Manstein was about to say something when a financial expert rushed over with a tense expression.
“OPEC announced an increase in crude oil prices five minutes ago!”
“What does crude oil prices have to do with me?” Manstein glared. “I haven’t bought crude oil futures.”
“But the college has! A major purchase using over 1.2 billion from the reserve fund. If we don’t sell quickly, we’ll suffer huge losses. Doesn’t the Finance Committee know?”
“I don’t know! Nobody ever told me! How much are we losing?”
“Conservative estimate—up to 200 million…” The financial expert wiped the cold sweat from his face.
Manstein felt like he was just a breath away from coughing up blood onto the ceiling. With a flamboyant flourish, he signed his name on the secretary’s document, then turned to the financial expert and ordered, “Sell! Sell it all!”
He couldn’t care less about the seventy thousand in Greece—tonight he was making billion-dollar decisions, was there any reason to get mad over a small matter like seventy thousand dollars? It was indeed a night of bad luck, with him alone holding the fort.
Normally, duty professors worked in groups of three, and tonight it was supposed to be his turn along with Guderian and the Execution Bureau Director, Schneider. Guderian, being unreliable as usual, said he was used to going to bed early and didn’t want to work overtime, and out of loyalty to an old friend, Manstein agreed to cover for him. But then Schneider, known for his reputation as a “steel enforcer,” also backed out, saying he had an important academic paper that needed revision, and he, too, asked Manstein to take over.
Manstein knew that although Schneider was a rough guy—he thought everyone in the Execution Bureau was a butcher, a bunch of brutes only interested in wielding weapons—Schneider always wanted to publish more papers to keep up academically with the other professors, so Manstein agreed to cover for him as well.
But tonight, the whole world seemed restless, with not a single good piece of news coming in.
“Gear Department successfully tested a new alchemical weapon in the Sahara Desert!” An intern from the Gear Department suddenly jumped up from his chair, raising his fist in triumph.
His joy ignited the atmosphere in the control room. Everyone knew that the Gear Department had been secretly developing a superweapon in the Sahara Desert that could potentially tip the balance in the war against dragons. And now, it had succeeded!
Everyone raised their fists in celebration, as jubilant as the moment NASA announced a successful moon landing.
Manstein’s spirits lifted, and he wanted to rush over to take a look at the intern’s terminal, but just then, a piercing alarm swept through the entire control room. It was a high-level alert. Manstein turned his head and saw, on the Earth projection, a flashing red light in the depths of the Sahara Desert, rapidly expanding, as if it might engulf the entire globe!
“What’s going on? Wasn’t it a great success?” Manstein roared at the intern.
“There was a small issue. The Pentagon’s spy satellite ‘Tunguska’ happened to be passing over the Sahara Desert, and it observed our weapon test. It misinterpreted it as… a nuclear explosion. According to our insider, the CIA has reported this to the president. Since the test site is within Libya, it’s likely that the U.S. ambassador to Libya will soon send a strong diplomatic note, accusing Libya of conducting secret nuclear tests…”
Manstein slapped his own face hard. He thought, I knew it! When had the Gear Department ever brought good news? But did it have to be this exaggerated?
“What kind of alchemical weapon can be mistaken for a nuclear explosion? Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh?” Manstein’s desperate roars echoed throughout the central control room.
“It was a tactical missile with an alchemical silver warhead, using alchemical mercury, refined nitrate from Vesuvius ash, and Holy Child’s Blood. The explosion can fatally poison dragons in the central area.”
“What’s the use of that? How many dragons will sit in the middle of a desert waiting for you to bomb them? What if it’s in New York? Are you going to let thousands of people die with one dragon? Those components can kill humans just as easily as dragons!” Manstein slumped into his chair, then suddenly jumped up again, slamming his palms on the table. “Execution Bureau! Send someone! Send someone! Send someone to the Sahara Desert immediately! Clean up the scene before the people from the Pentagon get there!”
His roar was drowned out by a tremendous blast wave. The ground shook violently, and the lights flickered off before turning back on.
Manstein fell to the ground, scrambled up, and rushed to the window. In the dark night, a dark blue flame shot into the sky. It was coming from the direction of the “Ice Cellar,” the warehouse that stored alchemical equipment—things capable of destroying the Earth several times over!
“Something’s happened!” Manstein dashed to the control panel, grabbing an iron hammer to smash the glass. Beneath the glass was a red lever for the campus-wide alarm.
Just then, the red phone on the control panel rang. Manstein hesitated for a moment before answering—it was a direct line to the Ice Cellar. He wanted to understand what was happening first. Was it an intrusion? Or an accidental explosion?
“Hello? Who’s on duty tonight?” The voice on the other end asked casually.
“Manstein from the Disciplinary Committee! What’s going on?” Manstein was infuriated by the tone.
He recognized the voice—it belonged to the spokesperson for the Gear Department, or more precisely, the spokesperson for the Walter Alheim Institute. That mouthful of a name was something they had given themselves.
These were people obsessed with scientific truth and weapons development—madmen who rarely showed themselves, thinking little of those on the surface. They also forbade Norma from monitoring the areas under their responsibility, delegating all communication to this unreliable spokesperson.
“Just a routine experiment, a little flare-up. Everything is under control,” the spokesperson said calmly. “No need to overreact. We’re just notifying you that there’s an experiment tonight in the Ice Cellar.”
Manstein’s eyes blazed with anger. “Under control? Your experiment in the Sahara—”
“All departments, in position! Hydrogen flame is ready, we’re going for another round!” came a voice with an Indian accent from the receiver.
“Another round?! You madmen won’t rest until you cause a disaster, will you?” Manstein roared into the phone, but all he got in response was a dial tone—the spokesperson had already hung up.
Manstein slowly put down the phone and slumped back into his chair. What else could he do? There were departments in this college that you just couldn’t afford to cross, and the Gear Department was one of them. Even if everyone knew that their reckless actions could bring down the sky, no one wanted their new gear to mysteriously explode on the next mission.
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