The Heavens: A Qing, the Yue Girl at the beginning

The door of the Seahawk helicopter was blown open in the strong wind. Angers held the door frame with one hand and looked down.

The dark clouds were very low, almost rolling over the sea surface, like a pot of boiling lead water. In the dim sky, Tokyo Bay was glowing with a cold iron-gray light, and occasionally a sickly silver-blue phosphorescence flashed across the crest of the waves - that was the trace of the cruising of the dragon viper school.

"It's really... nothing new." Angé chuckled, stroking the silver lion head on the top of the cane with his fingertips.

click -

The metal components made slight clicking sounds as the cabin vibrated. The staff split and stretched like a living thing, transforming into a pair of streamlined hang gliders in an instant.

Without any hesitation, nor even looking back at the driver's astonished expression, he just took a light step and leaped into the lead-gray sea of ​​clouds, swooping down like an eagle.

The wind whistled in my ears, but time slowed down.

His golden eyes burned in the gloomy rain, and everything in his field of vision suddenly became sticky—raindrops hovered in the air, the trajectory of lightning was clearly visible, and he could even count every fork of the electric current.

As for those dark cavalrymen, the muzzles of their rusty AK47s had just been raised, and the bullets had not yet left the chambers.

And just as he was about to touch the sea surface, his body suddenly rose up.

The gradient of the speed of time distorts the curvature of space-time at this moment, and the "convergent timing" effect begins to take effect.

According to the equivalence principle, objects in areas where time flows at different speeds will naturally tend to move in the direction of "slower time" and move along geodesics, as if they were attracted by gravity.

After further improving his mastery of the Word Spirit, in addition to the new skill of Tidal Rift, Angé also learned to accurately control the field of time zero, creating subtle time differences around himself, thereby providing a force field that can be used for maneuvering out of thin air, and since then he has possessed the ability to "fly".

Just like a stone pushed by water towards the center of a vortex, it naturally "falls" towards the area where the curvature of space-time is concave.

To outsiders, this process seemed like he was gliding, changing directions, and even hovering briefly in the air, drawing arcs in the air that violated the laws of physics.

Perhaps, it can be called an "anti-gravity maneuver."

The first bullet grazed the corner of his clothes, but Ange was no longer there. The glider flapped slightly, and his figure flashed like a ghost, instantly approaching the nearest cavalryman, and at the same time, he smiled and pulled out a folding knife from the inside of his windbreaker, the blade gleaming coldly in the rain.

"Then... let's get started."

A silver light flashed, and the cavalryman's skull mask shattered. His dark golden pupils contracted violently and then went out.

The rest of the cavalrymen turned their guns immediately, slowly tracking his figure. But Ange had already adjusted his time field again, and his figure turned back like a ghost, passing through the gaps between the intertwined trajectories.

He did not simply dodge, but used the difference in the speed of time flow to create a "gravitational trap" - when the bullet entered the slow time zone he preset, its trajectory naturally bent, as if it was pushed away by an invisible hand.

The knife light is like snow, and the blood mist is like flowers.

The cavalrymen's movements became like a slow-motion movie, and Ange was like a ghost in the fast-forwarded picture.

Every flash was accompanied by the collapse of a cavalryman - the silver light wove into a dense net, and the bodies of the dead quickly disintegrated under the erosion of alchemical toxins, and the bones and armor turned into dust and were blown away by the sea breeze.

He tread lightly on the air, and every step he took was on the fault of the flow of time, as if he was walking on an invisible staircase.

A bullet grazed his temple. He could even see the rotation pattern of the bullet, but his eyes remained calm.

"too slow."

He chuckled, swung his knife backhand, and the blade precisely split the bullet, sparks flying as the metal split.

The killing was like a carefully choreographed dance, graceful and deadly. When the last cavalryman fell, the sea returned to calm.

Angers stood on the sea - no, to be precise, he stood on a "space-time membrane" distorted by the time gradient. The seawater under his feet was concave due to the difference in the flow rate of time, forming a temporary foothold. He looked up at the dark Tokyo Port in the distance, his golden eyes burning in the rain.

"Odin, your toys are not good enough."

……

Portofino, Italy.

The storm swept across the Gulf of Genoa, and the waves slapped the rocks under the cliffs like the claws of a giant beast. Frost Gattuso stood in front of the French window, crushing the Mont Blanc fountain pen with his knuckles, and the ink dripped through his fingers, spreading a stain on the Persian carpet.

"Anger..." He gritted his teeth and a low roar rolled out of his throat. "Do you think this can shake Gattuso?"

Frost slammed his fist on the desk, and the wooden surface cracked. "Too naive."

For thousands of years, the Gattuso family has been able to stand firm in the world of mixed-bloods, not relying on their obvious wealth or their powerful position in the secret party, but... something deeper.

Just like today, he should have been at the family headquarters in Rome, handling the scheduling of hundreds of thousands of employees around the world, the manipulation of financial markets, and the bribe lists of politicians - but today, a call from the Presbyterian Church forced him to this remote resort town.

"Something happened in Pompeii." The voice on the other end of the phone was as cold as iron.

Frost's heart suddenly tightened in just five words. Pompey Gattuso - his elder brother, the nominal head of the Gattuso family, a playboy who spent his days wandering around women and alcohol, Caesar's father, but also the most unfathomable chess piece of the family.

Something happened to him?

Frost clearly remembered the order the elder gave afterwards: "Go and take Caesar away. Any means are allowed."

“Any means are allowed.”

The meaning behind this sentence made his spine shiver. The "any means" of the Gattuso family never included tender persuasion. Even though his nephew had always been regarded as the hope that had been waited for a thousand years, and his status was even higher than that of an S-level like himself, there was no exception.

The storm beat densely against the French windows, and Frost's shadow was cut into pieces by lightning, and then pieced together again in the darkness. He stared at the surging darkness outside the window, his knuckles unconsciously rubbing the fragments of the pen, and the ink spread out in his palm like a winding black snake.

"Pompeii..." Frost murmured in a low voice, and suddenly sneered, "Are you finally out of control?"

A bolt of lightning struck the window, illuminating his cold blue eyes behind the lenses. At that moment, he took a deep breath and saw his distorted face reflected in the glass - veins bulged on his forehead, but a weird smile hung at the corner of his mouth.

The phone rang suddenly.

Frost did not answer the call immediately. He slowly took out his handkerchief and wiped the ink stains on his palm. Once, twice... until the fifth ring, he pressed the answer button.

"Frost Gattuso." An old and majestic voice came from the other end of the phone. "Is it done?"

"Elder, not yet. Caesar rode away on his Harley and has not returned yet." Frost's voice was calm, but his eyes became more sinister. "I am dealing with Angers' provocation."

"Angers is not important."

The elder was silent for a moment, then slowly spoke: "Because the time has come. Ragnarok has come earlier. Odin's army is gathering..."

Frost's pupils shrank slightly.

“Frost!” The elder’s voice suddenly became solemn. “We are the inheritors of the flame! We are the heirs of the world! The great soul of the Gattuso family is destined to be immortal!”

The devout and fanatical tone sounded like some kind of religious declaration.

Frost's fingers trembled slightly. He had only seen fragments of this ancient oath in the most secret book of his family.

"Elder, I don't understand." He forced himself to calm down, "Are you saying... 'that plan' is going to be launched?"

"No." The elder's voice suddenly became low, "It's 'evacuate'."

Frost froze.

"...Evacuate?" He almost thought he had heard it wrong.

"The Gattuso family must immediately gather their resources, abandon their fixed assets, and prepare to evacuate the Earth." The elder's tone left no room for doubt. "The real battlefield is not here."

Frost's mind went blank.

Evacuate the Earth? What kind of ridiculous order is this? The Gattuso family has been running an industry for hundreds of years, with influence all over the world, and they are just...giving up? The heavy rain hit the bulletproof glass, like countless desperate hands calling for help.

"Alpha, what are you talking about?" His voice suddenly rose, "I need a more detailed explanation - as far as I know, the family has never discussed such a plan!" The Gattuso family does have a heritage that far exceeds modern technology, but how could an operation of this scale of "evacuating the earth" be hidden from him?
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds.

"The wind has changed, son."

The elder's voice suddenly softened, with a strange kindness, "Your brother didn't tell you, right? The 'Ark' is ready. In seventy-two hours, the 'door' to the Bay of Genoa will open. Take Caesar and Frost... This is your last mission."

The rain outside the window was getting heavier. The raindrops hit the glass like countless tiny fingers scratching.

Frost felt a chill run up his spine.

"Where is Pompeii?" he heard himself ask.

"On the other side of the 'door'." The elder said softly, "He found the way... but lost his way."

Frost suddenly understood something. He turned around and stared at the family painting on the wall - in the painting, Pompey was hugging young Caesar, with a smile so bright that it was blinding.

Born for the family and die for the family, everyone with the surname Gattuso has this awareness.

"We can become gods, we can be immortal, and we will share the glory." The elder's voice gradually became lower, but it was chilling to the bone, "And you... just need to obey."

Communications cut off.

Frost stood there, the heavy rain outside the window reflected on his gloomy face.

He suddenly realized that the Gattuso family might be much crazier than he had imagined.

And Angers may be just the most insignificant enemy in this storm.

"Damn it..." Frost cursed, clenched his fists tightly, and smashed them on the already cracked desk. This time, the whole desk collapsed, and he stumbled and knocked over the coffee table.

Hearing such incredible news suddenly, he, who was usually calm, almost lost his strength due to confusion.

The crystal glass smashed to the ground, shattering into pieces.

He took a deep breath and was just about to pull himself together. He reached for the satellite phone on his waist to communicate with his secretary Percy and continue directing his subordinates, but he was extremely surprised to hear a slight "click" sound coming from behind him.

"Don't move, uncle."

Frost froze in his tracks at the familiar voice.

He turned slowly and saw Caesar Gattuso standing at the door of the study, with Dictato leaning against his back. The blond young man had cold eyes and the muzzle of his gun was motionless.

Frost's Adam's apple rolled.

The muzzle of Caesar's gun was right between his fourth and fifth ribs, a position that ensured the bullet would hit the heart before penetrating the lungs - the standard lethal angle, whether it was a live bullet or a Frigga bullet.

"When did you get back?" Frost let go of the satellite phone and let it fall into the fluff of the carpet.

"It starts with you crushing the pen."

Caesar's voice was like marble soaked in ice water. "The drainpipe on the balcony goes straight to the ceiling of the study. The sound of heavy rain can cover up the noise of climbing. You taught me, remember? When practicing underwater demolition in the Venice Canal, you said, 'Always leave a half-open door for the enemy, and then bury a bomb behind the door.'"

The barrel was slightly pressed, and Frost could feel the temperature of the alloy muzzle.

The nephew's shooting habits were exactly the same as Pompey's. The first joint of his index finger was always against the trigger guard, and his wrist was as stable as a mechanical bearing - this was the "parricide posture" specially trained by the Gattuso family, specifically used to deal with hybrids of the same level.

But he was only a fledgling A-level after all, and his bloodline and word spirit strength were much higher. Caesar, who was known as the future "emperor" of the mixed-blood race, was not even as good as an A+-level family bodyguard, after all, the latter were all capable of bloodline refinement.

Just as Frost was kept in the dark by the family elders from beginning to end, Caesar, who had been pampered for many years, was equally ignorant of the immensity of the world and was no different from a spoiled child.

The air around him began to ripple mysteriously, becoming increasingly viscous, like gel.

The barrels of the two silver custom-made Desert Eagles were immediately filled with this "substance", blocking the bullet firing channels, and the disarmament was completed silently without Caesar even knowing it.

The next moment, Frost pushed forward with his heels, leaning forward suddenly. Relying on the hardened scales on his shoulder blade after the blood burst, he slid sideways to remove the tip of Dick Tudo's blade. Then he kicked the alchemical weapon away with a hook kick, twisted his arm, grabbed the opponent and threw him to the ground.

The seemingly old body suddenly burst out with the agility of a cheetah and strength surpassing that of a lion.

The sound of the bullet exploding in the chamber kept echoing. Caesar felt dizzy and the back of his head hit the oak floor heavily. Before he could faint, he was grabbed by the collar by a huge force, his body turned over, and lifted back to his original position, with his chest pressed under his uncle's knees.

The Desert Eagle spiraled toward the ceiling, and sparks fell on the Persian carpet, burning black spots.

"What an excellent infiltration, Caesar, and you even learned to attack your elders."

Looking at his nephew who had no power to resist under him, Frost's voice was filled with some kind of cold approval. His pupils, the color of molten iron, flashed dangerously in the dim light, but soon turned gentle, "...Wake up, kid."

"No one can resist the orders of the elders." He thought carefully, loosened his grip on Caesar, stood up, picked up the crooked family painting from the mess on the ground, and gently wiped the dust off the glass: "But you are different, Caesar. You have always been special."

"Before your father left, he specially had this painting delivered to you."

His voice was rarely filled with a hint of melancholy. "There is a video clip hidden in the interlayer of the picture frame. Your mother was holding you in her arms while Pompey was clumsily preparing milk powder. That was probably the moment in his life when he looked least like the heir to the Gattuso family."

Caesar supported himself on the ground and slowly sat up. His forehead was bruised from the fall. The hilt of Dickruto's sword was still shining coldly not far away. He stared at his uncle warily, but found that he was now facing away from him, hanging the painting back to its original position.

The sound of the heavy rain was muffled through the double-glazed windows.

"Do you have anything to take? The Harley? The PS2? And your mother's... ashes?"

Frost bent down to pick up Caesar's scattered weapons and returned them to the stunned Caesar, muttering: "It's time to get ready to go! Maybe there are some answers that you are not ready to accept. But we will eventually know the truth, provided... we gain enough power."

As soon as he finished speaking, a deafening roar came from outside the window. Three armed helicopters cut through the rain and hovered over the villa, with the beams of searchlights piercing the darkness like sharp swords.

The hatch opened, and twelve fully armed warriors filed down, their golden eyes blazing, all of them were Gattuso's Beyond Grade A elites.

"Take him away. Inject him with a sedative if necessary." Frost wiped the blood on his back and the tear on his suit, nodded at the dazed Caesar, and signaled the men to step forward.

……

At the same time, Chidorigafuchi.

Chu Zihang walked silently on the wet stone road, rain dripping down his forehead.

Suddenly, there was a faint buzzing sound overhead—a bronze drone cut through the rain and hovered in front of him, with intricate alchemical patterns etched on its wings.

He reached out and removed a long black package from the bottom of the drone. It felt cold and heavy. After completing its mission, the drone quickly took off and disappeared into the lead-gray clouds.

Chu Zihang turned around and handed the package to Yuan Zhisheng beside him, saying calmly, "This is a gift given to you by someone."

Yuan Zhisheng raised his eyebrows and took the package. When his fingertips touched the surface of the package, a piercing chill spread along his skin. He opened the outer layer neatly, and inside was a piece of black ice plate with dense official script engraved on it.

The pen tip is as sharp as a knife, and just looking at it makes people's pupils hurt slightly.

Next to the ice plate, three green jade pill bottles stood side by side, with fine cloud patterns engraved on the bottle bodies and "Blood Cleansing Pill" labels written in cinnabar. A few faint medicinal fragrances emanated from them, with a rusty sweetness, but also a hint of crispness, like the air after the first clear day after snow.

"This is..." Yuan Zhisheng's eyes moved slightly, and his fingertips gently stroked the marks on the black ice board, "Sword Manual?"

Chu Zihang glanced at it calmly and said, "Calligraphy copybook."

"Calligraphy copybook?" Yuan Zhisheng was a little confused. "Who gave it to you?"

"It is used to cultivate one's sentiments and calm one's soul." Chu Zihang briefly introduced: "You said before that past experiences always made you feel confused, so this is the perfect 'wound medicine'. The combination of explicit speech and inner perception can help you regain the motivation to move forward."

"As for those bottles of 'Blood Cleansing Pills', they are actually more like a handover - they are not for you to take, but to stabilize Eri's bloodline. Considering her mental problems, you need to keep them for the time being."

...(End of chapter)