Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 400: Sakura’s Fall (7)

Dragon Raja 3

“Not telling you,” Ruri smiled.

He was in a good mood, so he didn’t mind sharing a few small jokes with the old man. He had prepared for this assassination for many years. At the moment his long sword severed Osho’s body, Ruri felt like laughing hysterically, yet also wanted to weep bitterly; even he couldn’t explain his emotions.

He washed himself in the employees’ shower room. The gorgeous costume stained with Osho’s blood looked as disgusting as if it were crawling with maggots. Despite being someone who loved costumes so much, he threw this master-crafted garment into the toilet and burned it.

Warm water flowed over his head and face. In the fogged mirror, he watched his makeup being washed away bit by bit until only a plain, slightly thin face remained. Without makeup, he wasn’t stunning—perhaps even a bit ordinary. But he liked the ordinary boy in the mirror so much; it felt like returning to his childhood. Water and fire washed away all the dirty, luxurious, and overly ornate things, allowing him to return to those earlier days.

He strolled through the vast department store, selecting clothes for himself. He dismissed the luxurious silk and velvet items with disdain. Instead, he chose a pure cotton white shirt, straight cotton trousers, a pair of comfortable gray sneakers, and added a baseball cap.

Looking at himself in the fitting room mirror, he felt purified. People who wore such clothes obviously led simple lives—simple like sunlight.

“How do I look?” Ruri asked. The doorman was sitting far behind him, and they looked at each other through the fitting room mirror.

“Quite handsome. Are you planning to leave the gang?” the doorman asked.

“Yes, I’m going to start a new life.” Ruri truly appreciated the old man’s sharpness. Like a wise man hidden in the city, he could see through what was in his heart.

But the old man sighed. “Let me tell you, after killing your enemies or the brothers in the gang who know your secrets, wanting to cleanly leave the gang—it’s very hard to succeed.”

“Why?” Ruri raised an eyebrow.

“Those who have been wallowing in a pool of blood and try to climb out by killing—it’s like trying to wash blood off yourself with more blood.”

“I killed a devil,” Ruri said coldly.

“Devils can’t be killed; the devil is inside each of us,” the old man muttered.

“Then I’ll kill myself too.” Ruri picked up his long sword and turned to leave. “It’d be best if you don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. But if you really want to, it doesn’t matter.”

“I haven’t seen you at all. Just a thief sneaked into the mall tonight and stole some clothes.” The old man stuffed two stacks of cash into his pocket.

Ruri walked toward the front door, his steps light. It was already past midnight; the heavy rain outside had probably not stopped yet. He casually took a long-handled black umbrella so he could stroll through the winding alleys back to Takamagahara.

In such a good mood, it was perfect to walk alone in the rain under an umbrella.

He pushed open the glass door and suddenly stopped. In this quiet late night, when even taxis were hard to find on the streets, a black Maybach was parked at the entrance. The driver wore a neat uniform and white gloves, his hand on the car door handle, appearing to wait for his shopping master inside. Drivers who serve the nobility have excellent manners; no matter how long they wait, they never show impatience. Passersby would marvel at the driver’s demeanor and the car’s luxury, guessing what kind of prestigious family the master belonged to. When the master comes out of the store, the driver immediately displays a warm smile, his face seemingly saying “Welcome home,” then opens the car door. Given the luxury of this Maybach, calling it a mobile reception room is no exaggeration; sitting inside is like being at home.

At the moment Ruri pushed open the door, the driver indeed showed a warm smile. He slowly opened the car door and bowed deeply.

Ruri understood—this car was indeed here to pick him up. He hadn’t escaped the shadows of his past at all. No matter where he was, the Oni Clan followed him like a shadow, and he still enjoyed the treatment of the “Dragon King.”

This car wasn’t here to pick him up; it was here to send him back to the past, back into that pool of blood!

Ruri instinctively wanted to draw his sword, but then he saw an old man in a black kimono in the back seat of the Maybach. The old man moved slightly inward, leaving the seat by the door for him, and kindly patted the seat, indicating for him to come and sit with him.

The old man wore a Noh mask painted with the slightly smiling face of a court noble.

Osho!

A blazing white lightning bolt split the sky, and Ruri felt as if that flash had split his own head open, leaving his mind blank. Fear, like a cold snake, crawled out from the depths of his heart, slithering through his entire body. He could have effortlessly drawn his sword, but his body seemed frozen; even moving a finger was impossible.

This was impossible! Just about an hour ago, he had personally sliced Osho’s body into three pieces; he still vividly remembered the sensation of his long sword cutting through flesh. No matter how strong one’s regenerative ability is, there’s always a limit; no matter how active the cells are, they can’t turn a person into an earthworm. Even an earthworm can’t reattach itself when cut into three pieces. At that moment, Osho was definitely dead—there was no mistake. Yet now, Osho was sitting alive in the back seat of the Maybach; that was also undeniable.

It was definitely Osho in the car; Ruri knew Osho too well. He had wanted to kill Osho for so many years, and during all those years, he had always paid attention to Osho’s every move; one could say he could recognize Osho by scent alone. On the special watchtower, Tachibana had clearly also identified that person as Osho. Although Tachibana and Osho hadn’t spent much time together back then, given their “tacit understanding” level of familiarity, no one could imitate that.

Nothing was wrong; the only mistake could be Ruri’s misjudgment. He had thought that Osho was still a being that could be killed, but Osho truly was an immortal demon!

The demon had returned from hell to find him. Throughout Ruri’s life, he had been invited to accompany this demon. Washing himself and changing clothes were useless; the demon could always recognize and find him.

But he no longer wanted to live that kind of life! Ruri roared and drew his sword! As the blade left the sheath, it turned into lightning; Ruri broke through the curtain of rain.

Osho didn’t even glance at the approaching, dangerous blade but simply tapped the wooden clappers in his hand. The two small wooden sticks became some kind of instrument, playing a strange “puff-puff” music.