Upon the newly conquered frozen lands of Snezhnaya bordering Mondstadt, an old fortress originally built for mineral exploration has undergone swift and thorough reconstruction. Its towering perimeter walls were thickened and reinforced, lined atop with high-voltage barbed wire. The number of watchtowers tripled, each fitted with rapid-fire ballistae of distinct Eastern design—not standard issue for Snezhnaya’s military.
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Inside the fortress, all original structures were leveled. In their place rose several stark, unadorned grey rectangular edifices with cold, rigid lines. The buildings bore narrow windows all sealed shut from within. Now and then, figures clad in full-enclosed white hazmat suits flitted past the window gaps in fleeting glimpses.
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Most unsettling of all stood the tallest spire at the fortress’s exact center. Painted a blinding shade of white from base to peak, it jutted sharply into the iron-grey sky like a colossal chalk bone. Pale yellowish-green fumes, carrying an eerie sweet metallic stench, coiled endlessly from its summit. Even amid Snezhnaya’s fiercest blizzards, the smoke clung undispersed, resembling vengeful spirits bound to the tower’s crown. The remaining local populace whispered in terror, naming the stronghold the Chalk Tower, or simply the Ogre’s Lair.
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This place was the first and most pivotal creation born from the alliance between Date Masamune and Il Dottore: headquarters of Unit 137. The codename, personally chosen by Date Masamune, derived from the proverb One life, seven transformations; evolution without end. It embodied his ultimate obsession with the forced evolution and weaponization of all living things.
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Beneath the Chalk Tower’s depths, sealed off entirely from the howling winds and snow above, echoed a grim symphony of other sounds: the crisp clink of metal instruments, the dull hum of suction pumps, and the grating, teeth-numbing resonance of low-frequency vibration machinery.
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The air reeked of an oppressive, nauseating cocktail of scents: the burning tang of formalin, the iron rot of dried blood, the putrid stench of waste, and a cloying sweetness reminiscent of slow decay. Together they formed a death cocktail potent enough to drive any ordinary person to madness.
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Inside a vast, brilliantly lit dissection chamber lined floor-to-ceiling with easy-to-clean bone-white tiles, a routine experiment was underway.
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Subject ID: C-774
A survivor of a nearby razed village, a young Snezhnayan boy no older than eight or nine. His naked frame was strapped fast to a cold metal dissection table, limbs bound tight with leather restraints and his mouth sealed with heavy adhesive tape. Only his wide, terror-stricken blue eyes moved futilely, tears long since dried up.
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Overseeing the experiment was not one of Dottore’s segments, but a physician dispatched by the Date Clan, known only as Xuanhe. Clad in sterile scrubs and a face mask, only his emotionless eyes remained visible. His movements were precise, steady, executed with the cold efficiency of a macabre performance.
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“Log entry,” Xuanhe’s voice came muffled and distorted through his mask. “Subject C-774, male, estimated age eight, native Snezhnayan. Administer Phase Three of the Lunar Mist viral serum. Record rate of acute organ failure and abnormal neural discharge patterns.”
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His scalpel glinted with icy light as it sliced cleanly through the boy’s chest and abdomen. No anesthesia was given. Agony wracked the child’s body, thrashing like a fish out of water as restraints bit deep into his frail limbs, emitting an unnerving grinding creak. Muffled, bestial whimpers strained from his throat. Yet Xuanhe and his assistants paid it no mind, their full focus fixed on the exposed organs undergoing horrific mutation.
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The heart pulsed wildly and erratically, turning deep violet. The lungs blistered with hemorrhages, resembling waterlogged tattered sponges. The liver faded into an ominous grey-green, already softening and showing signs of dissolution.
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“Pulmonary failure at seventy percent. Hepatic necrosis exceeding sixty percent. Widespread abnormal neural discharge detected, accompanied by uncontrollable spasms of the extremities,” the assistant recited data dispassionately, as if reading an unrelated report.
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“Extract samples. Prioritize mutating ganglia and lymphatic tissue,” Xuanhe ordered. With practiced precision, he excised tissue fragments and placed them into cryogenic storage casings. The boy’s life ebbed rapidly away, his gaze growing hollow and vacant.
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This was but a tiny microcosm of Unit 137’s daily atrocities.
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Adjacent in the Bio-Fusion Laboratory, even more inhumane experiments ran concurrently. Fatui soldiers’ limbs were forcibly grafted onto Snezhnaya’s Cryo Whopperflowers or mechanical components of Ruin Guards, testing bodily tolerance and combat capability. Failed fusion subjects contorted into unrecognizable masses of flesh in unbearable agony, then disposed of as medical waste.
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At the Low-Temperature Adaptation Testing Ground, living prisoners were stripped bare and exposed to conditions replicating the frigid extremes of Dragonspine in Mondstadt. Researchers documented their dropping body temperature, progression of frostbite, and exact time of death. Blood samples were drawn periodically to analyze physiological changes induced by subzero cold.
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The most secretive facility, the Pathogen Cultivation Center, lay hidden in the Chalk Tower’s lowest level. Here resided bacteria and viruses gathered from every corner of Teyvat, alongside synthetic pathogens engineered by Dottore using Abyssal arts and alchemy. Sealed within enchanted glass vessels, they glowed with an otherworldly faint luminescence. Scientists conducted aerosol transmission and water contamination trials, testing infection rates and lethality across species: humans, hilichurls, even lesser demonic beasts. Occasional minor incidents—cracked containers or escaped test subjects—sparked brief panics, swiftly suppressed and buried.
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Katakura Kojuro once toured sections of Unit 137, accompanied by one of Dottore’s administrative segments. A seasoned strategist hardened by battlefield slaughter and political intrigue, even he paled slightly and felt his stomach churn upon gazing through the observation windows at the hellish scenes within the labs. He quickly regained his composure, his expression settling into unreadable calm.
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“The results are remarkable,” Katakura Kojuro said evenly to Dottore beside him, betraying no emotion. “My lord has reviewed the preliminary reports and is highly satisfied with the progress. Research data on the Lunar Mist and Black Blight series holds immense strategic value for our army’s future operations in complex combat environments.”
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Dottore’s segment let out a low, rasping laugh that echoed harshly through the empty, oppressive corridor. “Knowledge is born from pushing the boundaries of existence. It is an honor for these ‘specimens’ to contribute to evolution and truth. The resources and ideology provided by Lord Date have undeniably accelerated our work.” He paused, gesturing toward the next laboratory. “Now, let us witness the live trials of our Colossal Bioweapons. I believe you will find the display far more… direct.”
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They proceeded to a massive enclosed arena, built like a coliseum. At its center stood a captured Hilichurl King, crisscrossed with implanted catheters and neural control implants. Its eyes blazed crimson as it roared with unbridled fury. Opposite it stood several ragged prisoners, chosen as targets for combat simulation trials.
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Katakura Kojuro watched silently the impending, one-sided slaughter, his hand tightening unconsciously within the folds of his wide sleeve. Date Masamune’s ambition and Dottore’s madness had fused perfectly within the Chalk Tower, birthing a monstrous abomination sustained by countless innocent lives. He knew all the sins of this place would eventually be laid at the feet of the Date Clan of Oshu. Yet for his lord’s dream of unifying the realm under arms, for seizing dominance in the chaotic East and the wider world beyond, such sacrifices seemed inevitable.
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Still, deep within his heart, a shadow of doubt lingered. Could the wails and hatred of countless lives silently perishing beneath the Chalk Tower truly be sealed away forever beneath these frozen wastes? He understood that this pact with the devil could never be undone once made. And the legacy of Unit 137 would forever be etched as one of the darkest, bloodiest chapters in the history of Teyvat.
位于新占领的、毗邻蒙德的至冬冻土之上，一座原本用于矿产勘探的旧堡垒被迅速而彻底地改造。高耸的围墙被加厚、加固，顶端缠绕着通了高压电流的铁丝网，瞭望塔的数量增加了三倍，上面架设着并非至冬制式的、带有明显东方风格的速射弩炮。堡垒内部，原有的建筑被推平，取而代之的是几栋线条冷酷、毫无装饰的灰色方形大楼。这些大楼窗户狭小，且都被从内部封死，偶尔有穿着全封闭白色防护服的身影在窗口一闪而过。
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最令人不安的，是位于堡垒正中央的那座最高的塔楼。它通体被粉刷成一种刺眼的白色，仿佛一根巨大的白垩骨头，直插铁灰色的天穹。塔楼顶部终日冒着淡淡的、带着奇异甜腥味的黄绿色烟雾，即便是在至冬最猛烈的风雪中，那烟雾也凝而不散，如同缠绕在塔顶的怨灵。当地残存的居民，在恐惧中私下称这座堡垒为“白垩之塔”，或称其为“食人魔之巢”。
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这里，就是伊达政宗与博士多托雷合作协议下的第一个，也是最重要的产物——“一三七部队”的本部。代号“一三七”，据说是伊达政宗亲自选定，取“一生七变，演化无穷”之意，暗合其对生命强制进化与武器化的极致追求。
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在白垩之塔深深的地下，隔绝了外界一切风雪声的世界里，回荡着的是另一种声音——金属器械碰撞的清脆响声、沉闷的抽气泵声、以及某种低频振动仪器发出的令人牙酸的嗡鸣。空气中弥漫的气味更为浓烈刺鼻：福尔马林的呛人气味、血液的铁锈味、排泄物的恶臭，以及一种仿佛什么东西正在缓慢腐烂的甜腻气息，混合成一种足以让任何正常人精神崩溃的“死亡鸡尾酒”。
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在一间灯火通明、墙壁和地面都是易于清洗的惨白色瓷砖的巨大解剖室内，一场“常规实验”正在进行。
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实验体编号：C-774，原身份是附近一个被抹平村庄的幸存者，一个看起来只有八九岁的至冬男孩。他赤裸的身体被牢牢固定在冰冷的金属解剖台上，四肢被皮带束缚，嘴上贴着强效胶带，只有那双因极致恐惧而睁大的蓝色眼睛，还在徒劳地转动着，泪水早已流干。
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主持实验的，并非多托雷的切片本人，而是一名由伊达家派遣来的，被称为“玄鹤”的医师。他穿着无菌服，戴着口罩，只露出一双毫无感情的眼睛。他的手法精准、稳定，带着一种近乎艺术表演般的冷酷效率。
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“记录，”玄鹤的声音透过口罩，显得沉闷而失真，“实验体C-774，男性，预估年龄八岁，至冬本土人种。注入‘胧月’病毒原液第三阶段。观察脏器急性衰竭速率及神经系统异常放电模式。”
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他手中的手术刀闪烁着寒光，精准地划开男孩的胸腔和腹腔。没有使用任何麻醉剂，剧烈的疼痛让男孩的身体如同离开水的鱼一般剧烈弹动，束缚带深深勒进他瘦弱的肢体，发出令人牙酸的摩擦声。喉咙里发出被压抑的、野兽般的呜咽。然而玄鹤和他的助手们对此视若无睹，他们的注意力完全集中在暴露出来的、正在发生可怕变化的器官上。
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心脏在疯狂地、不规则地搏动，颜色变得暗紫；肺部布满出血点，像两块吸满了水的破海绵；肝脏则呈现出一种不祥的灰绿色，并且开始出现软化、溶解的迹象。
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“肺部功能衰竭率，百分之七十。肝脏坏死面积超过百分之六十。神经系统出现大面积异常放电，伴随肢体末端不受控痉挛。”助手冷静地报着数据，仿佛在朗读一份与己无关的报告。
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“采集样本。重点采集正在异变的神经节和淋巴组织。”玄鹤命令道，手中的器械熟练地切取着组织块，放入旁边的低温保存盒中。男孩的生命力正在飞速流逝，眼神逐渐涣散。
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这仅仅是“一三七部队”日常工作的一个微小缩影。
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在旁边的“生物融合实验室”里，更加非人道的实验正在同步进行。将愚人众士兵的肢体与至冬特有的冰元素骗骗花、或是遗迹猎兵的机械部件进行强制融合，观察其耐受性与战斗力变化。失败的融合体往往在极度的痛苦中扭曲成一团无法辨认的肉块，然后被当做医疗废物处理。
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在“低温环境适应性测试场”，活生生的囚犯被剥去衣物，暴露在模拟蒙德龙脊雪山极寒的环境下，记录其体温下降速度、冻伤过程以及最终死亡时间。研究人员会定期抽取他们的血液，分析在极端寒冷下血液成分的变化。
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而最为隐秘的“病原体培育中心”，则位于白垩之塔的最底层。这里培养着从提瓦特各地搜集来的，以及由多托雷利用深渊技术和炼金术人工合成的各种细菌与病毒。它们被储存在特制的琉璃容器中，散发着幽幽的光芒。研究人员在这里进行着气溶胶传播实验、水源污染实验，测试着各种病原体对不同种族（人类、丘丘人、甚至一些低等魔物）的感染效率和致死率。偶尔有容器破裂或是实验动物逃脱的微小事故，都会在内部引起一阵短暂的、但被迅速镇压下去的恐慌。
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片仓小十郎在一个由多托雷（某个负责行政管理的切片）陪同的日子，巡视了“一三七部队”的部分区域。即便是他这样见惯了战场厮杀、历经政治风浪的谋将，在走过那些实验室的观察窗外，看到里面如同地狱绘卷般的景象时，他的脸色也不由得微微发白，胃里一阵翻涌。但他很快控制住了自己，眼神恢复了古井无波。
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“成果显著，”片仓小十郎对身旁的多托雷说道，声音平稳，听不出任何情绪，“主君收到初步报告，对进展十分满意。特别是关于‘胧月’和‘黑疽’系列的研究数据，对于我军未来在复杂环境下作战，具有极高的参考价值。”
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多托雷的切片发出几声低沉的笑声，那笑声在空旷而压抑的走廊里回荡，显得格外刺耳：“知识本就诞生于对极限的探索。这些‘素材’能为进化与真理做出贡献，是他们的荣幸。伊达公提供的资源和‘理念’，确实大大加速了进程。”他顿了顿，指向下一间实验室，“接下来，我们去看看‘大型生物兵器’的测试现场，我想，那会更加……直观。”
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他们来到一个巨大的、如同角斗场般的封闭测试场。场中央，一头被捕获的丘丘王，身上被植入了数根导管和神经控制单元，双眼赤红，发出狂暴的咆哮。而在它对面，是几名被作为“对抗测试”目标的、衣衫褴褛的囚犯。
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片仓小十郎默默地注视着下方即将开始的、毫无悬念的屠杀，他的手在宽大的袖袍中，不自觉地握紧了。伊达政宗的野心，多托雷的疯狂，在这座白垩之塔中完美地融合，孕育出的是一头以无数生命为食粮的恐怖怪兽。他知道，这一切的罪孽，最终都将记在奥州伊达家的名下。但为了主君所谓的“天下布武”，为了在那纷乱的东方乃至更广阔的世界占据先机，这些代价，似乎是必须支付的。
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只是，在这座白垩之塔的地下，那无数无声消逝的生命所汇聚的悲鸣与怨恨，真的能够被永远封锁在这冰原之下吗？片仓小十郎的内心深处，闪过一丝不易察觉的阴霾。他知道，这场与魔鬼的交易，一旦开始，就再也无法回头。而“一三七部队”的存在，终将成为提瓦特大陆历史中，最黑暗、最血腥的一页之一。
This chapter is based on real historical events. The prototype of Unit 137 is Japan's Unit 731 during World War II. This unit conducted all kinds of human-specific bacterial experiments, human experimentation, live vivisection, and other atrocities. The mastermind behind it was Shiro Ishii.
此章节是有历史原型的，137部队的原型是二战日本731部队。这支部队做着各种专门对人的细菌实验，人体实验，活体解剖等等。它的主谋是石井四郎。
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and then Add to home screen.