Chapter 77: Ange

This was a classical, luxurious office, hidden inside a two-story stacked residential building, filled with bookshelves and wine cabinets; above the center stood a massive skylight, directly beneath which rested an elegant desk—whether rainy or clear, Ange always took his spare moments to brew a cup of black tea and savor a quiet afternoon.

If an old friend visited or he received good news—such as this year’s dragon kills exceeding last year’s or the death of a Dragon King—he would immediately open a bottle of his prized wine to celebrate, leaving work early.

But now, he couldn’t even drink the freshly brewed tea; today’s snowfall might be the last of February, and he wouldn’t see snow again until November.

Ange frowned deeply, holding a document bearing the World Tree logo in the upper-left corner; von Schneider sat in his wheelchair, beside Manstein, waiting for Ange to finish reading the newly received file.

“I don’t think the wine I drank the day before yesterday could have left me drunk until today,” Ange said, setting the document down, his voice slow, tinged with disbelief. “Is today April Fools’ Day, gentlemen?”

Manstein and von Schneider remained solemn, unmoved by Ange’s words.

Seeing their silence, Ange rose from his chair, pressing his right hand to his forehead, eyes tightly shut.

“A god went to several half-blood families and told them that the Black King Nidhogg had awakened?”

Ange spoke calmly, maintaining his usual tone.

“That so-called god claimed Nidhogg intends to recruit the most superior-blooded half-bloods from these families, offering them dragon blood transcendence and five hundred years of life,” Ange rubbed his temples, and as he spoke the last words, a faint smile crept into his voice: “My god, am I reading some third-rate fantasy novel, hmm?”

Inside the office, von Schneider and Manstein said nothing.

“Look here,” Ange pointed to a passage on the second page of the document. “That god called Nidhogg during Wu’s engagement banquet, and Nidhogg said humanity is progressing too slowly—he wants to usher humanity into the interstellar age.”

“Hahahaha.”

Thud—

Ange slammed the document onto his favorite desk with one hard palm; the impact rang loudly, and the desk, unable to withstand the strength of this centenarian, emitted a faint crack.

The thick wooden surface was likely damaged inside—normally, Ange would have felt a pang of regret.

“Gentlemen, which unstable half-blood, driven mad by his bloodline, provided this intelligence?”

“Could we send Fushan Yashi to treat him? Please, don’t tell me this is real intelligence.”

Von Schneider’s wheelchair rolled forward slightly; his hoarse voice emerged beneath his respirator: “The intelligence came from our students embedded within those half-blood families.”

“They made no effort to conceal themselves—they appeared openly and left just as openly.”

“Including two of our students, twenty-one half-bloods left with the so-called ‘god’ they spoke of.”

Manstein adjusted his glasses and said to the grim-faced Ange: “Based on bloodline assessments, roughly nine A-rank, twelve B-rank.”

“They had no chance to resist,” Ange said, not angry at the half-bloods—whether from the power displayed or the dubious allure of the offer—he was only pondering the report’s description. “Who is this ‘god’? Can we deduce which of the two remaining Dragon Kings he might be?”

Manstein shook his head.

“No known Spell Code matches the abilities described.”

“According to their accounts, they are certain they saw a god—not some powerful dragon.”

Ange picked up the still-warm black tea and took a sip.

“It’s normal to mistake hallucinations for reality,” Ange placed the cup back on its saucer, feeling his emotions slightly calm. “Perhaps it’s not a hallucination. We humans still know too little about the dragon race—just the tip of the iceberg.”

“So what about this god? Have we uncovered any information?”

Manstein pulled out a tablet, glanced at its contents, and read aloud to Ange: “He calls himself Su Lin. Through his hotel records and flight tickets, we found his ID card—the address listed is fake, but strangely, the ID itself is genuine. We don’t know how he accomplished this.”

“This suggests he may be backed by an organization,” Ange deduced calmly. “Perhaps he has subordinates handling these details. Continue.”

“On the evening of February 4th, he boarded an international flight from Tokyo’s Haneda International Airport to...”

“Wait.”

Ange interrupted Manstein.

“You mean Tokyo, Japan?” Ange sounded surprised.

“Our three top students, and that guy who plays a manga character—whether he’s a high-risk half-blood or a dragon—were all in Tokyo?”

“Correct.”

“Alright, go on.”

Ange felt a bad premonition, but reason suppressed it—he wished he could split Luffy in two and send each half to investigate separately.

The Dragon King who appeared in Beijing was likely closely tied to that other unknown being—whether dragon or half-blood.

“After dining with the Wu family, he left with four Wu half-bloods, including our new student Wu Yuxiang. Fifteen minutes later, he reappeared in Beijing.”

Manstein glanced at the time displayed in the upper-right corner of the tablet and mentally calculated the time difference.

“About fifty minutes ago, he bought a bowl of luozhu huoshao for 27.5 yuan at a shop on the Third Ring Road. Thirty-nine minutes ago, he stood on a street opposite a Sihe Academy courtyard on the Second Ring, ordered a 56-yuan grilled fish from a roadside stall, and asked the vendor to add extra cilantro.”

“He ate messily—didn’t use chopsticks, just grabbed the whole fish and bit into it.”

Manstein showed the photo on the tablet to von Schneider and Ange: a clean-cut young man with short hair, wearing a mid-length black down jacket, sitting on a plastic stool beside the stall, one hand gripping the fish’s head to lift the entire fish, the other shoving braised pig’s intestines into his mouth with chopsticks.

Ange fell silent, then said slowly: “He really knows how to eat.”

“The investigator says he’s definitely not a half-blood,” von Schneider said. The man trailing Su Lin was one of his Execution Department students, whose Spell was ideal for surveillance. “Because he never spat out fish bones.”

Von Schneider added, “Even half-bloods feel discomfort when they swallow fish bones.”

Ange nodded. Good—he’d never eaten fish with bones.

“Seventeen minutes ago, he paid, chatted casually with the grilled fish vendor, and asked about elementary school homework for children.”

“......”

“Now, what is this gluttonous Dragon King, Nidhogg’s messenger, this ‘god’ who descended to earth, doing?”

“Please, stop listing these trivial details.”

“Ten minutes ago, he got into a taxi. Three minutes ago, he got out,” Manstein read the updated location update.

“Good. Where did he go?”

“Quanjude.”

Ange looked up helplessly at the skylight, now blanketed in a thick layer of snow, pure white as paper.

He felt he needed a handful of snow more than the room’s heating—he could’ve rolled a snowball and thrown it straight at this dragon’s face.

“FXXK, how much can he possibly eat?”