The Nibelungen Project in this world was the brainchild of Kassel Academy's Vice Principal and Watcher—Nicholas Flamel. It fused alchemy and biotechnology, using a purified serum derived from dragon blood to awaken the dormant dragon genes in hybrids.
Normally, pushing dragon bloodline expression too far was extremely dangerous. It would throw the balance between dragon and human genetics out of alignment, allowing the bloodthirsty and violent instincts of dragons to overpower human rationality—ultimately turning the hybrid into a mindless monster: a Dead Servant.
The Nibelungen Project's groundbreaking aspect lay in how Flamel could embed an alchemical matrix into the body. This matrix suppressed the dragon blood's berserk nature, allowing hybrids to surpass the critical blood limit without losing their minds. In theory, this meant Kassel Academy could artificially produce super-hybrids on par with high-tier dragons.
Naturally, the proposal caused an uproar when it was first introduced.
If it could be implemented without limit—mass-producing such hybrids—then even the threat of dragon resurrection would become irrelevant.
But the Academy soon discovered a fatal flaw: the project was absurdly expensive. Producing the serum required rare resources, and only Flamel himself could implant the alchemical matrices, a process that was highly complex. At best, they could make one super-hybrid.
At this moment, Wazhu and the other Shenzhou hybrids had yet to learn about those setbacks. The project was still in its hype phase.
To them, if the rumors were true, it meant the Western powers' threat level had just skyrocketed.
"Hmph. Since the opening of the Thirteen Hongs in Guangzhou, countless treasures of Shenzhou have flowed out of the country," Wazhu said darkly. "The Western Secret Party has always been heavy-handed. If this rumor proves true, the Kassel branch in Shenzhou will grow even more arrogant."
The Secret Party, a hybrid faction known for its dragon-slaying and hawkish philosophy, had built enforcement divisions around the world, supposedly to hunt down dragons. They wielded massive global influence under that banner.
The Age of Dragons may have ended, but not all dragons had died—some had cocooned themselves in deep slumber, awaiting revival. The Secret Party's execution branches existed to hunt them down completely.
But make no mistake: under the guise of "globalized dragon-slaying," they had taken over enormous resources and influence.
In contrast, Shenzhou's hybrid clans—despite their ancient legacies—were conservative and mostly focused on defending their homeland's dragons and hybrid interests. They were local organizations.
"You are absolutely right, Wazhu-sama. We must begin preparations early," Zhou Yuxuan agreed.
They decided to increase their focus on Emiya Shirou.
"Zhou Yuxuan, you'll go meet this Eastern boy. Contact the Daoist circles—the Danding Sect, Talisman Sect, and Divination Sect. Invite all their greats to join… under the guise that I've made new discoveries and wish to host a scholarly exchange."
"Understood."
Zhou Yuxuan vanished from the hall.
Wazhu stared out at the cold moonlight as it slowly disappeared behind thick clouds. Her golden pupils flickered like rotating flower petals.
"The wind's about to rise."
A breeze stirred, fluttering her long, flowing dress.
As it lifted, no legs were revealed—only a serpentine tail, scaled and coiled beneath the fabric.
——
That night, in a southeastern city of Shenzhou.
This city was divided by an invisible boundary.
One side was the old district—a bustling CBD zone full of towering, mirror-glass skyscrapers that reflected neon lights into glittering spires of luxury. The people here, sharply dressed, looked like devout worshippers of money.
On the other end was the new development zone, filled with cheap housing and muddy roads. Despite poor infrastructure, it bustled with everyday life. The contrast between the two sides was stark.
Atop the rooftop of one of these affordable buildings stood a small boy in a sharp suit and bow tie.
Despite the poor soundproofing—or maybe because of his exceptional hearing—he could still hear the voices from downstairs, where his older brother Lu Mingfei was being bossed around by their aunt and uncle.
The boy's eyes were half-closed, his expression somber. He wasn't angry at the relatives below. No—his mood came from something deeper: resentment toward the boy who had stolen his name—Lu Mingze, Lu Mingfei's chubby cousin.
Dark clouds quietly swallowed the moon.
Suddenly, the boy's eyes flew open and he stared skyward, his voice laced with disbelief:
"Huh? Someone's… changed the script!?"
"Massive worldline divergence detected—Magus? Immortal? Holy Grail War… Chaldea…?"
What kind of chaos is this future turning into!?
——
Emiya Shirou had no idea that a few casual comments from him that night would cause people to lose sleep, race across countries, and even alter the course of destiny.
He, meanwhile, slept like a baby.
The next morning, fully rested and refreshed, Shirou began his mission preparations.
Although calling it "preparation" was a stretch—he didn't have much to pack. Thanks to the original Shirou's solid swordsmanship, his routine was the same as always: carry a set of reinforced long and short swords, a black bow, and a bundle of arrows. (These magically reinforced weapons wouldn't trigger metal detectors, making travel through security a breeze. He could even restock at local shops once on-site.)
He sheathed each weapon, sorted and bound them with rubber bands and clips, then packed them neatly into a black cello case.
As for firearms? That was Old Tang's department.
Next up: the mission itself.
According to their employer, they were to arrive a day early to meet the contact person.
Shirou thought maybe he was getting special treatment—only for Old Tang to shut that idea down.
"You wish! Just gaming together ain't enough to earn favors from someone like Wazhu," Tang had said bluntly.
He warned that missions like this—especially ancient ruin explorations—were deadly. Hauntings and accidents were common. Bounty hunters like them were just the front-line meat shields, sent in to test the waters.
Wazhu's connection? Not enough for special privileges.
At best, if they survived, they might get slightly better rewards than the others.
Since experienced Old Tang said so, Shirou didn't worry.
Tang's luck was legendary. He had a sixth sense for avoiding danger. As long as Shirou memorized the ruin layout to avoid getting lost with his directionally-challenged partner, things should be fine.
By now, Old Tang—still in North America—should've already left for the mission site.
Shirou finished packing, snapped the cello case shut—then suddenly froze.
Wait… what if Tang already got lost trying to find the meetup spot before the mission even started?
——
That night, Shirou arrived at the closed-off venue and spotted a large, obvious banner:
"Xth Jingchu Culture Academic Symposium."
Yup, this was definitely the meeting place.
But there was no sign of the familiar face.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled to Old Tang in his contacts.
"I'm here. Where are you?"
A moment later, a frantic reply came through:
"HELP!! I'm gonna get silenced!! Coordinates XXX…!!"
"…Huh!?"
(End of Chapter)
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