Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 214: Boy in the Thorns (17)

Dragon Raja 3

Inuyama’s Yanling was Satsuna. At his peak, when he could reach 128 times the normal speed, he was known as the Sword Saint of the Yamata no Orochi. When wielding his rapid Iaijutsu techniques, no one could see his blade—it was merely a faint flash in the air.

No one knew just how high Satsuna could go. In history, one famous wielder was the Marquis of Charlotte from the Secret Party’s Council of Elders. He wielded a specially designed six-barrel revolver, firing twelve bullets simultaneously. The sound of a single shot would be heard, but twelve bullets would cut through the air, covering all angles. It was said his Satsuna could reach the eighth tier. When the Marquis, known as “Silver Wing,” swept across Europe slaying dragons, Anjou was just an ordinary student at Cambridge. The Marquis had been one of his teachers, and his understanding of Satsuna greatly enhanced Anjou’s mastery of Time Zero. Anjou had taken Inuyama as a student because of his mastery of Satsuna. Among Yanlings, Satsuna was the only true counter to Time Zero. Anjou had used Inuyama’s Satsuna to sharpen his own Time Zero!

Inuyama had never been able to break through Anjou’s defense—not because of his swordsmanship, but because he wasn’t fast enough.

Although Satsuna was ranked lower than Time Zero, the strength of a Yanling was not solely determined by rank. There was no limit to speed, and no defense was truly unbreakable. Even the most perfect defense could be shattered—as long as you were fast, faster, and even faster!

On the third-floor balcony, Miyamoto Shio and Ryoma Genichirō exchanged glances. This was not what they had come here for, but at this point, there was no turning back. Inuyama had become a tightly drawn bow, and nothing could stop him now. They could only wait for the arrow to be released.

Anjou’s posture remained relaxed, and the more intense Inuyama’s killing intent grew, the deeper the mocking smile on his face became.

“バカ!” Anjou suddenly shouted, breaking the silence. No one expected him to use this sharp Japanese word like a verbal dagger against Inuyama.

The clear sound of blades echoed through Tamamo-mae.

Sight! Breath! Draw! Strike! Cut! Blood flick! Sheathe!

Inuyama and Anjou passed each other, with Onimaru Kunitsuna still in its scabbard, and Inuyama maintaining the stance of drawing his sword. If one were to capture the moment with a high-speed camera and play it back slowly, they would see that in the instant they passed each other, Inuyama had already completed a full Iai cut. Seven steps in total, flawlessly executed, as beautiful as a dance, adhering strictly to the laws of swordsmanship.

This was a sixth-tier Satsuna, a 64-times-speed godlike slash.

For sixty-two years, Inuyama had been defeated by this man, and he had admitted that his talent was not as great. But today, he believed he could win. He had spent sixty-two years preparing for this one slash. Sixty-two years was enough to hone a piece of common iron into a legendary sword, and with this strike, time seemed to flash by like lightning.

But this was far from over. Inuyama turned, becoming a blur once more, passing Anjou a second time.

Sight! Breath! Draw! Strike! Cut! Blood flick! Sheathe! A second round of Iai, this time with a seventh-tier Satsuna, 128-times-speed godlike slash!

A third round… a fourth… a fifth… Inuyama moved back and forth, his blade raining down on Anjou like a violent storm. The sound of his sword cutting through the air layered over itself, resembling a thunderous wave crashing against the sky.

The red silk was shredded by the fierce wind, and the Yasha and tigers erupted from the fragments! Anjou remained motionless, not even bothering to turn around, matching Inuyama’s speed with his own sword strikes. At the same time, he taunted viciously, “Too slow! Too slow! Too slow!”

Anjou’s speed was in no way inferior to Inuyama’s, and he even had energy to spare. Though he wielded two swords, his left hand holding Nagasa Kotetsu rested on his shoulder, unmoving. He only used the Ichimonji Norimune in his right hand to parry, each strike landing precisely on the middle of Onimaru Kunitsuna—its weakest point. The seemingly unbeatable Iai was dismantled time and time again.

Both men tore through the air at such high speed that the sound of their blades screeching could not be endured, forcing the girls nearby to cover their ears.

“Too slow! Too slow! Too slow!” Anjou shouted. “Is this all you’ve got? Is this all?”

How humiliating… Inuyama felt his nerves scream in agony. From sixty years ago until today, Anjou had never given him anything but humiliation.

His mind flashed back to their first meeting many years ago, in 1945. Eighteen-year-old Inuyama met Anjou, who was already sixty-eight in reality. It wasn’t until much later that Inuyama learned of Anjou’s true age. He looked so elegant, so refined—like an immortal vampire!

Inuyama hated recalling those days. In 1945, the atomic bombs leveled Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Emperor announced Japan’s unconditional surrender, and soon after, the entire country was occupied by American forces. It was a devastated Japan, with memories full of muddy streets, wounded soldiers begging on the roadside, American jeeps roaring by, and women being casually dragged into them by American soldiers. There was nothing beautiful in that time… Inuyama could still recall the sight of those women’s legs, pale and sagging beneath wrinkled kimonos, like dehydrated dead flesh.

Spring came, the cherry blossoms bloomed, and Inuyama clacked through Tokyo Harbor in wooden clogs.

He was a young pimp, and his job was to procure prostitutes for the American soldiers. That day, he was busy embellishing the beauty of a certain woman to an American sailor, praising her beyond measure when a long blast from a ship’s horn interrupted him. Inuyama had mingled with sailors long enough to recognize different horn sounds, but he had never heard one so imposing, so deafening. He turned in surprise and saw the white Iowa battleship sailing in from the horizon, its towering hull like a skyscraper, its black cannons pointed at Tokyo. The giant ship was as large as a city, and Inuyama felt an overwhelming sense that this ship would change his life… Later, he learned that aboard that ship was a U.S. Navy lieutenant commander named Hilbert Ron Anjou.

When they first met, Anjou wore his white U.S. Navy officer’s uniform. He glanced at the tattoo on Inuyama’s arm and said in a disdainful tone, “A child of the Inuyama clan? Go back and tell your family, my name is Anjou, Hilbert Ron Anjou, a Hybrid from America. You have two choices: peace or dignity.”

Peace meant submission, and dignity meant death. From their very first meeting, Anjou made his principles clear.

“Is this all you’ve got? Is this all? Too slow! Too slow! Too slow!” Inuyama’s memory echoed with Anjou’s relentless taunts.

The pain was excruciating, over and over again, as Anjou wielded his bamboo sword, knocking Inuyama to the ground repeatedly. Each time, Inuyama lunged back, but in Anjou’s eyes, he was nothing more than a puppy with undeveloped teeth.