Chapter 7: Conversation Inside the Academy

Lu Chen had many questions he wanted to ask, but the members of the Executive Department said there were still matters to be dealt with, so they asked him to return to the martial arts gym and wait for further instructions, saying he would find out once he arrived at the academy.

He knew he couldn't rush things, so he hurried back to the martial arts gym while it was still dark outside.

As for the people who had followed him later, he pretended not to notice them.

Back at the gym, he began to explore the high-tech gadget he had received from the Executive Department: a smartphone.

Hmm... He had never encountered such advanced technology before.

In his original world, the technology in the Eastern countries lagged behind by an entire era. Even on the battlefield, they still used primitive radios. But he had never even touched one of those things.

Every time he went into battle, it was his little lackey who handled such matters. He still remembered her, a clever and lively girl from the Eastern lands, who spoke Chinese awkwardly all the way until the end.

Lu Chen shook his head, banishing those memories from his mind.

He began to tinker with the new gadget in his hand.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Earth.

At the headquarters of Cassell Academy, in the central control room on the second floor of the library, the lights were on.

In the center of the room was a giant 3D projection, with a virtual Earth suspended in mid-air. As the user waved their hand gently, the Earth would quickly rotate to the location they wanted to see. It felt as if a god was manipulating his creation, with power and authority in the palm of his hand.

However, the user of this device, a person wearing a mask with an embedded breathing apparatus, couldn't stop coughing, as if trying to cough up all the blood from his lungs. Such a person should have been lying in the intensive care unit, yet here he was, standing there, his severe cough not affecting his upright posture.

Franz Schneider, the Minister of the Executive Department, was on night duty today.

On the blue surface of the Earth, there were more than a dozen flashing red lights, with alarms sounding one after another. The rapid tapping of keyboards, the hissing of printers, and the clicking of mechanical telegraph deciphers all converged, creating a high-pressure and tense atmosphere in the room.

"The Executive Department's agents encountered resistance from local warlords in South Africa while on a mission and are requesting the next course of action," reported an intelligence officer, sweating profusely from anxiety.

Although he said he was requesting the next course of action, the background noise during the voice call was already filled with gunfire.

"Which team encountered obstacles in South Africa?" Schneider's tone was calm, but those familiar with him could sense his dissatisfaction. Such an urgent matter, yet the report was not clear enough. Every second wasted could lead to the sacrifice of an agent's life and even more serious disasters.

"It's the squad led by Commander Claude. Their mission was to destroy a bronze coffin unearthed from the Namakwaland Desert. However, before the agents arrived, the target was bought by local warlords."

The intelligence officer hurriedly explained.

"Have you attempted negotiations with funds?"

"We have, but the other party's asking price is too high, clearly just toying with us. Commander Claude refused him, and now they're facing forced expulsion by force."

"Instruct Norma to deploy drones for airdrops to supply the squad. After destroying the target, they should return."

With that, Schneider no longer paid attention to the task. As for the fate of the agents of the Executive Department after they received the supplies and dealt with the warlord, he didn't care. He was only concerned about whether the extremely dangerous dragon "artifact" had been truly destroyed.

"An intern from Britain is requesting financial approval to purchase an alchemical weapon obtained by the local underworld. It's a Tang Dynasty saber, priced at $240,000," another intelligence officer reported, clearly learning from his colleague's mistake and summarizing the key points in one breath.

"Approved. Correct the formal report afterwards," Schneider nodded. Buying an alchemical weapon for such an amount wasn't expensive. Matters that could be handled reasonably with money weren't an issue for Cassell Academy.

As for educators allowing students to trade with the underworld, it wasn't within his scope of concern. The Executive Department was already the largest violent organization.

A massive amount of data flowed in from all over the world, converging in this small room, where the man coughing occasionally made decisions and approvals one by one. He was always so calm and efficient.

Until he came across a mission execution report sent by Commander Hanard while on a mission in Vietnam.

The summary of the mission report was that the target was dead, which didn't surprise him. Even in this busy night, he wasn't planning to look into the details further. But in a glance, he saw the photos of the target's body.

The hunched-over man in the photo had twisted his right arm like a pretzel, with a dagger held to his own neck. His legs were clearly also broken, and his face showed extreme terror before death.

There was not just one photo; several were taken from different angles, capturing the surrounding environment as well.

Even thousands of miles away, he could smell the extreme violence from these photos, violence so intense that it left only fear and despair on the face of this B-grade hybrid whose bloodline had lost control.

He started to review the mission report, setting aside even other less important events.

"Lu Chen..."

Schneider's eyes, hidden under the mask, remained in shadow, concealing his thoughts from those around him.

"Commander Hanard requests that the team delay their return to the academy and monitor that young man."

The intelligence officer said on the side, having just received new information.

Schneider remained silent for a few seconds before saying, "Granted."

Then the room became busy again, with various noisy sounds converging, marking this as a sleepless night.

In the early morning, sunlight filtered through the slits of the blinds, casting a golden halo on the tea leaves in the white porcelain cup. Beside it was a plate of cheese sandwich.

For the old man sitting upright at the table, this could be considered a rare and modest breakfast.

In the office of the president of Cassell Academy, separated by a large desk, Schneider, looking exhausted, sat opposite the old man.

"Do you want some breakfast? Or perhaps some new tea? The Longjing tea we procured this time carries the fragrance of a young girl," the silver-haired old man said, sitting slightly straighter. His impeccably tailored black suit accentuated his tall figure, and a monocle hung over his right eye, adding a touch of academic air to him.

Gilbert Jean Arneau, the current president of Cassell Academy, revered and respected by all.

"No, I'll rest once we're done. You should take a look at this report first."

Schneider pushed a mission report across the table to Arneau.

"Thank you for your hard work."

Arneau took the report and began to review it. In truth, it wasn't suitable for Schneider's physical condition to be doing these "night shifts." However, if Schneider were to give up his duties and return to bed, that would truly be a sleepless night.

"Hanard did a good job," Arneau commented after reading through it.

"What about the young man?" Schneider clearly sought the president's opinion.

"His background is clean, isn't it? And there haven't been any signs of unusual violent tendencies in our communications. He should be a good kid."

Arneau easily concluded with a single sentence.

Schneider glanced at Arneau in silence. After seeing the photos of the target's body, did Arneau still think the young man was a "good kid"?

"Isn't it too dangerous?" Schneider spoke again, unsure whether he was asking Arneau or himself.

"The Secret Party needs fresh blood. I'm already old. There must always be new leaders stepping forward, like Caesar, who just succeeded as the student council president, or this young man who doesn't need verbal command to destroy his enemies with violence... Besides, didn't you already have an answer in your heart before coming to me? We know who we are, don't we?" Arneau said, lifting the white porcelain cup and taking a sip of the new tea.

"I understand. I'll keep an eye on him."

Schneider nodded and left the president's office.

Yes, he already had an answer in his heart. As long as that young man wasn't a pure-blooded dragon, then he was a sharpened blade that could be honed. They were the ones who wielded the knives, so why would they fear the blade being too sharp?