Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 392: Night of the King’s Assassination (8)

Dragon Raja 3

Sakura’s Yanling allowed her to precisely control air currents. The wind lifted these delicate blades, the heaviest of which weighed only about 30 grams, but their nano-processed edges were sharp enough to slice through an enemy’s flesh.

The deadly swarm of butterflies silently took control of the battlefield. Among these people, Sakura had the weakest bloodline, but she was an exceptionally skilled assassin. The remaining three were locked onto each other.

This was her stage for killing.

Chisei felt a flicker of joy in his heart. He was within Sakura’s killing field, yet he wasn’t worried that he was her target. He trusted Sakura completely—he had trained her personally. They weren’t in an alliance or a partnership; they had a relationship of master and subordinate, and Sakura would undoubtedly stand by his side.

By the time Osho noticed, the silver butterflies had already filled the lookout point. The blades trembled in the wind, seemingly hesitant to approach Osho, but even with his regenerative abilities, repeated cuts from the blades could still affect him.

“Such beautiful things don’t belong in a place like this. On this blood-soaked land, only black flocks of crows should rise and fall,” Osho said slowly.

He was being attacked from all sides, trapped in a hopeless situation on the battlefield, yet he remained as solid as forged iron.

Chisei still didn’t dare to strike, as Osho was too close to Tachibana. Osho still had a chance to kill Tachibana, even amidst attacks from Sakura and Chisei. If he lost Tachibana, a figure who was like both a teacher and father to him, Chisei didn’t know if he could bear it.

“Chisei, are you ready?” Tachibana suddenly spoke.

“I’m ready,” Chisei snapped back to full awareness.

“I’m ready too,” Tachibana said, his tone filled with comfort.

Osho and Tachibana disappeared simultaneously, charging toward each other at extreme speed. Blade flashes and shadows intertwined! In the end, it was Tachibana who broke this deadlock. At the moment he smiled, Osho caught his opening and launched his deadly strike. Chisei lunged at Osho’s back, transforming into a diving eagle, his blade the eagle’s beak. Sakura leaped from the tower, plummeting straight down as the wind drove all her blades in arcs toward Osho. The closer she got, the more precise her control, and the stronger the force behind her blades.

Osho’s long blade pierced Tachibana’s chest, driving through him, sending blood spraying out like shattered red silk. Sakura’s blades, like a furious swarm of butterflies, repeatedly slashed Osho’s body. The neurotoxin coating the blades could cause a fatal reaction in less than a second, yet Osho’s speed remained unaffected. It seemed he was willing to sacrifice himself as long as he could kill Tachibana. They had once been allies and lifelong rivals.

Chisei poured all his strength into the tip of his blade. He knew he couldn’t save Tachibana. With Osho’s explosive strength, he had already cut through Tachibana’s heart.

This was a result Tachibana had foreseen long ago. He charged forward but didn’t swing his blade, instead meeting Osho’s blade with his chest. He must have been utterly exhausted, merely holding on, waiting for Chisei to arrive. The last thing he could do was block Osho’s attack with his body, creating the perfect opportunity for Chisei.

He wasn’t asking Chisei to prepare to strike, but rather to sever unnecessary attachments. Any of them could die to break this cycle of fate, and there was nothing to regret—this was the price that had to be paid.

An unprecedented bloodlust took control of Chisei. He couldn’t see his own face, but if he could, he would have been shocked by his expression—ferocious like that of a demon.

Faster! Faster! He longed to pierce Osho’s heart, to hear the beautiful sound of the long blade plunging through his chest—that would be the celebration of severing fate!

Osho’s charge came to an abrupt halt. He should have thrown Tachibana off the lookout with his long blade, but suddenly, he couldn’t move forward, leaving his back exposed to Chisei.

It was because someone had stopped him…Tachibana!

The man who had been dangling like a leaf on the tip of Osho’s sword had somehow planted his feet firmly. He grabbed Osho’s blade, roaring with eyes wide in fury, as if he were the incarnation of a wrathful deity.

Finally, Chisei heard that beautiful sound—the sound of Kumogiri piercing Osho’s heart. Blood gushed from the wound, making a sound like wind—so pleasing to the ears. Almost simultaneously, Sakura’s blades, tracing steep arcs, returned like butterflies to their nest, embedding themselves into Osho’s body. Sakura descended from the sky, landing behind Chisei. The three of them stepped back, surrounding Osho in a triangular formation. Tachibana held a broken blade in one hand and pressed the wound on his chest with the other to prevent further blood loss.

He wasn’t incapable of attacking—he had simply used all his strength to block. His hand gripped a broken blade, which was far more effective for defense than offense. Osho’s sword had indeed pierced his chest, but the broken blade had intercepted it, preventing Osho from fully penetrating his heart. Once Tachibana stood firm, he reversed the situation, delivering Osho to Chisei’s blade.

Osho staggered backward, clutching his chest, staring at his bloodstained hands in disbelief. He had nowhere to go—enemies blocked him from the front, left, and right, while behind him was a shattered window, below which stood a 250-meter-high tower.

“You didn’t expect this to be your fate? Neither did I. I thought someone like you would have a more spectacular ending,” Chisei said.

“Goodbye, Doctor,” Tachibana said softly. “A man as brilliant as you should have a brilliant end. If I were you, I’d choose to jump out of that window.”

Osho clutched his throat, trying to prevent the hot blood from gushing out. He dared not pull the blade from his back, knowing that if he did, his heart would bleed out. He seemed to want to speak, but with his throat cut, words wouldn’t come.

This philosopher of a man couldn’t even leave a final message.

He turned around, stumbling toward the window, seemingly ready to follow Tachibana’s suggestion and end his life by jumping.

This wasn’t some legendary story—no miraculous survival awaited him. Falling from a height of 250 meters would shatter every bone in his body, driving them into his organs, and the violent impact would destroy his brain. It was a far more gruesome death than being run through by a blade.

Chisei watched his retreating figure. As an opponent, this man had been terrifying enough to earn a modicum of respect from him.

Osho dragged his heavy body through the broken window, clumsily climbing over the railing. His appearance was both laughable and pitiable.

“The jump of the century! The jump of the century! This is Finger, head of the student council’s news department, bringing you live coverage for our dear audience. What you’re watching right now is the jump show of the Oni Clan leader, code-named Osho, Dr. Herzog! In the history of humanity, Dr. Herzog is not only an undisputed pioneer of dragon genetics but also ranks among the top ten ambitious men. Isn’t this jump of his making you all excited? Unfortunately, we don’t have a hotline right now for you to express your excitement,” Finger babbled on.

Osho stood outside the railing, gazing down at the brightly lit city. No one knew what he was thinking. If Finger had a microphone, he’d be tempted to go down and interview Osho about his state of mind.

Of course, he’d also wear a tight-fitting suit adorned with blue sequins, sprinkle gold makeup powder in his hair, and sway his shoulders like a real talk-show star, saying, “Hey! Dr. Herzog, how are you? The weather’s great tonight, isn’t it? Wind, rain, midnight, jumping…let’s talk about death on this wonderful night…”

Caesar and Chu Zihang pressed their headphones tighter, trying to catch every detail of this finale. Was this how yet another conspiracy was foiled? It seemed too simple, and there were still many unexplained things.

“Senior! Watch your back!” Lu Mingfei suddenly shouted.

Chu Zihang, alert, turned his head, swinging his arm like a clock’s hand as his gun aimed backward.

“Idiot! Idiot! I’m talking to you!” Lu Mingfei yelled.

Only then did Finger realize that the “senior” Lu Mingfei was referring to was him, not Chu Zihang. But as he dangled in midair, what could possibly be behind him?

He awkwardly twisted his head around and was stunned—no, he was petrified with fear. A shadow loomed larger in his pupils. If the advertising blimp was a whale floating in the sea, then the rapidly approaching black airship was a deadly tiger shark! It was a black rigid airship, three times the size of Finger’s blimp. It had been silently hovering at a high altitude, but now, it dove down, dragging a suspended ladder, crashing into the advertising blimp with overwhelming force.

The so-called rigid airship was an aviation device from the later stages of World War I, with a lightweight internal framework. Finger’s soft airship was nothing more than a lightweight balloon in comparison.