Chapter One: Huh? I Am Gungnir?

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Night. Storm. Overpass.

Staring at the scene before her, brimming with all the classic motifs, Tang Xi’s mind was filled with utter dismay.

She had no idea how many days it had been since she crossed into this world.

In a place that should have been swallowed by darkness, light was seeping out—like a tide stained red and white.

At the center of that tide stood a horse, massive as a mountain, its back bearing a hulking shadow: a figure clad in heavy, dark golden armor, rainwater cascading over plates that seemed to shimmer with a faint glow. In his hand, he held a curved spear.

As the chief god of the Aesir in Norse mythology, Odin was nothing if not imposing.

Yet Tang Xi had not crossed over into Odin himself. She had become the spear he wielded—Gungnir.

Thanks for nothing. Newly transmigrated, now part of the Dragon Clan’s world, but stripped of her greatest asset—and, to make matters worse, not even technically a person anymore.

Tang Xi felt a profound sense of melancholy about it all.

What made things worse was her current alignment: she seemed to be on the side of the antagonists.

Anyone who’d read Dragon Clan knew that Odin was the greatest villain in the early chapters—the mastermind, creator of the ghoul theory, the one who believed everything useful should be devoured.

Not that Tang Xi cared much about sides, but the problem was her own state: she felt incomplete, as if she was only an avatar, her true self far away somewhere, and this fragment was fragile—prone to breaking.

Odin didn’t care about durability at all. In fact, Tang Xi had the uneasy sense that after he detected her presence, he intentionally used her in ways that would lead to her being wrecked. She wasn’t sure if she’d survive the destruction of this avatar.

To play it safe, Tang Xi was planning an escape.

But there lay the problem: as a weapon unable to move on her own, how could she escape from her master?

She’d pondered this for a long time and found no answer.

“Put away your ridiculous thoughts. You will never leave me!”

A grand and solemn voice thundered in Tang Xi’s mind, resonant as an ancient bronze bell. She ignored him.

She guessed she was something like a weapon spirit now, and that communication with Odin was possible. But Odin disdained to speak with her, except when she was plotting to escape—then he would deign to mock her.

Tang Xi was at a loss. Just as she was about to try reasoning with Odin, she heard the roar of an engine, a sound growing near—like a beast tearing through the rain.

Chu Tianjiao stomped the accelerator, the Maybach’s frame shuddering as it surged ahead.

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In a matter of seconds, the steel beast was racing at over 200 kilometers per hour, yet they still hadn’t shaken off the shadows.

Figures gathered outside the car, blinding mercury light slicing in, painting the faces within a ghastly white.

Chu Zihang was curled up in the passenger seat, trembling with fear, clutching his head and enduring a searing pain deep within his brain.

Chu Tianjiao gripped his hand tightly, forcing steadiness into his voice: “Don’t be afraid, child. Your bloodline is awakening. This is the real world…”

But Chu Zihang couldn’t hear him. All he could smell was the acrid stench of burning rubber as tires fought the road, the screech of something sharp against glass, and the whispers of those phantom shadows…

At last, he couldn’t bear it any longer and let out a scream of agony.

There was nothing the man could do but slam the accelerator to the floor. The Maybach surged forward like an enraged wild stallion, smashing shadow after shadow aside, chasing a sliver of hope toward the white light at the end of the road.

As the mist parted, they saw the colossal figure standing in the glow.

Chu Tianjiao clenched his jaw, stomped the accelerator, and the Maybach crashed forth. The eight-legged celestial steed reared, four hooves pawing the air, torrents of water swirling to hurl the Maybach away.

Swarming shadows closed in from every side, sealing off all escape—they were surrounded by deathless sentinels.

There was no way out.

The man gritted his teeth, got out of the car with Chu Zihang, and together they stood in the beams of the blinding headlights—one hand gripping a long blade, the other holding his son’s hand, their stance proud and unyielding.

“You dare crash into the throne of a god?” Odin’s deep voice rolled through the rain.

“No choice. The road’s slick,” the man replied coolly. “I know what you want. Fine.”

He patted Chu Zihang’s shoulder. The boy clutched a black suitcase to his chest. At his father’s signal, he handed it over. The man took it, leaned down, and whispered in his ear, “Remember—don’t get too close to me, and don’t stray too far. When I say ‘run,’ you run to the car.”

“Never look back. Never look back!”

Chu Zihang nodded, trembling.

Side by side, they walked toward Odin, step by step.

Tang Xi knew Odin was waiting here for Chu Tianjiao and whatever he carried, but she hadn’t expected that this seemingly ordinary day was the day that would go down in history.

On this stormy overpass night, Chu Zihang would be transformed—a turning point in the Dragon Clan’s saga. But at this moment, Tang Xi had no mind for witnessing history; all she could think about was whether she could seize the opportunity to escape.

Odin had wielded her in combat several times before, but never let her out of his grasp—watching her too closely for any tricks. But if tonight he threw her, would that be her chance?

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Whatever the risk, it was worth a try.

Tang Xi grew restless, watching the two figures draw closer, stop, exchange words she barely registered.

Until the man’s voice tore through the night—a desperate, soul-rending roar: “Run!”

The atmosphere ignited, as if a bowl of oil had been thrown on flames. Chu Zihang spun around and bolted for the car, wild with panic, while the man hefted his blade and charged at Odin.

Odin drew Gungnir, unleashing it—lightning flashed, the spear lancing out in countless strikes, a torrential meteor shower aimed at the man’s vital points.

He paid no heed to the shadows closing in, dodging and leaping, blade flashing as he slashed toward Odin, toward the god’s very head.

At the same moment, he bellowed, “Son, drive! Go!”

And Odin, at last, threw the spear.

Tang Xi suddenly found herself able to move—exhilaration surged within her—yet Odin’s mocking laughter echoed in her ear.

She understood perfectly. Gungnir was the god-lance that never missed; not even as a weapon spirit could she change that law.

She hurtled, unstoppable, toward the man’s roar, as if she were a falling star.

Meanwhile, the Maybach’s engine roared to life, the car shot backwards, breaking through the rain and vanishing into the night.

The man’s eyes reflected the spear shrieking toward him. With no room to dodge, he wore not a trace of fear—only a faint relief.

“You run fast, you brat,” he murmured, closing his eyes, letting the spear strike.

But in the next instant, he was stunned—for the legendary, invincible weapon merely grazed his shoulder, leaving only a shallow wound, and did not slow at all. It sped straight toward the direction where the Maybach had disappeared.

It had barely scraped him, as if by accident. The spear’s true target, from the very beginning, had always been the boy escaping in the car.

“No! Chu Zihang!” the man roared. “No!”

But Tang Xi screamed even louder inside: “Chu Zihang! Wait for me! Someone’s not in the car yet! I’m not in the car yet!”