Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

Pompeii's voice stopped abruptly. He looked up and saw the gun, and then he saw Angers' face.

"Pompeii, you care less about Caesar than you care about Egyptian mummies?"

Chapter 474 On the Eight Hercules Clan (Part 2)

The moment Pompeii put away his phone, Angers suddenly had a strange feeling, as if time had turned back ten years.

It was the same ten years ago. In a suite at the Ritz Hotel in Paris, with the Arc de Triomphe lit up outside the window, a 1938 Château Margaux red wine sat on the table. That meeting was supposed to discuss the final arrangements for the "archaeological project," how to excavate the bedchamber of a distinguished second-generation descendant.

But with Pompeii present, the conversation veered from dragon alchemy to which region's wines, Burgundy or Bordeaux, pair better with foie gras, and then to the superb ski resort he had discovered on the southern slopes of the Alps. "The snow there is as smooth as a maiden's skin; you won't even feel pain if you fall!" That's what he said at the time.

As the head of the Gattuso family and a top-notch playboy of his time, Pompeii was incredibly learned. He could discuss everything from the lighting techniques of the Venetian school of Renaissance painting to the unique characteristics of Mizunara barrel aging in contemporary Japanese whisky. He could talk about the proportions of the human body in ancient Greek sculptures to the aerodynamic design of the latest Ferrari.

When he talked about these things, he was knowledgeable and charming. Everyone at the table was infected by his "I'm sick, but that doesn't mean you're not" attitude, and the topic was steered to his grandmother's house.

“I care about Caesar, I’ve said it many times,” Pompeii said regretfully, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. The last glimmer of light from the golden-masked mummy on the screen disappeared into the folds of the fabric.

“He’s very lucky, he’ll be fine. Life is about enjoying it, and death is about waiting for it. That’s what I learned from an Indian yoga master. He should still be meditating in a Himalayan cave. When I visited him last time, I gave him a Patek Philippe watch. He said time is just an illusion, but he still happily accepted it.”

Angers didn't respond to that. He walked to the window; the crack in the skylight glass, caused by the parachute line, looked like a silver scar in the sunlight. He reached out and gently touched the crack. The glass was cold.

“Let’s continue talking about the Japanese,” Pompeii stood up, his bare feet on the carpet, and walked to Angers’ side, looking out at the campus scenery. “Angers, you’ve planted quite a few spies in the Snake Clan, so they can’t betray the Secret Party?”

“Yes, a disunited organization has no cohesion. The two factions will fight each other endlessly, wasting the country’s resources.” Angers withdrew his hand, turned and walked to the tea table, his back straight as a saber. “Only a strong leader can lead the way. Hitler’s blitzkrieg against Poland, Thatcher’s failed Falklands War.”

He sat down again and poured himself a fresh cup of tea. The water was already cold, the tea leaves hadn't fully unfurled, and the tea was rather pale, but he still took a sip.

“Now, the Snake Clan has betrayed us just like that.” Angers raised his eyes. “That means someone wants to act recklessly! It’s not just one of the eight clan heads. I’ve met all those people; they wouldn’t dare to act recklessly and know how to weigh the pros and cons. This leader is an old man, aged, radical, and has enough prestige to shut everyone up and make them obey.”

"To solve the problem with the Japanese, we need to capture their leader first. We need to eliminate the mastermind behind it all." Pompeii returned to his seat, leaning forward, hands on his knees, eyes gleaming. "A decapitation strike! Find him, kill him, and the remaining rabble will naturally reconsider their allegiance. You must have made up your mind; someone as vengeful as him, how could the Japanese not severely punish them for betrayal?"

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing some exciting secret: "Tell me, tell me, how are you going to deal with those Japanese? What do you need me to provide? Money? People? Equipment? I have a mercenary group in Italy, former SAS members, skilled in infiltration and assassination. Want to lend it to you? No money required, consider it a father's investment in his son."

“No need,” Angers put down his teacup, the porcelain clinking against the wooden table. “I do have a sanction plan, but I won’t tell you.”

"You're being too polite!" Pompeii exclaimed, his eyes wide, looking like a child whose candy had been snatched away. "Gattuso is the largest shareholder of the academy! Do you know how much money the Gattuso Foundation puts into the Kassel account every year? Nine figures! US dollars! Can't you tell me a little more? Just a little bit!"

He clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture, his eyes blinking like a puppy.

Angers looked at him for three seconds, then said, "Aren't you being sidelined? It's no use talking to you. You might as well switch to Frost."

These were harsh and sarcastic remarks. But Pompeii's reaction was unexpected.

He paused for a second, then burst out laughing. It wasn't a fake laugh; it was a genuine, hearty laugh. He laughed so hard he was doubled over, tears streaming down his face, slapping his thighs as he laughed.

"Good, good, good!" He gave a thumbs up, his fingers long and slender, his nails neatly trimmed. "I love a tough guy like you! You're so stubborn! Only someone like you can achieve great things! I wasn't wrong about you! Angers, you're the toughest old man I've ever met!"

He laughed so hard he could hardly breathe, and he had to hold onto the table to keep from sliding off his chair.

Angers stared at him expressionlessly. Only after the laughter subsided did he coldly say, "The self-inflicted injury ruse won't work. I'm not Zhou Yu; I won't tell you the plan."

“Okay, I know, it’ll be a secret.” Pompeii wiped away the tears of laughter and sat up straight. “I’m not an assassin, nor am I here to gather intelligence. I just came to see you, Angers, and I’m satisfied to see that you’re in good spirits.”

He touched his long, golden hair, which was neatly trimmed and had a honey-like sheen in the sunlight.

“I’m a sentimental person, you know that. In 2005, when you were hospitalized in Washington for appendicitis surgery, I flew there to see you and brought a bouquet of flowers. Although the nurses said that you can’t bring flowers into the ward because pollen is bad for patients, I still secretly put them under your pillow.”

"Those were poppies, Pompeii. When the anesthesia wore off and I woke up, I found my pillow covered in poppy petals. I thought I had traveled back to the Opium War era."

“It’s just a symbolic gesture! I hope you get some rest!” Pompeii smiled. “Anyway, the main reason I came here is to get an explanation from you, so I can face the old folks in the family. You know it’s not easy for me either, with so many elders in my family, all sorts of aunts and uncles, and they all blame me for everything.”

He sighed, his expression suddenly turning sorrowful: "On the other hand, my son's disappearance is none of their business. It's all the emperor who's not worried, but the eunuchs are, chattering away like crazy. I'm a powerless emperor, middle-aged, surrounded by eunuchs who hurl insults at me; life is tough. Historically, emperors like this never had a good ending."

He shook his head, his tone mournful, as if he were truly an emperor whose power had been usurped by eunuchs.

Chapter 475 Pompeii, Return

Angers was speechless, then lowered his head, rubbing his forehead and sighing. He finally understood. Why the Gattuso family kept their patriarch hidden behind the scenes, preventing him from meeting guests.

It's not that I'm afraid he'll embarrass himself, but that I'm afraid he'll lead everyone astray. Pompeii Gattuso is like a source of mental pollution from the Cthulhu Mythos; whenever he's around, any serious occasion turns into a stand-up comedy show. He uses that flippant, cynical attitude to demystify the most serious topics into jokes and describe the most dangerous situations as adventurous games.

It is a talent, and also a weapon.

"Oh dear, I forgot something important." Pompeii suddenly changed the subject, his sadness vanishing and replaced by enthusiasm. "Come hear about my latest research findings? I've made a major discovery!"

"The great scientist has arrived," Angers said sarcastically. "Dr. Pompeii, what is your research topic? 'Is it better for women to wear long or short skirts during a date?' 'A quantitative analysis of the attraction of different perfumes to the opposite sex?'"

Only after he finished speaking did he realize that Pompeii actually had a doctoral degree.

Pompe Gattuso studied at ETH Zurich. Although it is not as famous as Harvard or Stanford, those in the know understand that it is the top technical university in Europe, and many Nobel laureates have graduated from it.

The alumni directory includes names that illuminate the history of science, such as Röntgen, the discoverer of X-rays, Pauli, one of the founders of quantum mechanics, and Einstein. A bronze statue of Einstein still stands on campus, inscribed with his famous quote: "Imagination is more important than knowledge."

Pompeii graduated from ETH Zurich with straight A's, which was quite surprising.

Rumor has it that Pompeii dated half the girls in the academy, a truly unprecedented feat. Nobody knows how he did it.

Rumors circulated that he invented a Pompeii pickup line, combining psychology, linguistics, and behavioral science, capable of making any woman interested in him within three minutes. Other rumors suggested he used money to woo women, but since most of the Swiss women came from wealthy families, this claim seemed unlikely.

“I am a great scientist! Thank you for the compliment.” Pompeii said with beaming eyes, completely oblivious to Angers’ sarcasm, or perhaps he noticed but didn’t care.

“I recently started dating a female PhD student, and female PhD students are amazing! They’re smart, independent, insightful, and,” he said in a low, mysterious voice, “they look incredibly sexy in their lab coats. You know, I met a female PhD student in particle physics in Geneva. She works at CERN, specializing in the Higgs boson. When we went on our date, she talked to me about quantum entanglement, which made me dizzy, but the sense of conquest that comes with a smart woman, wow.”

He smacked his lips, his eyes glazed over, as if savoring some delicious treat.

"What female PhD? Why bring up something you shouldn't talk about? Go away!" Angers interrupted him impatiently, tapping his fingers on the table. "If you're not going to get to the point, then please leave. Turn left at the bottom of the stairs, and remember to close the door behind you!"

This was a clear order to leave. The tone was cold and left no room for negotiation.

Pompeii's smile froze. He stared at Angers for a few seconds, then slowly dropped his nonchalant expression.

"Waaah," he whispered, a hint of grievance in his voice, "I'm sincere. Don't you want to know how Takamagahara sank into the Abyss?"

He looked up, his eyes filled with pain, as if betrayed by his most trusted friend: "I considered you a good friend, and I told you this right away! I didn't even tell Frost!"

Angers' gaze sharpened, like a renowned sword hidden in its sheath, suddenly revealing a glint of cold light.

“Go on,” he said. His voice was soft, but the air in the office tensed.

Pompeii didn't speak. He lowered his head, fidgeting with his fingers, as if in a huff. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds passed in silence…

Then he suddenly stood up, turned and walked away. Not pretending, but really. He walked barefoot on the carpet, his steps quick, toward the stairs. The white parachute trailed behind him like a long skirt.

“Not interested, don’t want to talk about it,” he said without turning his head, his voice muffled. “I’ll talk to someone who values ​​me. Like Vice Principal Flamel, he should be interested in this.”

He walked to the top of the stairs, stopped, and glanced back at Angers. His eyes were complex, containing disappointment, grievance, and a hint of cunning.

Then he actually started going down the stairs.

One step, two steps, three steps...

Angers sat motionless in his chair. His fingers tapped lightly on the table, a steady rhythm. His eyes were fixed on Pompeii's retreating figure, his pupils devoid of any emotion.

Four steps, five steps, six steps...

Pompeii had already descended half a floor, his figure partially obscured by the bookshelves.

seven steps.

“Pompeii,” Angers began, his voice not loud.

Pompeii stopped. But he didn't turn around; he simply turned his head to the side, his ear facing Angers.

“Come back,” Angers said. It wasn’t a request, it was an order.

Pompeii stood there, frozen for a few seconds. Then he slowly turned around and slowly walked back. His steps were slow, as if he were weighing something. He went back up the stairs and sat down again opposite Angers.

The two stared at each other. The tense atmosphere lasted for a full minute. The only sounds in the office were the ticking of the clock and the occasional chirping of birds outside the window.

In the end, it was Pompeii who broke down first. He chuckled, a light laugh that seemed to be unable to contain itself and carried the air of a mischievous triumph.

“I was just kidding, bro,” he chuckled mischievously, his eyes crinkling into crescents. “Don’t be so tense. You’re still the same as always, Angers. You’re a playboy on the surface, just like me, though you pretend to be more serious than me. But the moment you hear about anything involving the dragons, you immediately become alert. Your ears perk up, your pupils contract, and your whole body tenses up.”

He shook his head, his tone tinged with admiration: "This kind of instinct can't be faked. You're a hunter at heart, Angers. Dragons are your prey, always will be."

Angers didn't reply. He just stared at Pompeii, his eyes sharp as a scalpel, as if trying to dissect that cynical exterior to see what lay beneath.

Pompeii felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze and coughed. Then he lifted the back of his suit jacket, revealing several creases on the back of the handmade Nepalese linen suit, worn smooth by parachute lines. He pulled a chip case from his lower back.

A military-grade data storage device with a black metal casing and rubber waterproof rings around the edges. It's about the size of a deck of cards and approximately one centimeter thick.

He slid the chip case toward Angers along the tabletop. The metal casing slid across the wooden surface, making a soft, rustling sound.

Chapter 476 Geological Changes in Japan (Part 1)

“The content involves too many specialized fields, and Angers, you haven’t studied this area, so you probably won’t understand it,” Pompeii said, his tone suddenly losing its usual flippancy. “Therefore, let Dr. Pompeii Gattuso explain it to you personally.”

Angers picked up the chip box. It was much heavier than he had expected; the metal casing was cold and heavy. He opened the lid, and a black chip was quietly embedded in the velvet lining.

“Honestly, I’ve never understood,” Angers stared at the chip, “how could someone like you study geophysics? In my opinion, wouldn’t studying art history or painting have been more helpful for your ‘lifelong career of picking up girls’?”

“Geophysics is the school’s flagship major, the most difficult major at ETH Zurich,” Pompeii replied matter-of-factly. “Our Gattuso family has always been known for riding the fastest horses, chasing the most beautiful women, and slaying the most ferocious dragons.”

He paused deliberately, then flashed a dazzling smile. "And also, study the most difficult major. You have to do everything to the extreme, don't you?"

Angers didn't reply. He silently got up and walked to the other side of the office. On the table sat a laptop, its casing pure black, without any brand logo; it was a custom-made device from the academy's equipment department.

He turned on the computer and inserted the chip into the interface. The screen lit up, displaying a simple input box, and the cursor blinked silently.

“The password is 'Cleopatra1963',” Pompeii’s voice came from behind, continuing before Angers could ask a question.

"Cleopatra, the 1963 version starring Elizabeth Taylor. That movie cost $44 million back then, which is roughly equivalent to $400 million today, and almost bankrupted 20th Century Fox. But Taylor's beauty in it was simply breathtaking. I think it was worth it."

Angers entered the password as instructed. The system unlocked, and the interface redirected to a simple file manager. There was only one folder in the center.

He double-clicked to open it.

The first picture caught his eye, and Angers paused in his movements.

A vast, topographical aerial view. Blue seas intertwine with greenish-brown land, yet the land's outlines appear strangely unfamiliar. The shapes of Japan's four main islands are vaguely discernible, but the coastlines are distorted and deformed, like a piece of clay repeatedly kneaded by an invisible giant hand. Kyushu and Shikoku were far larger than they are today, almost contiguous. Honshu's central region is deeply recessed, and Hokkaido is shrunken into a small, isolated island.

“This is a topographical reconstruction of the Japanese archipelago from 500,000 years ago,” Pompeii’s voice drew closer. He walked to Angers’ side, rested one hand on the edge of the table, and leaned over to look at the screen. “It looks different from the current map of Japan, doesn’t it?”

Ang nodded, “The coastlines are very different. And the overall land area is much larger.”

"Have you heard of the theory of continental drift?" Pompeii asked.

“I’ve heard a little about it.” Angers’ gaze shifted from Kyushu to Hokkaido, then to the vast blue expanse to the east. “Wegener’s theory. Continental plates are moving.”

“Absolutely correct.” Pompeii reached out and zoomed in on the image with the touchpad. The extremely high resolution revealed the delicate texture of the terrain: the stretching mountain ranges, the winding traces of ancient riverbeds, and the undulating folds of the coastline.

"According to Alfred Wegener's theory proposed in 1910, the Earth's lithosphere is divided into six major plates—the Eurasian Plate, the Pacific Plate, the Indian Ocean Plate, the African Plate, the American Plate, and the Antarctic Plate. They float on the soft mantle layer and move slowly, and the mantle is filled with molten magma."