Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

Finally, he looked up and asked, "Pompeii, do you care about Caesar?"

“Yes, I do!” Pompeii replied immediately, his expression as sincere as a saint in a church. “Otherwise, how could I have come back from Thailand and stayed with you, Angers? That elephant in Thailand is named ‘Lucky,’ it’s incredibly smart, it can open beer bottles with its trunk. I was thinking of teaching it to play cards—”

“Then let’s cut to the chase,” Angers interrupted him. “Should we talk about your grandfather’s madness, or about the elephant that can open beer bottles?”

The air in the office seemed to freeze. The wind outside had stopped, and even the squirrels had ceased their scurrying about. Sunlight streamed in at an angle, drawing a line of light and shadow across the desk between the two people, like the Chu-Han border.

Chapter 471 Alliance Documents (Part 1)

Pompeii's smile slowly faded. He didn't answer immediately, but instead stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray—finally using an ashtray this time. The cigar butt hissed softly, a wisp of smoke struggling to rise before dissipating.

“I wasn’t trying to make fun of you.” He smiled again, but this time the smile was much fainter, only lingering at the corners of his mouth. “I was just having a casual chat. My brother Frost is a lunatic. You should be magnanimous and not take him to heart. I know you have a conflict with him. He actually impeached you at the board meeting! What a disgrace!”

He sighed, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness: "I, Pompeii Gattuso, trust you unconditionally. You are our sharpest sword. I've seen how well the academy has developed over the years. But—"

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret: "Dude, I'm all name and no substance now, I've been sidelined for ages. My father, before he died, held my hand and said, 'Pompeii, your task is to produce offspring, to carry on the Gattuso bloodline.' To put it bluntly, I'm a stud. The real power is in Frost's hands; he controls the family trust, all the businesses, and the relationship with the board of trustees. So it's not that I don't support you, it's just that I'm powerless to do so—"

Angers silently raised the ashtray.

I'm not just lifting it up to scare people; I'm really lifting it up to shoulder level. It's a bronze ashtray, a Victorian antique, with an intricate grapevine pattern carved along the rim and an inscription "London, 1887" on the bottom. It weighs about three pounds; if it hit your face, your nose would shatter in an artistic way.

“If I keep rambling on,” Angers said calmly, “I’ll go crazy too. I’m under a lot of stress right now.”

His tone was as if he were asking, "Do you want some sugar?"

Pompeii stared at the ashtray for two seconds, then burst out laughing. It wasn't a fake laugh; it was a genuine laugh, born of genuine amusement. He reached out, took the ashtray, and gently placed it back on the table.

"Oh dear, why the rush? We're practically family," he said, patting Ang Re's hand as if soothing a ruffled cat. "Okay, I admit I was going in circles. It's an occupational hazard; I always start by chatting for half an hour with everyone I meet. I'm here today—"

He sat up straight, the flippant look on his face receding like the tide, revealing the hard rock beneath. "I mainly want to know what tricks those Japanese bastards are playing."

The sunlight shifted half an inch, landing squarely on his face. At that moment, Pompeii Gattuso looked completely different; the cynicism in his eyes had vanished, replaced by the focused intensity of a predator. The smile was still there, but its curve had sharpened. Even the muscles in his arms, casually draped over the back of the chair, seemed more taut.

Angers stared at him for a long time. So long that the wind picked up outside the window again, and the skylight glass vibrated slightly. So long that the tea had completely cooled, and no more steam rose from the surface of the water.

Then he stood up and walked to his desk.

It wasn't the large mahogany table cracked by the parachute jump from Pompeii, but an inconspicuous small side table in the corner. Several ancient books were piled on it, the top one being a 1723 edition of *The Genealogy of the Dragon Clan*. Angers moved the books aside, revealing a hidden compartment beneath. There was no lock, just a slightly darker area on the wooden floor. He pressed his heel on a specific spot, and the compartment popped open with a soft "click."

Angers pulled out a box from inside. The box looked to be over a hundred years old, wrapped in dark green lizard skin with fine, scaly patterns on the surface—it was genuine lizard skin, not embossed. The brass clasps were covered with a thin layer of verdigris, like moss that had grown over time.

The seal bears the emblem of Kassel College: the Half-Dead World Tree, but unlike the current version, this emblem features a dragon coiled beneath the tree, its head raised to the sky, roaring.

Angers placed the box on the tea table. The box landed on the wooden surface with a dull thud, quite heavy.

“The original alliance was between us and the Eight Hermitages of the Snake Clan,” he said, his fingers tracing the copper nails on the lid of the box, his movements as gentle as caressing a lover’s face. “Be careful when you turn it over, don’t damage it. These papers are older than you.”

Pompeii did not open it immediately. He first examined the box, which measured approximately 40×30×15 centimeters. It had no lock, but the structure of the clasps was unusual; they were not ordinary snaps, but rather mortise and tenon joints. He studied them for a few seconds, then pressed the copper clasps at the four corners in a specific order.

"Click, click, click, click."

With four soft clicks, the lid of the box popped open a crack.

Angers raised an eyebrow: "You know how to drive it."

“The Gattuso family also has a copy,” Pompeii said casually, lifting the lid of the box. “It’s a duplicate, though. Frost kept it in his safe, which I opened and looked at three years ago.”

The box was lined with deep red velvet, which had faded and stiffened. On top lay a stack of yellowed and brittle papers, bound together with silk thread. The cover was made of some kind of animal hide—possibly goatskin—using an ancient tanning process, with fine cracks on the surface.

Pompeii didn't reach for it directly with his hands. He took out a pair of white gloves from his shirt pocket—thin lambskin gloves, a habit of old-fashioned nobles. After putting on the gloves, he carefully took out the booklet.

The paper made a crisp "rustling" sound in my hand, like withered leaves in autumn.

“The Secret Party and the Snake Clan are in the form of an alliance,” Angers said, sitting down again and beginning to narrate, his voice as calm as if he were lecturing. “This is almost impossible for a branch. Apart from the mysterious Chinese branch, the Japanese branch is the only one with an equal alliance.”

He picked up the cold tea, took a sip, frowned, but still swallowed it.

"In the 19th century, the Secret Service only knew about the ancient Eastern kingdoms. At that time, we did not know that there were also mixed-race people in Japan. The Dragon Clan's relics are concentrated in Europe and China, the Yellow River Basin, the Mesopotamian Basin, the Nile River Basin, and the Indus River Basin, these are the birthplaces of ancient civilizations."

"In other words, these two places are the cradle of mixed races. Before the Meiji Restoration, Japan was not well-known, and few people knew about the country. In some European fairy tales, the Japanese were depicted as short fishermen living in paper houses, eating sashimi, and being wild and uncivilized."

Angers spoke without any emotion, as if he were reading from a history textbook.

"But after the Meiji Restoration, everything changed. Japan began to learn from the West in an all-round way. They sent outstanding young people to Germany to learn how to build ironclad ships, how to build railways, and how to build a modern army. Among these specially sent students, we discovered Japanese mixed-race people for the first time."

He pointed to the booklet in Pompey's hand: "In 1894, Lord Mayek, you may have heard of him, I know him. One of the three elders of the Secret Service at the time, he represented the Secret Service on a visit to Japan. He traveled by steamship Far East Star, and after half a year at sea, he rounded the Cape of Good Hope, crossed the Indian Ocean, and finally arrived at Yokohama Port. That was the first time that a person of mixed Western descent officially set foot on Japanese soil."

Chapter 472 Alliance Documents (Part 2)

Pompeii turned to the first page of the booklet. The paper was brittle, with wormholes along the edges. The writing was done with a quill pen in cobalt ink, which had turned dark brown after a century. The text was in English, but interspersed with numerous Latin terms.

"In Kyoto, Lord Mayek met with representatives sent by the Hebi-Hachi family," Angers continued, "at Nijo Castle in Kyoto, the former residence of the Tokugawa Shogunate. This was the first contact between the Secret Society and the Hebi-Hachi family. The European mixed-race people were surprised, and the Japanese mixed-race people were also surprised. It was like two people who thought they were living alone on a desert island, suddenly discovering another campfire on the other side of the island."

He paused, gazing out the window as if recalling something. "But both sides were wary of each other, and both sides had formidable fighters. Lord Mayek brought twelve elite members of the Secret Service, each with A-grade bloodlines. The Snake Clan was represented by the heads of the eight clans, each with their family's top swordsman standing behind them. The two sides faced off in the reception room for a full three hours, no one speaking, just sizing each other up. The air was as tense as a fully drawn bowstring."

“And then?” Pompeii asked. He had already turned to the main text of the covenant, his eyes quickly scanning the ancient clauses.

"Then they sat down and signed the alliance," Angers said. "Both sides expressed goodwill: to share dragon intelligence, not to act arbitrarily in each other's territory, and to cooperate in the face of major threats."

"The terms are beautifully written. But due to cultural differences, neither side trusts the other. The Snake Clan has controlled the dark side of Japan for centuries and is unwilling to let our secret party interfere in Japan. Even—"

Angers sneered: "They even want to reverse colonize Europe."

Pompeii turned to the end of the booklet. There were several pages of supplementary clauses, written in both Japanese and English, in relatively recent handwriting.

"After the initial setback, we realized that the Snake Clan had joined the war, in order to deal with us," Angers' voice turned cold, "so they used the Rockefeller and Morgan families, those financial groups with mixed-race backgrounds, to control America. The two sides were fighting fiercely, you know that, right?"

“I understand,” Pompeii nodded, his eyes never leaving the booklet. “In 1943, my father, that crazy old man, secretly provided the Allies with intelligence about the Mediterranean Fleet. Our positions are aligned!”

He raised his head and smiled obsequiously: "With the US and Italy joining forces, the Japanese have been defeated!"

Angers ignored the man's flattery and continued: "In 1946, I went to Tokyo. Not as a victor, but as the leader of the Secret Party, a position that originally belonged to someone else, but who died in 1944 from lung cancer. I met the provisional leader of the Snake-Headed Eight Families at the Akasaka Palace in Tokyo."

“We supplemented this education agreement with the alliance agreement.” Angers took out another document from the box, much thinner than the alliance agreement, only a dozen pages long. “It’s called education, but it’s actually cooperation. According to this agreement, the Snake Clan will regularly select outstanding descendants to come to Kassel College as exchange students to learn modern technology. After these students return to Japan, they gradually establish the Kassel College Japan branch. They are the faction that is close to the college.”

He presented the education agreement to Pompeii: "Although from now on, the Snake Clan will be subordinate to the Secret Party, they will still have autonomy. They can retain their own armed forces, manage all dragon affairs within Japan, and even retain some dragon relics for research purposes."

Pompeii quickly flipped through the education agreement. His reading speed was astonishing, spending only a few seconds on each page, but Angers knew he had memorized it all. The men of the Gattuso family all possessed photographic memories, and Caesar was no exception.

“That’s fine.” Pompeii closed the file, looked up at Angers, and narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you report this to the Board of Trustees? According to Article 17, Section 3 of the Board of Trustees’ charter, any agreement signed between the college and any external organization, especially those involving autonomy, must be reported to all trustees. None of us trustees knew that Japan has such a large degree of autonomy.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table: "Given the strength of our Gattuso family, if my foolish younger brother knew about the situation in the Japanese branch, he'd probably demand that you completely suppress the Snake-Headed Eight Families, right? He'd say, 'Since they belong to the Secret Party, they should be completely obedient. What kind of logic is this of semi-independence?' He'd force you to send an executive branch to Tokyo to take over the Kaguya-hime system and turn the Snake-Headed Eight Families into a true branch. Just like the Chinese branch, although its local power far surpasses that of the Academy, the core power of the branch is in the hands of the Academy."

Pompeii paused, then lowered his voice: "But you don't want to go to war with the Serpent Clan, right? So you kept it a secret. This alliance, this educational agreement, is known only to you and a very few others. The school board is kept in the dark."

Angers remained silent. He picked up his cold tea and took another sip. This time he drank slowly, as if savoring bitter medicine.

“Normally none of this matters,” Pompeii continued, his tone turning serious, “but it matters now. The Japanese branch has defected, the Caesar Group has disappeared, and the multi-billion dollar Trieste and its nuclear power plant are sunk 8000 meters in a trench. The Board of Trustees, especially Frost, can dismiss you for ‘concealing significant information and negligence.’ According to Rule 301, if the president conceals the truth about matters of vital interest to the college, the Board of Trustees has the right to initiate impeachment proceedings, which requires a two-thirds majority vote.”

He looked directly at Angers: "Even Elisabeth Laurent can't protect you. Even though that young girl has a crush on you so much—"

“Pompeii,” Angers interrupted him, his brow furrowed, “don’t talk nonsense.”

Elizabeth Laurent, heiress to the Laurent family and the youngest school board member, is only twenty-four years old. She is indeed Angers' strongest supporter; Frost's several attempts to remove Angers from power have all failed due to Elizabeth's strong opposition.

“Really,” Pompeii chuckled slyly, reverting to his usual nonchalant demeanor. “I can tell Elizabeth really likes old men like Angers with a manly air about them.”

He deliberately dragged out his words, glancing at Anger's response: "That young lady has a nice figure."

Angers raised his teacup. This time it wasn't an ashtray, but a teacup. The cold tea in the porcelain cup swayed slightly, and his somber face was reflected on the surface.

“I was just kidding,” Pompeii quickly reached out and took the teacup from Angers’ hand, his movements so fast they left a blur. “This garment of mine is hand-tailored in Nepal, entirely hand-woven, using flax from the foothills of the Himalayas. It takes three months to weave just one piece. Tea stains can’t be washed off.”

He placed the teacup back on the table and carefully pushed it out of Angers' reach.

Chapter 473 On the Eight Hermitages of the Serpent Clan (Part 1)

“I have a question. It’s true that the Japanese branch has autonomy,” Pompeii changed the subject as quickly as a race car shifting gears, “but with your cunning and treacherous, pui pui pui, shrewd and calculating personality, how could you possibly let the Japanese do things secretly? You must have a backup plan.”

Angers looked at him for a few seconds, then slowly sat back down in his chair. He crossed his arms over his stomach, a relaxed posture, but Pompeii noticed that his index finger was tapping lightly against the knuckle of his thumb, a habitual gesture Angers made when he was thinking.

“I know the Snake Clan is very dissatisfied with their defeat and wants to change the status quo,” Angers said. “They wanted to get rid of us during the Meiji Restoration and again during World War II, but they failed both times. They won’t betray us easily, and they’re not a monolithic entity. As long as there are internal divisions, it’s much easier for us to support the opposition.”

He took a map out of the box and spread it on the table. It was a map of Japan, but instead of cities and rivers, it was marked with various colored blocks and family crests.

“There are eight branch families in total,” Angers said, pointing to the map with his finger. “The Minamoto family, the Uesugi family, the Inuyama family, the Fuma family, the Ryoma family, the Miyamoto family, the Sakurai family, and the Yabuki family. Each branch family has its own territory and businesses, and they do not invade each other. This is how they have maintained a balance for hundreds of years.”

His fingertips traced across Honshu Island: "For example, the Miyamoto family's sphere of influence is shipbuilding; Mitsubishi Heavy Industries and Kawasaki Shipbuilding—these military-industrial companies all have the Miyamoto family's shadow behind them. The Ryoma family's sphere of influence is arms; they control 60% of the weapons trade within Japan. The Inuyama family…"

Angers paused for a moment, then said, “It’s the sex industry. Kabukicho in Shinjuku, the sex shops in Roppongi, Tobita Shinchi in Osaka—these places all have to pay protection money to the Inuyama family.”

Pompeii whistled: "The division of labor is very clear, the underworld is industrialized. The underworld aristocracy of thousands of years has not been called that for nothing. Our Gattuso family is far from that. The old man in the family is still talking nonsense all day long, which gives me a headache."

“It was not only explicit, but also strict,” Angers said. “If a family wanted to interfere in another family’s business, they had to resolve the issue through violence. In 1957, the Ryoma family wanted to get involved in the shipbuilding industry and opened a shipyard in Nagasaki. Three days later, an accidental explosion occurred at the shipyard, killing seventeen workers. The Ryoma family knew that the Miyamoto family was responsible, but they could not produce any evidence and could only tolerate it.”

He looked up at Pompeii: "This is just an internal conflict. More importantly, they also have external enemies."

Angers pulled a photograph from under the map and pushed it in front of Pompeii. The photograph was black and white, somewhat blurry, and appeared to have been taken secretly. It showed a man in a black kimono standing in front of a shrine, with a group of people also dressed in black behind him. The man had two swords at his waist.

“The Demon Clan,” Angers said, “is the mortal enemy of the Hebi-Hachi family. It’s also a criminal organization, but more secretive and more insane. It’s made up of traitors from the Hebi-Hachi family. Those hybrids with unstable bloodlines, on the verge of becoming Death Warriors. They are very powerful in southern Japan, controlling the underworld of Kyushu and Okinawa.”

Pompeii picked up the photograph and examined it closely. The man in the photo was young, probably in his early twenties, but his eyes looked as aged as if he had lived for a hundred years. There was a strange tattoo on the corner of his mouth, not an ordinary tattoo, but a dragon pattern.

“There have been constant conflicts and bloodshed between the Oni Clan and the Snake-Headed Eight Families over the years,” Angers continued. “Every few years, a large-scale street war breaks out. In Osaka in 1998, in Fukuoka in 2005, and most recently in Shinjuku, Tokyo in 2010, more than a hundred people died, but the media reported it as a gang fight.”

“From this perspective, the power of the Demon Clan is much smaller than that of the Snake-Headed Eight Families. However, it is impossible to completely eradicate them; the Snake-Headed Eight Families cannot afford the price,” Pompeii put down the photograph. “The two sides have been in a long-term standoff, like the Cold War.”

“That’s right,” Angzhe nodded. “That’s one of the reasons why I feel comfortable letting the Japanese branch be autonomous. They have internal problems and dare not provoke us easily. Moreover, the existence of the Demon Clan is, in a sense, also our bargaining chip. If the Snake-Headed Eight Families dare to rebel, we can support the Demon Clan and reshuffle the Japanese underworld.”

Pompeii was silent for a few seconds, then curled his lip: "The Japanese are too lenient with traitors. If there were a traitor in the Gattuso family, Frost would spare no effort to hunt them down to the ends of the earth and kill their entire family, not even sparing their dogs."

Angers looked at him. "Frost is only acting as head of the family. What about you? What would you do if there were a traitor in the Gattuso family?"

“Why should I be in such a hurry?” Pompeii shrugged, picked up his cigar again, and although it was extinguished, he still had it in his mouth like he was chewing a lollipop. “Anyway, Frost will be in a hurry. There’s an old Chinese saying, ‘The emperor isn’t worried, but the eunuch is.’ I’m the emperor, and he’s the eunuch.”

Angers almost burst out laughing, but he held it in. "Your Chinese is very good. You even know how to use proverbs like 'The emperor isn't worried, but the eunuch is.'"

“I’ve dated a few Chinese girlfriends,” Pompeii said proudly, his eyes shining. “One of them was a girl from Beijing, who taught me a lot of Chinese proverbs. ‘A weasel paying respects to a chicken,’ ‘A toad wanting to eat swan meat,’ ‘A dog catching a mouse is meddling in other people’s business’… I know them all! It would be even better if I had an Egyptian girlfriend.”

“Go to the Valley of the Queens to dig up female mummies for company,” Angers scoffed. “Ancient artifacts from a thousand years ago are just what your collecting hobby is all about.”

"Hey! You know what!" Pompeii sat up abruptly, as if his excitement had been hit. "I recently acquired a female mummy! From the Eighteenth Dynasty, a noblewoman from the time of Thutmose III. The stone outer coffin is decorated with gold paintings of her appearance in life, and the contents of the shroud are perfectly intact, even her hair is still there!"

He pulled his phone out of his pocket; it hadn't broken during the skydive. He swiped the screen rapidly. "Let me find some photos. Sotheby's had one last month, but it was in terrible condition; the shroud was tattered. I don't want it."

He talked incessantly, his eyes glued to his phone screen, his fingers swiping rapidly. The cigar in his mouth swayed up and down as he spoke.

Angers stared at him for a full ten seconds.

Then he slowly stood up, walked to his desk, and took something out of the drawer. A revolver. A Colt Python, silver body, walnut grip, .357 Magnum. The gun was in excellent condition.

Angers placed the gun on the tea table, next to the ancient covenant box. The metal struck the wooden tabletop with a dull thud.