After the mountain rain, the air carried a humid heaviness, the wind pushing it forward like a tidal wave crashing in. A vast sea of green swayed with the breeze, rolling upward from the mountain base, stretching until it reached the cloud-covered summit.
A young man with delicate, almost androgynous features emerged from the base of the mountain. His brows were sharp, his skin fair, and he wore a dark green Kassel College uniform. Climbing up the slope, he veered off to a small cabin along a familiar trail.
Inside, firelight flickered. The rhythmic ringing of hammer on steel echoed through the cabin. An old man in plain white hemp clothes stood by a forge, tempering a blade. Sparks flew as his practiced hands swung the hammer with ease.
"Chikushō, you're home for the break? How's life at Kassel?" the old man asked, inserting the blade blank back into the coals. He wiped his face vigorously with a damp towel. "You must be tired from the trip. Have a seat and relax. On the table is some freshly delivered Kukurihime Ginjo — a fine bottle by Master Noguchi. Try a sip."
The young man, Chikushō Minamoto, didn't stand on ceremony. He shrugged off his green jacket — the forge room was unbearably hot — and grabbed two chilled bottles of sake from a small fridge, handing one to the old man.
This old man was none other than his adoptive father, Tachibana Masamune, head of the Ōrochi Eight Families, the most powerful mixed-blood clan in Japan.
"Pops," Chikushō said, sitting down with his bottle, "I thought you'd be waiting in the office. You've never written specifically before, urging me to return early during summer break."
The letter had seemed urgent, as if something major was about to unfold.
Although Chikushō called Masamune his father, they were not blood-related. He was the old man's adopted son. He didn't know his birth parents. As a child, he and his younger brother were raised by a mountain family in Rokutori Town. Their foster father was a drunk and treated them poorly, always complaining the foster payments weren't enough.
Even then, Chikushō had suspected someone was secretly sending money for them. He thought maybe his real parents were still alive. But instead of a reunion, a middle-aged man dressed like an office worker had shown up — a representative of the Ōrochi Eight Families: Masamune.
Masamune had been the one sending the money. He wanted to adopt Chikushō, claiming that with his superior bloodline, he could rise to the top of the family. After some twists and turns, Chikushō eventually agreed.
Once he entered the family, he learned that the Minamoto bloodline belonged to the "Upper Three" families of the Eight — the Minamoto, Tachibana, and Uesugi — all direct descendants of the god Shirō (the White King), unlike the "Lower Five" families with lesser status.
Masamune claimed his bloodline was average within the Tachibana family, but Chikushō's was that of a "Kō" — a royal-class mixed-blood. According to the Secret Party's research, most mixed-bloods couldn't withstand more than 50% dragon blood without succumbing to their instincts and becoming Dead Servants.
But the Japanese mixed-bloods, descended from Shirō who governed the mind, could exceed that 50% threshold and retain their humanity. The rare few who could do so were called "Kō" — royals. The Kō were the natural-born leaders, the strongest of their kind, destined to head the Ōrochi Eight Families.
With Chikushō as his adopted Kō-blooded heir and through his own efforts, Masamune climbed from a mid-level executive to head of the Tachibana family, eventually becoming clan leader three years ago.
Chikushō, though young, held high status and had earned the admiration of the Eight Families' younger generation. But currently, he was away attending Kassel College on an official assignment, returning home only for breaks — a longstanding tradition for the clan.
Of course, they refused any blood sampling or analysis by the Secret Party. The Eight Families strictly guarded the secrets of the "god" — never allowing the truth of Chikushō's royal blood to be discovered.
"Chikushō," Masamune asked, the blacksmith's hammer paused, "before coming back, did you sense anything off at the academy?"
Chikushō's expression tightened. "No. No big rumors among the students. The professors are teaching normally."
Why this question now? Could the Secret Party be onto his secret? Was that why he'd been recalled?
"Everything being normal is the biggest abnormality," Masamune said gravely. "The students are shielded. Even if there are signs of unrest, the higher-ups will silence them quickly to avoid panic."
"In the meantime, several major events have happened in Shenzhou across the sea. First: Odin, the Norse god, appeared — nearly exposing the existence of dragons. He was ultimately slain by the noble houses of Shenzhou. The 'God Slayer' responsible was named Shirō."
"Second: in negotiations with the Shenzhou nobles, the Secret Party suffered major losses. Details are unknown, but the result is clear — they've virtually withdrawn from the region. And it's not just there. Similar outcomes are occurring across Europe."
"Our intel network in Europe is weaker, so we lack details."
Chikushō was stunned. What the hell? He'd only been gone a semester, and the world was flipped upside down?
The Secret Party, once a global power, was in retreat?
"Exactly, Chikushō. This is our chance to rise!" Masamune's eyes flickered with fire. "Since last century, we've lived under Angreif and the Secret Party's shadow. On paper, we were equals, but in truth, they controlled everything."
"We joined as their 'Japan Division', forming an Executive Bureau modeled on theirs. Though we staffed it ourselves, we were still subordinate — like an autonomous region, not an independent power."
"Now's the time. The Secret Party is weakening. Whether we break free depends on what we do next."
Masamune's voice was full of passion. But Chikushō only watched quietly, his eyes betraying weariness toward the political game.
He wasn't ambitious, but he didn't object either. "So, what's the plan?"
"Shirō — the man who allegedly slew Odin. That's the power we must win over."
"Shirō…? A wild-born mixed-blood?"
Chikushō had never heard of a family by that name in Japan, but still, he was impressed. "To have achieved so much without noble backing… I'm no match for him."
"Exactly why we need him," Masamune nodded. "It's said he carries the Zuolong Platform — a treasure of the Zhou family, one of Shenzhou's oldest houses. I suspect it played a critical role in that battle."
"Though some claim Odin was a Dragon King, slain using what might've been an apocalyptic-level Kotodama, Shirō himself is likely not Dragon King level. Probably a powerful next-generation hybrid."
"In my view, your strength is no less than Shirō's. As a Kō, your blood surpasses any S-rank hybrid the Secret Party has. On that battlefield, you could've slain a god just the same."
"Slaying a god… could I really do that?" Chikushō thought to himself. He wasn't familiar with Odin — his only clear understanding of a "god" was Shirō, the White King.
This god had given them powerful blood, but also cursed them with dangerous instability. Some turned into "oni" — corrupted hybrids who lost their humanity. Many defected and joined the "Fierce Oni Group," a dangerous faction obsessed with becoming dragons themselves.
Before heading to Kassel, Chikushō's job in the Executive Bureau had been to kill oni — fallen hybrids, mentally broken and bloodthirsty, or those seeking dragonhood. It had become routine — a blood-drenched, never-ending routine.
If slaying a god could end this cycle of carnage, then Chikushō truly wished for it — to kill their god.
Masamune sat calmly by the fire, half his face glowing in the forge's light, the other shrouded in shadow.
"Don't worry, Chikushō. One day, we'll end the oni's history. The Fierce Oni Group will fail. And the secret of our 'god' — must remain buried forever."
(End of Chapter)
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