Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

He paused for a moment, then said, "You and I both know that it's almost impossible for a hybrid to possess such power."

Angers' voice was almost squeezed out through clenched teeth, "So last night it was two dragons with the strength of the first generation fighting in the Annihilation Well?"

“And one of them protected the keel,” Flamel added, his expression complex, “although in a rather brutal way.”

Angers walked toward Norton's dragon bones, his fingers gently stroking the wings. "Dragons have infiltrated, both of them possessing strength approaching that of the first generation. Even if one of them helped us, we don't know whether it's friend or foe."

Flamel laughed. "Wrong. According to your usual thinking, all dragons are enemies and must be destroyed."

Angers did not refute, but simply hummed in agreement.

His gaze fell on Constantine's skeleton, the finger bones of the humanoid dragon skeleton slightly bent, as if trying to grasp something before dying.

“Alright,” Flamel clapped his hands, breaking the heavy atmosphere, “it’s best that the keels weren’t stolen. I’ll arrange for them to be moved to a suitable place for safekeeping. Now the focus is on the hearing.”

"The investigation team hasn't given up yet?"

“That’s right,” Flamel nodded. “Despite the major incident last night, the investigation team, especially its head Andrew Gattuso, insisted that the hearing proceed as scheduled. That guy is determined to get rid of you.”

"They don't care about the safety of the dragon bones, they don't care about the invasion of the academy, they only care about power. It's truly disheartening."

Chapter 108 Wenwen, save me

Zhao Menghua sat there blankly, while the subway clattered along.

His eyes were dry and sore, as if they had been sanded.

The lights in the carriage flickered on and off. This train was too old, so old that it didn't seem like a product of this era. There were no LCD screens, no air conditioning vents, and even the seats were made of hard plastic that had long been phased out, making your butt hurt when you sat on them.

Fifteen minutes ago, he was on the subway platform when the fog came in.

Zhao Menghua couldn't understand how the fog appeared. He turned around to try to escape from the platform, only to find that all the exits had disappeared.

No matter which way you run, you can only run back to this platform.

Where there used to be stairs and elevators, now only smooth walls remain, as if this platform had been a closed cage from the very beginning.

"Is anyone there? Help!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing across the empty platform, but there was no response.

He ran wildly along the platform, reached the end, turned around, and ran back.

This was repeated countless times until my legs went weak and my throat became hoarse.

Finally, he slumped onto the bench, his shirt soaked with sweat.

A wave of loneliness washed over him, and this feeling of being abandoned by the whole world reminded him of a philosophy book he had read in his freshman year of college: "Man is inherently lonely, and all relationships are just temporary painkillers."

He thought those words were too sentimental at the time, but now he suddenly understands them.

The train doors opened slowly with a harsh metallic scraping sound, as if inviting him.

Zhao Menghua knew something was wrong, very wrong, but he had no choice; at least it was better than this eerie platform.

As he stepped into the carriage, the doors slammed shut behind him, and the train started moving. The noise from the old-fashioned mechanical operation was much louder than that of a modern subway, and the clanging sound was quite irritating.

After the train started moving, Zhao Menghua felt a sense of relief.

At least there is sound and movement here, proving that time is still passing.

He looked out through the blurry train window and was surprised to find that the train was passing through a normal cityscape: tall buildings, bustling streets, and crowds of people.

It was just too fast, so fast that all the scenery turned into blurry blocks of color.

"Can anyone see me?" Zhao Menghua pounded on the car window and shouted outside.

A primary school student in school uniform happened to pass by the car window. Zhao Menghua waved his arms frantically, but the child didn't even look up, staring intently at the phone in his hand.

The train passed through a park, where several children were playing in an open space. One of them, a boy of about five or six years old, looked up, holding a Tiga Ultraman doll in his hand, and made a gesture as if he were shooting a beam of light towards the train.

Zhao Menghua was excited for a moment, but quickly realized that the child was looking at himself in the car window; he couldn't see himself inside the car at all.

The feeling of shattered hope is more suffocating than despair.

Zhao Menghua slid into the hard seat, his fingers unconsciously groping for something in his pocket. When he touched a rectangular object, he almost jumped up.

His phone! He had completely forgotten he had his phone with him!

He pulled it out and saw that the black screen seemed to be mocking him. Zhao Menghua frantically pressed the power button, but the phone didn't respond.

The power's gone out! It fucking went out at the most crucial moment!

Zhao Menghua felt a chill run through his body; the unease of his phone running out of battery was no less than the anxiety of discovering he wasn't wearing pants when he went out.

He had gone out to Zhongguancun to get his phone repaired because the memory card had malfunctioned and all his contacts had disappeared.

"Damn it!" he slammed his phone onto the seat.

A wave of frustration washed over Zhao Menghua, who clutched his head and couldn't help but think of Chen Wenwen.

It wasn't intentional; it was just that kind of longing that came out of nowhere. It's like walking down the street and suddenly smelling a certain scent, instantly transporting you back to a forgotten summer afternoon.

"Your phone's dead again, isn't it?" Chen Wenwen frowned, her slender fingers poking his chest. "How many times have I told you to charge it before bed!"

Zhao Menghua then realized that since breaking up with Chen Wenwen, he had stopped making sure to fully charge his phone every day.

Because Chen Wenwen used to always remind him, without fail, every night before bed, she would send him a WeChat message: "Is your phone charged? Goodnight~", followed by a cute emoji.

The breakup happened at the pizza shop, along with Lu Mingfei and those two bastards, Frillie.

He had broken Chen Wenwen's heart.

"Maybe, maybe this is retribution," Zhao Menghua muttered to himself with a bitter smile.

The carriage swayed slightly, and the scenery outside the window had changed to that of the suburbs, with vast fields and scattered factories.

He tried to turn it on again, a natural reaction to a malfunction in the digital age, much like how primitive people would repeatedly pound on a broken stone tool.

Press and hold the power button for ten seconds. When the bitten apple logo appears, Zhao Menghua almost burst into tears.

"There's power! There's still a little bit of power left!" He stared intently at the screen, as if it were some kind of lifeline.

The phone started up slowly, the progress bar moving intermittently like the heartbeat of a dying patient.

'Ding!' The main interface appears.

Zhao Menghua immediately looked at the signal bar; it was empty. But that didn't matter; the signal in the subway was always intermittent. He could just wait until the next station.

'Click click click,' the train began to slow down.

The outline of the platform appeared outside the window. Zhao Menghua rushed to the window and saw the words "Dilong Station" written on the station sign, which meant that he might still be saved!

The signal grid miraculously popped up the moment the train came to a complete stop.

Zhao Menghua's hands trembled so much he could barely hold his phone. He quickly swiped through his contacts, then froze.

His memory card was damaged, and all his contacts were gone. He kept putting it off to get it repaired, since he remembered the numbers of the people he contacted most often.

But now, at this critical moment, he discovers that he only truly remembers one number.

The number he used to call three times a day, but later deliberately avoided touching.

His fingers acted before his brain could process them; by the time he came to his senses, the call had already been dialed.

The long wait, each note like a hammer blow to the heart.

The call was answered.

There were no greetings, no questions, only the sound of deep breathing coming through the phone.

But Zhao Menghua was all too familiar with that breathing rhythm; Chen Wenwen would do that when she had a cold, her nose would be congested, and she could only breathe through her mouth.

"Wenwen," his voice choked with sobs, "Help me, I don't know where I am, I got on a strange subway, no one can see me."

Tears welled up uncontrollably and dripped onto the phone screen.

Zhao Menghua then realized how scared she was; all her strength and rationality crumbled the moment she heard that breathing sound.

The phone screen went black; it was out of battery.

Like a lost child, Zhao Menghua cried out to her switched-off phone, "I miss you so much, I really miss you so much."

Chapter 109 The Hearing Begins

Kassel College, Valhalla Meeting Room.

Outside the hall, a tall sculpture is stuck upside down in the fountain pool, with a broken marble arm floating on the water.

The ruins on the side had not been cleared away either; dried bloodstains could still be seen among the rubble, and a few wild grasses stubbornly poked their heads out from the cracks.

The surrounding rubble and debris remained exactly as they were after the fierce battle that night; no one dared to touch it, and no one wanted to.

But the hearing was still held as scheduled.

Andrew Gattuso insisted on holding the trial in Valhalla, much like the medieval church insisted on trying heretics in a church; the venue itself was a deterrent.

"A great change unseen in a century," Guderian muttered to himself.

Beside him, Manstein's bald head was covered in fine beads of sweat. He would occasionally steal glances at the white-haired old men sitting in the jury box. They were the tenured professors of Kassel College, each a living legend and the true core of power in the college.

Chu Zihang stood behind the central fence, wearing the Kassel College uniform, with the collar turned up and the cuffs perfectly smooth.

The fence, made of oak and bearing the marks of time, squarely enclosed him inside, like an exquisite prison.

As the jurors took their seats, Chu Zihang greeted them one by one, his voice calm, as if he were not on trial but giving an ordinary classroom report.

“Look at him, so calm,” said Director Akadula of the Equipment Department, chewing gum, to researcher Matur beside him. “If I were being stared at by so many old guys, I would have wet my pants by now.”

Matul pushed up his glasses. "Director, didn't you wet your pants the last time you saw the principal?"

"Shut up! I just drank too much water!"

The tenured professors on the jury exchanged glances.

Some of them haven't left their labs for over a decade, except for the last discussion in Angers about 'Six Flags'.

This time, they were all "dug up" by a letter from the Gattuso family.

Frost Gattuso clearly stated in his letter that this student named Chu Zihang was a "high-risk holder of the Word of Power, an endangered bloodline, and a potential threat."

"Is this the child?" Professor Laurent of the Alchemy Department narrowed his eyes. "He looks even younger than in the photos."

“Don’t be fooled by appearances,” Professor Zack of the Biology Department said coldly. “His medical report shows that his bloodline stability has fallen below the safe line.”

“Zack, when did you start caring about bloodline security?” Laurent laughed. “I remember you were much crazier than him when you were young.”