Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

The cobblestone path covered with cherry blossoms was filled with meows.

Two fat cats, regular residents of the Blackstone mansion, peeked out from the cracks in the living room's French windows to watch the commotion. They had been fast asleep on the shelf above the fireplace. The gunshots and explosions had startled them awake.

The two cats nestled at Su Enxi's feet, tilting their heads and sniffing around, their faces full of inquisitive curiosity, just like the expressions they had when they were first packed into airline crates and transported here ten years ago.

“The cat still recognizes your scent,” Kimura Hiroshi said, trying to lighten the mood.

“How could two fat cats possibly know me?” Su Enxi tilted her head to look at the cats, her expression somewhat strange.

The fat cats tilted their heads to look at Su Enxi, their faces clearly saying, "What are you two-legged creatures doing?"

Hiroshi Kimura had no idea what was going on, but he felt that the driver who brought the cat back then was absolutely right. When the driver unloaded the cat cage, he muttered, "The things the owner tells me are all strange, and the cat is raised strangely too. It's true that like owner, like cat."

"Is this Ieyasu?" Su Enxi extended her index finger and lightly tapped the cat sister's nose, then turned to the cat brother, "Is that Nobunaga?"

“Ah, they’re not Ieyasu or Nobunaga,” Kimura Hiroshi said, quite surprised, his hand holding the tray pausing slightly. “Have you forgotten to name them?”

The owner actually forgot the cat's name? This doesn't seem like something someone as meticulous and thorough as her would do. Unless…

“I didn’t name them,” Su Enxi smiled. “These cats aren’t for me to keep, they’re for my boss. He’s also the one who wanted to buy the Blackstone Mansion.”

She crouched down, the hem of her yukata trailing on the damp gravel. Reaching out to pet the cat's head, her fingers paused about two centimeters from its fur. The cat cautiously took a step back, arching its back, but its tail tip curled up curiously. After a three-second standoff, the cat relented, nuzzling its forehead against her fingertips.

“I’m just temporarily managing it,” Su Enxi said softly, her fingers gently scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Managing the villa, managing the cat, managing a lot of things. Just temporarily managing it.”

The ground shook, but this time the tremor didn't originate from the sea. To the northwest of Atami, a spectacular column of dust rose into the black night sky.

“Mount Fuji.” Kimura Hiroshi stared at the beam of light, took out his phone, and quickly checked several earthquake monitoring websites. “The Hakone, Gotemba, and Fuji monitoring stations are all reporting anomalies. It’s not because of the earthquake just now; Mount Fuji itself has started to move.”

"Oh, how amazing," Su Enxi said, gazing at the night sky, the wide sleeves of her yukata fluttering in the night breeze. "The tectonic plates are so unstable. Or rather, the entire Japanese archipelago is just a pile of flammable debris scraped off when the Pacific Plate burrowed beneath the Eurasian Plate?"

Along with the flashing dust columns, scattered streaks of fire shot into the sky, tracing parabolic trajectories across the night sky before cooling and falling as a rain of black gravel.

“Some people say that Japan’s foundation is very unstable. The Pacific Plate, the Philippine Sea Plate, and the Eurasian Plate are colliding and pressing together here, and sooner or later it will sink into the Pacific Ocean, just like Atlantis, which disappeared under the waves overnight,” said Hiroshi Kimura.

"Just don't let it collapse before I leave Japan," Su Enxi said knowingly, and now she just wanted to rest.

Chapter 466 Please come in, gentlemen.

Schneider and Manstein exchanged a glance and sighed in unison. Their footsteps echoed in the empty corridors of Valhalla, like two prisoners walking to their execution. This wasn't the first time they'd knocked on the principal's office door today.

Three hours earlier, Vice Principal Flamel had just come out of here. They were waiting at the corner of the corridor when they saw the silver-haired old cowboy humming a tune, carrying a half-empty bottle of whiskey, swaying as he walked downstairs, muttering, "What could possibly happen to that old hag Frilline?"

They knew the vice-principal was referring to Frilian. The silver-haired, blue-eyed girl who had come to the academy with Lu Mingfei had been in Kassel for two whole years. As Frilian's nominal mentor, Flamel wasn't worried about her disappearance at all.

Just now, Schneider stopped him at the stairwell to ask him questions.

“Frilian? She went to Japan with Lu Mingfei, didn’t she?” Flamel took a swig of his drink and let out a loud burp. “Don’t worry about it, Schneider. She’s lived longer than all the professors in our school combined. She’s seen enough to cure your lung disease. Besides—” he winked, “Do you really think Angers can’t contact her? The old fox is hiding something.”

These words made Schneider's heart sink. He recalled the numerous assessment tests that Frilian had conducted when she first arrived. It wasn't that her displayed power of words was so amazing, but rather the line Norma had highlighted in red at the end of the report: "Individual age cannot be accurately calculated, preliminary estimate of existence time exceeds a thousand years, danger rating: S (close monitoring recommended)."

Two years have passed, and this super dangerous individual spends most of his time sleeping in the library's antiquarian section or making Manstein's blood pressure spike during alchemy and chemistry classes. His only hobby is browsing the Night Watchers forum with Lu Mingfei.

But now she's out of contact, with Caesar's group.

Schneider's hand paused in mid-air for a few seconds before finally striking the small bronze bell on the door. The bell's clear sound echoed through the quiet corridor like a pebble thrown into a deep pool.

“Finally here, gentlemen. Please come in, the door is unlocked,” came a calm, unsettling voice from inside.

Schneider pushed open the door, and a familiar scene came into view. The walls were lined with dark walnut bookshelves, stretching from the floor to the top of the small building, reaching a height of three stories. Tens of thousands of ancient books were arranged in some order that only Angers could understand, their leather covers gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Sunlight streamed down from the skylight, cutting golden beams through the floating dust, like an ancient ritual scene. Squirrels darted between the bookshelves, the soft sound of their claws scraping against the spines of the books the only sign of life in the space.

Angers sat beneath the skylight on the top floor, where a Ming-style Chinese huanghuali tea table stood. He was using small tweezers to place sugar cubes into a bone china cup. Sunlight fell on his silver-gray hair, each strand meticulously combed. His suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing a Patek Philippe Ref. 2458—an antique from 1945, its dial adorned with a miniature enamel painting depicting a scene from the Trojan War.

“I know what you want to say,” Angers looked up and smiled toward the stairs. His smile had a strange soothing quality, like the eerie calm in the eye of a storm. “Looking so gloomy isn’t good. Let’s go upstairs first. I’ve brewed some Ceylon highland black tea, autumn-picked from the Nuwara Eliya region, which goes perfectly with lemon verbena.”

Schneider and Manstein ascended the spiral staircase. Ivy twined around the wrought-iron railings, its leaves almost translucent in the sunlight. Manstein's leather shoes creaked on the wooden steps. Every detail of this small building, constructed in 1901, reminded you of the weight of time.

They sat down opposite each other in Angers. Two high-backed chairs, clearly intended for visitors, had velvet upholstery worn smooth by wear. The aroma of tea mingled with the scents of aged paper from ancient books and leather. For a moment, neither knew where to begin. The past twelve hours flashed through their minds like a fast-forwarded disaster movie, scenes replaying frame by frame.

Sonar detected unusual geological activity deep in the Japan Trench, with rock layers uplifting at a rate of 47 meters per hour, which is geologically equivalent to "building a skyscraper from flat ground".

The Trieste transmitted high-definition images.

Communications at the Japanese branch were interrupted. It wasn't a technical malfunction; it was a deliberate cutoff. In the last frame of the communication, Genji's face flashed briefly on the screen, with the background behind him being the Kaguya-hime control room, and all the screens were scrolling the same line of Japanese: "Severance."

An underwater volcano erupted. When the seismic waves reached Kassel, the teacup on the table was still shaking. Norma calculated the equivalent to 1500 million tons of TNT, but strangely, the energy release was confined to a radius of 5 kilometers, like a directed explosion.

The Caesar Group has lost contact.

The first wave of the tsunami reached the coast of Atami. In the satellite images Norma retrieved, the white walls of waves engulfed the seawall in slow motion, and vehicles were tossed about like toys.

A swarm of humanoid creatures. When the word appeared on Schneider's screen, he thought Norma had made a mistake. But infrared thermal imaging showed that more than three hundred humanoid creatures were moving toward the coastline at a speed of 60 knots per hour, with a constant body temperature of 35 degrees Celsius—a characteristic of mammals.

The weapon systems of the USS George Washington carrier strike group of the Seventh Fleet activated automatically. Without any order, 24 Tomahawk missiles soared from the vertical launch cells, leaving 24 white streaks in the sky, like the Grim Reaper drawing his bow.

Now, they sit here, teacups steaming in front of them, squirrels munching on nuts on the bookshelf above. It's absurd, like a nightmare.

“Things haven’t gotten to the worst yet,” Angers finally broke the silence. He gently stirred the tea in his cup with a silver teaspoon, the lemon slice swirling in the amber liquid.

"Thankfully, we have the Seventh Fleet's Tomahawk and Standard missiles; otherwise, tomorrow morning, every major newspaper in the world would be running headlines about aliens. I've even come up with the layout for the New York Times: the top half of the front page will be photos of those Deadpools on Hot Beach, and the bottom half will be an expert interview: 'Unknown Creatures or Products of Soviet Biological Experiments?'"

He spoke with his eyes on his teacup, his tone as relaxed as if he were discussing the weekend's cricket match. But Schneider noticed that the headmaster stirred his tea faster than usual, a detail he had learned from psychological profiling—that people unconsciously speed up repetitive actions under pressure.

"We haven't yet found out who hacked into the Seventh Fleet and manipulated the fire control system to open fire," Schneider's voice came from behind the breathing mask. "The technical department tracked 37 jump servers, distributed in Iceland, the Urals, Patagonia... The last signal disappeared somewhere in the Sahara Desert. It seems they don't want the Dragon Clan's secrets to be leaked either."

He paused for a moment, "But the loss of missiles worth over one hundred million dollars will be thoroughly investigated by the United States no matter what. The Naval Criminal Investigative Service has already intervened, and their specialists will arrive in Yokosuka in three hours."

Chapter 467 Collective Betrayal

“Don’t worry about that,” Angers said, raising his eyes.

“Since those who secretly helped us gained access to the Seventh Fleet’s fire control system, they must have also thought about the cleanup. I bet the NCIS commissioner’s computer already has a perfect investigation report: system vulnerabilities, contractor errors, a major’s misoperation… the chain is clear, the responsibility is well-defined.” He smiled, fine wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know their identities, but without a doubt, they are a group of geniuses. The work of artists.”

Manstein cleared his throat. He took a fax sheet from his briefcase; the edges of the paper were curled, as if it had been crumpled repeatedly.

"We received a mass resignation letter faxed from the Japanese branch this morning. It arrived at exactly 8:00 AM, using the college's encrypted channel. Ironic, isn't it?"

He unfolded the document, a bilingual text in Japanese and English, formatted as neatly as a legal document. At the bottom were densely packed signatures and seals, from the eight families of the Snake Clan to the Minamoto and Fuuma families, none were missing. In the "Reason for Resignation" section, he wrote only four Chinese characters: "Different Paths".

“This is a letter of collective defection from the Japanese branch,” Angers said, taking the fax, glancing at it, and placing it on the tea table. He used the bottom of his cup to weigh down a corner of the paper to prevent it from being blown away by the breeze from the window. “Those Japanese have finally betrayed us. Ever since they joined the Secret Service in 1945, they’ve been waiting for this day, waiting for an opportunity to get rid of Big Brother. Different paths? That’s just an excuse.”

A squirrel leaped down from the top shelf and landed on Angers' shoulder. The headmaster took a hazelnut out of his pocket and fed it to the little creature, which held it with its two front paws, the sound of its front teeth cracking the hard shell ringing out clearly. The scene was so ordinary, so ordinary it was chilling; the outside world was collapsing, and here someone was feeding a squirrel.

"Couldn't get in touch with Caesar's group?" Angers asked, his eyes fixed on the squirrel.

"We couldn't get in touch," Manstein's voice trailed off. "The Trieste broke apart at a depth of 10,000 meters, with a very low survival rate, not to mention the underwater volcanic eruption, nuclear explosion, and swarms of zombies. Norma conducted 137 simulations, with variables including ocean current speed, water temperature, oxygen levels, and the mobility of the wounded..."

“What are the chances of survival?” Angers interrupted him. He stopped feeding the squirrel.

Manstein hesitated for a few seconds. This was out of character for him; as the head of the disciplinary committee, he was known for his precision and ruthlessness. But at that moment, the numbers felt like lead weights stuck in his throat.

"At most 1%."

The teaspoon touched the side of the cup, making a soft "ting" sound.

"1%, if the Caesar Group wants to survive, it's like you going into a bar blindfolded, finding a random seat, taking off the blindfold, and finding yourself sitting next to a stunning beauty like Audrey Hepburn?" Angers said.

He gently lifted the squirrel off his shoulder and placed it on the bookshelf. "It has to be Hepburn from the 'Roman Holiday' era, not the one from her later years."

He sighed, his voice weary: "That won't do. Our dear parents will be furious. Especially the Gattuso family, they raised Caesar as a prince, and a prince can't die in an 8000-meter-deep trench."

Schneider's fingers tightened on his knees. His breathing mask hissed slightly as his circulatory system pressurized.

"And it gets worse. Norma is now banned. The Kaguya clan's Kaguya-hime system has built a firewall, blocking Norma from the outside. Norma tried 700 penetration methods, all of which were blocked. The Japanese internet is now a black hole; we can't see anything."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. This posture made him look like a raptor poised to pounce.

"Without Norma, we've lost our eyes to observe Japan. Even if Caesar's group survives, even if that 1% miracle happens, they won't be able to contact us. They'll eventually be captured by the Snake Clan. According to the betrayal agreement, the Executive Department has the right to deal with members of the betrayal organization..."

“Kill them on the spot,” Angers finished for him.

Silence. The tea has gone cold.

“If Norma can’t do it, let Eva do it,” Angers said.

Schneider looked up abruptly. Manstein's teacup wobbled, and a few drops of tea splashed onto the table, quickly absorbed by the mahogany, leaving dark spots.

“Principal, are you sure?” Schneider’s voice was tense. “If Eva’s personality is awakened, her authority will even surpass yours. She is Norma’s ‘war mode,’ designed for full-scale conflict. Once activated, she will take over all of the academy’s defense systems, the global surveillance network, and even…”

“Even resorting to the ultimate means buried at the very bottom of the icebox,” Angers calmly continued. “I know. We did a test in 2002. In its fully-fledged form, Eva could cripple the Pentagon’s mainframe in 17 minutes and blind all of NORAD’s radars in 23 minutes. She is a weapon, Schneider, and we need weapons now.”

"But the Board of Trustees—"

“I’ll handle the board of directors situation,” Angers said, pulling a black card from his suit pocket. The card was plain black with no markings, matte finish, and edged with almost invisible silver lines—mithril, which had a suppressive effect on words of power.

"The other one is with the vice principal. Manstein, go ask him for it. With two black cards and my authorization letter, we can wake up Eva. Tell her the attack target: all network nodes in Japan, with a focus on the seven main servers of Princess Kaguya. Show no mercy, we need to gouge out the 'eyes' of the Snake Clan."

Schneider took the card. It felt cool to the touch, like holding a block of ice. The card didn't reflect sunlight; instead, it seemed to absorb the light, and staring at it for too long gave one the illusion of being sucked in.

“Is there anything else we can do for you, Principal?” he asked.

"wait."

"wait?"

“The Gattuso family is coming,” Angers said, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was a cuckoo clock, its wooden casing blackened, but its mechanism still precise. The little bird popped out, chirped ten times, and then retreated.

“Six hours have passed since the explosion, enough time for Frost to fly here from Rome. The Gattuso family has a private jet, a Bombardier Globe 8000, with a top speed of Mach 0.925. It only takes eight hours from Rome to Chicago, but he would definitely have the pilot speeding. I guess,” Angers narrowed his eyes. “He would apply for air corridor priority under the guise of emergency medical evacuation, which would make it even faster.”

Angers spun his seat to face the sunroof. "Hopefully things go smoothly, but negotiations require leverage, and what I have on hand right now," he said, spreading his hands, palm up, "not many."

The phone on the table rang.

Chapter 468 Pompeii: Angers, I'm here

Schneider and Manstein realized that the call was probably not friendly. The principal of Angers, as if guided by intuition, said six hours was six hours—the Gattuso family was coming to investigate.

Right now, a furious Frost Gattuso is probably on the CC1000 express train from Chicago to Kassel College, a train with a private compartment for board members, champagne chilled and cigars provided, but Frost is probably in no mood for that. He'll only be checking his watch repeatedly, calculating how much longer it will take before he can grab Angers by the neck.

Angers slowly sat up straight. This simple movement had a ritualistic quality to him; his spine straightened vertebra by vertebra, his shoulder blades retracted, and his chin slightly raised. He reached for the receiver, the movement slow, as if giving the other person enough time to prepare their emotions.

“Hello, this is Angers,” he said calmly.

"Hey! What a nice day! Are you in the office right now?" The voice on the other end of the phone wasn't Frost's angry tone; it sounded rather lively. It had that "Hey bro, buddy, wanna join the fun?" vibe. There was the sound of wind in the background, a very strong wind, as if they were standing in an open area.

Angers was stunned. This reaction was rare; Schneider had known the principal for seventeen years and had never seen such an expression on his face: surprise, confusion, and a hint of helplessness.

“Where are the Frostmen? Why are you here?” Angers asked.

"It's a long story, I'll tell you in detail later. Is the skylight in your office open?"