Dragon Raja 4; Chapter 7: Journey to the End of the World (7)

Dragon Raja 4

The radio played a majestic opera, Wagner’s The Ring of the Nibelungen, the first volume, The Rhinegold.

The singers were recounting an ancient Germanic myth. At the bottom of the Rhine River lay hidden mystical gold, guarded by water nymphs. The dwarf Alberich courted the nymphs, only to be met with ruthless ridicule. In his fury, Alberich swore to renounce love forever. As a price, he stole the magical gold from the riverbed, turning the once-clear Rhine River into murky waters. The gold was destined to be forged into a powerful cursed object, bringing ruin to the world, with greed, desire, and rage being its origins.

The hoot of an owl sounded again in the bedroom. Had Chu Zihang been more cautious earlier, he might have noticed it wasn’t coming from the radio but rather from the four walls of the room.

Reginleif slowly stood up and picked up a black cloak-like garment from the sofa. When she shook it open, it turned out to be a dress embroidered with a sky full of stars in silver thread. She tied the long dress around her waist, and the playful, tight-fitting dress she had been wearing transformed into a gown that reached her feet. She drew the sword Chu Zihang had used from the desk, raised her head high, and walked toward the huge oil painting of the black and white twin dragons. The wall on which the painting hung moved to the side, revealing a small chapel behind it. Inside, people wearing black cloaks and black conical hats had been waiting for a long time. Among them, four wore heavy horned helmets, holding heavy cruciform swords against their chests. Although Chu Zihang had only seen Reginleif in the upper deck cabin, next door stood a crowd.

At the far end of the chapel stood a marble altar, with the dome adorned with a starry sky inlaid with crystals. Reginleif gracefully walked to the base of the altar, her skirt billowing in an unseen breeze, as if ready to soar into the air at any moment.

She suddenly lifted her head and pointed the sword skyward. This scene was very much like the one in the photo Chu Zihang had seen before, except that what was enshrined on the altar was no longer the word “God,” but a steel emblem engraved with a completely withered giant tree.

The four horned-helmeted people slowly pounded the ground with their sword hilts, and everyone began chanting in a low voice: “Holy! Holy! Queen of Hosts!”

When Chu Zihang woke up, they had already sailed past the storm zone. The sky was studded with stars, and the dark blue sea gently rippled, with ice floes appearing like white satin floating on the water. They had been experiencing polar night, with no sun in sight, but the sky wasn’t pitch black. The atmosphere reflected sunlight from below the horizon, creating a gradient sky from aqua blue to dark blue. It felt as though they were sailing in a dream where the waters had been painted with ink.

The screen at the head of the bed displayed the navigation chart, showing that the Yamal had traveled another 70 nautical miles north during his sleep. The thickness of the sea ice had exceeded half a meter. With the Yamal’s icebreaking capability, it could only manage a speed of about seven or eight knots per hour. The final destination of this journey was the North Pole, where they would disembark onto the ice floes to celebrate the New Year with fireworks.

He went up to the deck and headed to the dining room, which was one of the few times he interacted with other passengers. The dining room, which could accommodate 100 people at once, was eerily empty, with only one waiter on duty. It seemed that the hungover guests had not yet woken up.

The digital clock displayed 8 a.m. Greenwich Mean Time, but candles were lit on every table, as if the romantic atmosphere of a Christmas dinner was still lingering. Chu Zihang chose a seat by the window, ordered a mushroom and beef stew, and waited quietly while sipping orange juice. Unexpectedly, the waiter left and did not return, even closing the dining room door behind him. The doors on the Yamal were made of aluminum alloy, impervious to ordinary firearms, and the porthole glass was not easily shattered; they could withstand storms of Force 10 or higher, even ice blocks often present in Arctic storms.

Suddenly, the candle flames on the table flickered rapidly as if a strong wind had blown through. However, the dining room was completely sealed, with no gaps for wind to enter.

Chu Zihang sighed, put down his juice glass, and unzipped his backpack to reveal the hilts of his ancient swords, Kumogiri and Dōjigiri, which were softly humming.

“We can start with a proper discussion,” he said aloud, “after all, this is a public place; someone has to clean after our mess.”

There was no response, and the dangerous atmosphere seemed to rise and fall like the sea tide. Chu Zihang had no choice but to stand up, draw his swords, and the blue and white blade lights leaped from their sheaths.

He had just experienced the murderous aura of Reginleif last night, a sensation like walking through a forest with tigers watching him. The atmosphere in the dining room now felt even more dangerous, like a venomous snake’s tongue licking his brow. He slowly looked around, even scanning the ceiling, but he could not see a single figure. He wandered through the dining room, feeling as if there were faint whispers and breathing following him, but when he concentrated to listen, they seemed like mere illusions, with the only other sound being the waves and ice floes crashing against the ship’s hull outside.

He always felt something moving, but when he looked sharply in any direction, he only saw the flickering candle flames.

As the tension of the killing aura tightened, as if on the verge of snapping, Chu Zihang’s gaze momentarily flickered, and he suddenly swung his sword, striking at his own shadow.

Almost simultaneously, a thick black smoke rose from the shadow. It felt as though the shadow had broken free and was leaping up. From the smoke emerged two bronze-colored swords, their blades twisting like waves. The wavy sword blades locked onto Dōjigiri, and Chu Zihang switched Kumogiri to a reverse grip, stabbing towards the enemy behind him from under his arm. Another puff of black smoke rose at his side, and a sharp short spear thrust out from the smoke, accompanied by a hissing sound. Chu Zihang immediately changed tactics, using the hilt of his sword to block the spear, but his shirt was still torn by the spear’s tip, leaving a bloodstain.

Chu Zihang had guessed correctly; the moving thing was actually his own shadow. The shadow’s movement was slightly out of sync with his own rhythm, twisting and deforming as it moved, seemingly hiding countless demons within.

Chu Zihang rolled back, creating distance. He hadn’t experienced this feeling of life-and-death combat for a long time, it was both thrilling and terrifying him.

The world had been too calm for too long; it was not supposed to be this calm.

As the residual black smoke on their opponents gradually dissipated, their true forms were revealed—two girls resembling each other, pale as if carved from marble, with white hair and silver-gray eyes. They wore black backless dresses and black high-heeled boots, similar in style to Reginleif’s attire, though less extravagant. One had curly long hair, while the other had her hair tied in a high ponytail.

“Hervor.” The girl with long hair said.

“Olrune.” The girl with the ponytail licked the blood from the tip of her spear.

Like Reginleif, their names were also difficult to pronounce, seeming more suited for mythological heroes than for everyday life.

Hervor’s weapon was a Kris, a legendary weapon made from meteoric iron, often poisoned, and historically used to severely wound Dutch colonizers attempting to invade the Malay Peninsula. Olrune’s short spear resembled weapons from the Roman era, now only found in museums. Either of them would have received an A rating at Cassell College and could likely have received modeling offers from talent agents in Paris or Milan. Yet, they chose to hide their real names and live aboard this ship, enduring harsh training and learning such ancient killing techniques. Chu Zihang thought again of Reginleif, who also exuded an eerie aura, fighting fiercely with an axe and shield like a gladiator, yet speaking with a hint of childishness. He wondered whether she was a beast trapped in a cage or a princess secluded in a castle.

After Hervor and Olrune swapped positions, they attacked again with renewed vigor, their assault as relentless as a storm, clearly intent on killing Chu Zihang. Chu Zihang remained expressionless, his dual blades spread like wings, advancing with skill akin to the second tier of the Niten Ichi-ryu!

After the Tokyo incident, Anjou had spent some time instructing Chu Zihang in swordsmanship, teaching him the Niten Ichi-ryu, as he inherited the dual swords from Gen Chisei.

With Kumogiri and Dōjigiri slashing in succession, tables and chairs turned into splinters of wood and aluminum. The girls darted between the blades with high speed, like butterflies fluttering in a storm. Yet, they were not completely subdued by Chu Zihang’s fierce attacks and could still launch sharp counterattacks.

Chu Zihang decided not to waste any more time, murmuring softly, his wrists crackling, and flames erupted from his blades.

From the start, Hervor and Olrune had aimed to kill him. Their battle skills were undoubtedly those of hybrid warriors.

He swung his blades, like wielding two roaring fire dragons, driving Hervor and Olrune to retreat with the heat waves pressing against them.

In a critical moment, a deep voice came from outside the dining room: “Hervor! Olrune! How can you be so rude to our esteemed guest?”

The voice was weak and ethereal, clearly from an elderly person, yet carried an air of authority.

Hervor and Olrune exchanged glances, simultaneously retracting their weapons, swiftly turning and disappearing into black smoke, then reappearing instantaneously on either side of the entrance.

The door to the dining room finally opened, and an electric wheelchair silently glided in, occupied by a thin old man.

Series Navigation

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