Dr. Arnim Zola's research on weaponry had also made solid progress. The new NB-2 energy rifle was much smaller than the original NB-1 prototype, though still a bit bulky.
This so-called "energy weapon" was one of Zola's masterpieces—a piece of true black technology powered by energy extracted from the Cosmic Cube, and its destructive potential was enormous.
A single shot from the NB-2 carried the explosive force of a grenade, though its blast radius was narrow. The beam detonated instantly on impact, vaporizing flesh and scorching steel, but its penetration was weak—lacking both the shrapnel spread of a grenade and the piercing power of armor-piercing rounds.
Still, the weapon's energy output was frighteningly concentrated. The blue beam could reduce a man to ash in an instant, and melt a tank's outer plating into slag.
Yet due to the limitations of contemporary technology, its firing rate lagged far behind conventional firearms. That brief fraction-of-a-second recharge might mean nothing to ordinary soldiers—but to Chen Mo, it was intolerably slow, hindering his efficiency on the battlefield.
In his eyes, the NB-2 was little more than a high-powered automatic shotgun—overkill against foot soldiers, and underwhelming against armor.
As for the NS-2 energy pistol, its firing rate was just as flawed, its output weaker still—hardly worth his attention.
He ordered Dr. Zola to continue refining the design, hoping that when he returned next time, Hydra's labs would finally produce something with real combat value.
As Chen Mo's gaze swept over the two men below, his brow furrowed slightly—as though recalling something—when a soft, rhythmic knock came at the door.
At the familiar sound, his expression eased. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
Both John Wolfe and Dr. Zola turned instinctively toward the door. Who would dare interrupt their Supreme Leader unannounced?
Could it be…?
The door creaked open.
A tall, white-haired old man stepped inside, holding a silver coffee pot. There was no trace of fear on his calm, kind face—only quiet contentment and a gentle smile.
Under the astonished stares of the two officers, the old man walked straight to Chen Mo's side and poured him a cup of coffee with practiced ease.
A rich, comforting aroma filled the office.
Chen Mo lifted the cup naturally, took a sip, and said softly:
"You've worked hard, Eddie."
The old man was none other than Eddie Albert, Chen Mo's loyal butler.
After arriving in London from New York, Chen Mo had quietly arranged for Hydra operatives to smuggle Eddie across Europe to this Norwegian base—to take over day-to-day management of the organization.
He had never doubted Eddie's capability. The entire Hydra network already operated under Chen Mo's total control. John Wolfe and Dr. Zola merely acted as interim stewards under his command; one word from him, and they would surrender their authority without question.
His will was divine decree. No one within Hydra dared defy it.
Moreover, the organization had been rebuilt under his guidance—its structure streamlined, its divisions efficient. Orders from the top were carried out swiftly and precisely. For a man of Eddie's discipline, managing Hydra would be effortless.
"In a few days, I'll be leaving again," Chen Mo said calmly. "This time, for quite a while. From now on, Hydra will be under Eddie's command. You two will assist him—and await my return."
"Yes, sir!"
Both John and Zola answered at once.
They had been working directly under Eddie for months, obeying every instruction without the slightest hesitation. Chen Mo's new order came as no surprise.
Only Eddie Albert seemed to understand the true meaning behind "quite a while." The others likely thought it meant a few years. Eddie knew better—it would be much longer.
After dismissing the two officers, Chen Mo leaned back in his chair, savoring the warmth of the coffee between his fingers.
"Eddie, after I leave this time… I won't return for about seventy years. Hydra will be in your hands."
The butler said nothing. He simply met Chen Mo's gaze and nodded once, slow and firm.
Satisfied, Chen Mo smiled faintly and pulled a folded sheet of paper from his coat, handing it over.
Eddie's eyes flicked down the page.
"Natasha Romanoff, Soviet operative, Red Room…
Anton Vanko, Soviet scientist, energy and mechanics…"
It was a list—a record of key figures and geniuses Chen Mo knew would shape the coming decades.
"These people are exceptional talents," Chen Mo instructed. "Recruit them if possible—but be careful. None of them are easy to handle."
Eddie folded the paper neatly and tucked it into his breast pocket.
"Understood."
Chen Mo nodded, content. He trusted the man completely.
With his affairs settled, Chen Mo waved his hand—and several vials of shimmering blue liquid appeared from his spatial storage.
When Dr. Zola and Major Wolfe next saw Eddie Albert, both men were stunned.
The sixty-year-old man with silver hair was gone. In his place stood someone barely in his forties—broad-shouldered, golden-haired, radiating vigor and quiet strength. His eyes, now a crystalline blue, carried an ageless depth. His presence was commanding, elegant, almost regal.
The transformation was breathtaking.
They instantly thought of Chen Mo. Who else but him could bestow youth and power upon a mortal man?
In that moment, their awe deepened into reverence. Even Dr. Zola, whose fear had always outweighed his faith, now bowed in genuine worship.
Word of the miracle spread quickly through the entire base. Every member of Hydra had seen it with their own eyes—their Supreme Leader's chosen servant reborn, his youth restored by divine power.
It could be nothing else but a miracle of God.
And thus, their faith in Chen Mo, their living god, grew absolute.
Yet it was also after performing this final miracle…
…that their god vanished.