risk that woman falling in love with you. Like the three Demon Queens and Archon Paimon.” She looked a little nervous, “Besides the Werewolf Princess Alexa, Alucard’s former right-hand woman, and of course, Morgana Lefay. So please. Go be a playboy far away from here, to avoid catastrophic conflicts.”
Vergil blinked twice, no, three times, and just managed to hold back a laugh.