For this unprecedented dragon-slaying operation, China mobilized resources on a scale that would have seemed impossible just months ago.
The government activated every registered hybrid under its authority, subjecting them to rigorous evaluation before selecting one thousand elite operatives. These weren't ordinary mixed-bloods—each possessed combat experience, alchemical training, and bloodline purity sufficient to face draconic threats. Leading them was an S-rank hybrid only slightly younger than Anjou himself, a man who'd survived nearly a century of dragon conflicts and political upheaval.
China's major hybrid families united for perhaps the first time in living memory, pooling resources to field an additional eight hundred specialists. Another S-rank hybrid commanded this coalition force, ensuring coordination with the government troops.
Including the two S-rank commanders, twelve S-rank hybrids total would participate in the assault. Twelve individuals whose power approached—or in some cases exceeded—second-generation dragons.
The equipment marshaled for this operation was equally staggering. Both the government and the hybrid families emptied their vaults, bringing out alchemical weapons that had been carefully hoarded for decades. Swords forged with dragon bone. Armor treated with refined dragon blood. Ammunition cores containing distilled elemental essences. Everything had a single purpose: kill the King of Sky and Wind.
But the hybrid forces represented only the visible portion of China's mobilization.
The entire Western Air Force had entered combat readiness status, pilots sleeping in flight suits with aircraft fueled and armed. At a single command, they could scramble and reach Kunlun within the hour.
Missile battalions across three provinces had been quietly re-equipped. Conventional warheads had been swapped for alchemical variants—explosives infused with mercury and treated metals that would burn through draconic scales like acid through paper.
Most terrifying of all, China had manufactured four Philosopher's Stone missile warheads specifically for this operation. The significance was almost incomprehensible—a Philosopher's Stone fragment the size of an ordinary bullet could wound a Dragon King. These warheads featured Philosopher's Stone coating across their entire impact surfaces. The resource expenditure and technical achievement required to produce them demonstrated both China's capabilities and its absolute determination.
Even the Gattuso family possessed space-based kinetic weapons—the so-called "Rods from God" that could strike targets from orbit with devastating force. China naturally maintained similar systems. Several satellites had been repositioned over Kunlun, each carrying alchemical projectiles designed to survive atmospheric reentry. High-temperature resistant. Corrosion-proof. If they struck their target, even a Dragon King would suffer critical damage.
Of course, the Philosopher's Stone warheads and orbital weapons were contingency measures—pulled out "just in case" the operation went catastrophically wrong. If the hybrid assault forces could eliminate the King of Sky and Wind, these apocalyptic weapons would be quietly returned to storage. And with Gustave serving as the primary striker, there was genuine uncertainty whether the hybrid troops would see combat at all.
China's mobilization was conducted with admirable secrecy. But nothing this large could remain completely hidden. Certain individuals with unusual capabilities or connections noticed the abnormal military activity.
Xia Mi was one such individual.
She sat in her dormitory at Cassel College's preparatory program in the capital, staring at her laptop screen with growing unease. Social media posts about unusual troop movements. Her tutoring student's father—a mid-level government official—canceling their session because of "urgent work." A military convoy she'd spotted while walking home, heading toward the western highways.
"Some kind of secret operation," she muttered to herself. "But what are they planning?"
Her anxiety wasn't about personal exposure. Her cover identity was perfect—built from genuine childhood memories and documentation that would survive any investigation. What worried her was Fenrir.
Her brother. Her fool of a brother who called her "sister" despite being male, who'd never successfully maintained human form, who remained trapped in his massive draconic body with the intellect of a toddler.
She'd hidden Fenrir in a Nibelungen accessed through the capital's subway system. It was secure, isolated, and large enough for him to move around comfortably. But if this mysterious operation somehow involved searching for dragons...
Fear propelled her into motion. Xia Mi grabbed her coat and headed for the subway, taking a circuitous route to avoid any possible surveillance. She entered the Nibelungen through the concealed entrance, stepping from the mundane world into her brother's pocket dimension.
"Sister! Sister, you're back!" Fenrir's delighted roar echoed through the space. Despite his massive size and fearsome appearance, his voice carried the simple joy of a child seeing a beloved family member.
"I brought potato chips." Xia Mi produced a large bag from behind her back, approaching her brother with the kind of gentle patience usually reserved for toddlers. Which, mentally, Fenrir essentially was—his intelligence had never developed beyond that of a two or three-year-old.
Fenrir accepted the chips with draconic claws surprisingly gentle, immediately tearing into the bag with enthusiasm. While he ate, Xia Mi conducted a thorough inspection of the Nibelungen, searching for any signs of intrusion or external tampering.
Nothing. No evidence of unauthorized entry. No traces of hybrid investigators or government searches.
"Sister, sister! Come watch TV with me!" Fenrir's call interrupted her inspection.
Xia Mi smiled despite her lingering worry. The television situation had been a source of persistent guilt for her. For years, Fenrir had made do with an ancient CRT set—the kind with a bulging back that weighed as much as a person. The picture quality was terrible, static frequently interrupted programs, and the limited channels meant Fenrir watched the same content repeatedly.
But Xia Mi had been desperately poor. Being the King of Earth and Mountain meant nothing when you had no money for basic necessities. She'd done her best, but "best" hadn't included buying her brother a new television.
Everything changed when Su Xiaoyan—Chu Zihang's mother—recommended her for that high-paying tutoring position. Suddenly Xia Mi had actual income. She'd risen from poverty to something approaching middle-class comfort. Her very first purchase with her first real paycheck had been a large LCD television for Fenrir.
The difference was transformative. More channels. Better picture quality. No more static interruptions. Fenrir's quality of life improved dramatically, and his desperate crying when the old TV malfunctioned—those heartrending episodes where he'd sobbed in the Nibelungen like an abandoned child—had ceased entirely.
"Okay, I'll watch TV with you." Xia Mi settled beside her massive brother, the size difference almost comical.
The scene was surreal. A young woman and an enormous dragon sitting side by side, watching animated sheep and wolves on a television. The incongruity should have been jarring. Instead, there was something oddly harmonious about it—the love between siblings transcending their vastly different forms.
After an hour, Xia Mi rose to leave. Fenrir waved goodbye without tears or complaints—the new television provided sufficient entertainment that he no longer panicked at her departures.
"No signs of intrusion," Xia Mi muttered as she walked home through darkening streets. "So what's causing all this unusual activity? Could they have discovered another Dragon King?"
The possibility sent ice through her veins. If humanity had found another of the four kings...
She arrived at the villa to find the lights on.
Xia Mi froze. Su Xiaoyan had returned to her home city after the semester started, leaving Xia Mi as the sole occupant. And Su Xiaoyan always called before visiting. This was wrong.
She entered cautiously, grabbing a wooden staff from the umbrella stand and concealing it behind her back. "Aunt Su?" she called softly, moving through the foyer. "Aunt Su?"
A head popped out from the kitchen doorway, holding a cabbage.
"Finger?" Xia Mi blinked in surprise.
"Hey there, Junior Sister Xia Mi!" Finger grinned his trademark shameless grin.
"How did you get in here?" Xia Mi kept the staff hidden, still alert. Finger could be a shapeshifter. She'd seen enough supernatural threats to know paranoia kept you alive.
"Me? I don't have a key!" Finger stepped aside, revealing another figure behind him. "He's the one who let us in."
Chu Zihang stood at the counter, methodically dicing vegetables with professional precision.
"Senior Brother!" Xia Mi's caution evaporated instantly. She bounded forward, revealing her small fangs in a genuine smile of delight.
Chu Zihang nodded in acknowledgment, his expression characteristically neutral.
"What are you doing back? Is school on break?" Xia Mi leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching him work with obvious pleasure.
"Mission assignment brought me back to the capital. I thought I'd visit while I was here."
"Oh?" Xia Mi's eyes sparkled with mischief. She stepped closer, invading his personal space with deliberate playfulness. "And you're cooking? Is this meal for me?"
Her face was suddenly very close to his, bright eyes staring directly into his own with an intensity that made his composure crack.
Chu Zihang's face reddened. "This meal is for several classmates. And the principal."
The truth was straightforward enough. Before the main dragon-slaying operation commenced, Anjou had led Chu Zihang and the other selected students to China early. This was a joint operation requiring face-to-face coordination with Chinese leadership—details that couldn't be handled remotely.
Upon arriving in the capital, Chu Zihang had realized he was technically the host. Inviting Anjou and the others to dinner at his home seemed appropriate. Which led to dragging Finger along to help with cooking