A person's life is exceedingly long. But if you break that life down, it is nothing more than one choice after another. Make the right choice, and all is well; make the wrong one, and you may fall into an abyss of eternal regret.
Choice. A word that, just by the sound of it, seems to imply something cruel.
…
Chicago Union Station.
Lu Mingfei clutched his cups of cola, staring blankly at the man in front of him.
The railway workers were all on strike, and the CC1000 express to Cassell College was already a week late. Having finally run into a beautiful younger student alongside his stoic, "poker-faced" senior, Mingfei naturally felt the urge to step up and show off.
The thought of that pretty girl, Xia Mi, looking at him with starry eyes and asking, "Senior, where did you get this cola?" made Mingfei imagine himself puffing out his chest and proudly declaring, "This is the result of your senior's experience."
His eyes didn't blink for a second. The man stood amidst a sea of discarded paper, protest signs, and soda cans, standing perfectly still. Mingfei felt as if the man were hovering; his feet didn't seem to touch the ground, perhaps separated by a centimeter? Or a few millimeters? He couldn't be sure.
He was a middle-aged man with a short, neatly groomed beard. He looked somewhat lean, wearing a well-tailored suit, with his long black hair gathered into a Taoist bun. Mingfei sensed he was no ordinary person; with that aura, he was at least an artist, or perhaps a Taoist monk who had descended from the mountains to experience the mortal world.
He had a look that blended East and West, yet there was no sense of discord about him. Given the strike, the appearance of someone so unique suggested a high probability that he was from the College.
Mingfei shook himself out of his daze, wondering if he should say hello. After all, this "artist" was also sizing him up. Perhaps this was the start of an "encountering a fellow countryman in a foreign land" plot? The man was clearly Chinese.
"Uh, greetings, brother..." Mingfei chose a form of address he felt matched the man's refined taste.
"Lu Mingfei," the man said, addressing him by name.
"You know me?" Mingfei gave a start.
"Of course." The man crossed his hands gently in front of him, looking very relaxed. His hands were somewhat thin, "bony and gaunt" was the phrase that involuntarily sprang to Mingfei's mind.
"Only you could manage to carry cups of cola with the same posture as someone lugging a slab of pork to visit relatives for the New Year." The man seemed to know him well.
Mingfei pursed his lips. He wanted to argue, but looking down at himself, he realized the man was probably right. The station was on strike, and he had essentially "liberated" the cola. Normally it was a dollar a cup, so this was a "zero-dollar purchase," which naturally gave him the shifty look of a thief.
"Tso Lan. That is my name," the man introduced himself.
"Lu..." Mingfei started to repeat his own name out of habit before realizing the other man already knew it.
For some reason, he felt nervous facing this man. He lowered his hands to try and look more composed. There was an aura about the man. Mingfei recalled the first time he met the "Little Devil," Lu Mingze, at the station. In that hallucination on the CC1000 train, Mingze had spoken of Nidhogg, the Black King, perched on an iceberg while thousands of humans climbed up to drive iron spikes into its body. Mingze said that was history from thousands of years ago. Mingfei still remembered the awe he felt from that magnificent, ancient aura.
The feeling Zoran gave him was very similar to that moment.
"As I thought, the timeline is not quite right," Zoran murmured to himself.
This was the world of Dragon Raja, and the pathetic-looking kid in front of him was the protagonist of this world, Lu Mingfei. An S-rank hybrid of Cassell College. A lonely boy.
Zoran calculated the timing. Upon his first moment of arrival, he had headed straight for the location where the King of Earth and Mountains was resurrected. Unfortunately, the King of Earth and Mountains at this moment had not yet merged into the Death God, Hela, and had not yet truly grasped her Authority.
Zoran's objective was simple: utilize the three spells, the Source Spell, the Siphon Spell, and the Transposition Spell, to replace identical Authorities from other worlds. By doing so, he could bypass the cosmic rules and "pluck" his siblings out of the Netherworld. Once one's thinking jumped beyond the confines of a single world, many problems were easily solved.
Realizing he had arrived early, he headed for Chicago Union Station, not expecting to run into this kid.
"Hey, brother..." Mingfei waved a hand holding the cola. "If there's nothing else, I'll be going." The moment the words left his mouth, he started jogging toward his hotel as if he were escaping.
"We shall meet again," Zoran said softly to his retreating back.
He closed his eyes slightly in thought. In the world of Dragon Raja, aside from the legendary Black and White Kings who held supreme Authority, there were the four remaining Dragon Lords. The King of Earth and Mountains, the King of Oceans and Water, the King of Bronze and Fire, and the King of Sky and Wind.
In the current timeline, the King of Bronze and Fire had just died, and Lu Mingfei was preparing to return to Cassell College after summer break. The next target was undoubtedly the King of Earth and Mountains. He needed to obtain and strengthen that Authority, setting it as the anchor for the Transposition Spell.
Not bad. Not too far off.
Watching the figure disappear in the distance, Zoran's own form slowly vanished.
As per his usual habit: When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
He walked toward the curb, pulled open the door of a black Maserati, and sat right inside as naturally as if he were getting into a taxi he had hailed.
"Cassell College," he said.
"You've got the wrong car," a voice came from the driver's seat.
The speaker was an elderly man with a vigorous voice, wearing a custom black suit, his silver hair combed back into a stylish pompadour.
"It seems I have the right one," Zoran glanced at the red rose tucked into the man's breast pocket and leaned back naturally in the rear seat. "Mr. Hilbert Jean Angers, Principal of Cassell College. The Dragon Slayer."
Because of the strike and the auction, Hilbert was also staying in Chicago. Zoran had easily found his sharp, conspicuous Maserati.
Hilbert slowly set down his glass of iced wine, his eyes flashing. He glanced at the rearview mirror, getting a full view of this stranger who had suddenly intruded. The man wore a suit in a similar style to his own; the brand wasn't obvious, but the material was exceptionally fine, and the well-fitted suit gave the man an air of elegant taste.
He wore a relaxed expression, as if this car had been specifically prepared for him. And he, Hilbert Jean Angers, was merely the driver waiting at the curb. There weren't many people who could make him act as a driver.
"My car doors were locked just now," Hilbert said.
"I know," Zoran replied, his expression breezy.
This Maserati was no cheap toy. With the double security of a central lock and a mechanical lock, even a strong man wouldn't necessarily be able to pull it open easily. The man behind him was no simple character. Angers felt no killing intent or malice, but that was far more terrifying than if he had.
Without any warning, Hilbert moved almost instantly. He gripped his folding knife in a reverse hold and lunged backward, like a lion suddenly erupting within the cramped confines of the car. It was a fluid motion; he didn't intend to give the opponent even a split second to react.
He was confident that few people in the world were as fast as he was. Almost the moment the knife left his sleeve, the killing intent had reached the target.
An instant before he moved, the domain of his Yanling (Word Soul), Time Zero, enveloped the Maserati. This was his ability; when released, his own flow of time remained unchanged, but time within the domain was compressed to the extreme. Everything within the domain appeared to him as if in slow motion.
One-hundredth of a second later, Hilbert looked up.
His folding knife had met resistance.
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Note: I don't know which translation is the official for Hilbert's name. It's either Hilbert Jean Angers or Hilbert Ron Anjou, which is the one in fandom. However, I prefer the former so I'll use that.