Dragon Raja 4; Chapter 38: Journey to the End of the World (38)

Dragon Raja 4

Beneath the two-story-tall nuclear reactor, Orev, clad in a radiation suit, trembled as he looked up. The piercing sound of alarms echoed throughout the power chamber, and the once-dark screens now flickered back to life.

Just moments earlier, they had arrived at the power chamber and, surprisingly, regained control with little effort. Vincent had only left two security guards to watch over the area, a symbolic gesture. However, as Orev inspected the reactor, he realized why Vincent had been so lax—the energy bombs they had installed to detonate the reactor had already been dismantled, and the nuclear reactor had entered a dormant state. Vincent must have long suspected that they were agents from the Federal Security Bureau and anticipated they would tamper with the reactor. Currently, the ship was forging ahead toward the North Pole, powered not by the reactor but by auxiliary diesel engines.

Orev tried everything he could to reactivate the reactor, but it would take time. Even if he succeeded, he couldn’t guarantee that it could be turned into a nuclear bomb. The reactor had been designed with robust safety protocols, and if Orev entered extreme parameters, it would automatically enter a protective state.

Just when Orev found himself at a loss, the nuclear reactor suddenly reactivated on its own. The reactor’s indicators skyrocketed at a terrifying rate, and the piercing alarms signaled massive amounts of steam being sent through the pipes to the steam turbines, pushing the ship even faster toward its doom. The blood-vessel-like structures on the reactor’s surface pulsed rapidly. They had taken control of the reactor.

Suddenly, the door behind them shut. A technician rushed to try and stop it, but halted just in time—the steam-powered radiation-proof door could easily crush a person to death.

While the other technicians scrambled to open the door, Orev slumped wearily to the ground. Human strength alone couldn’t hope to combat such godlike forces. At this point, all they could rely on was that resolute-looking Chinese man.

In the deepest part of the watertight compartment, Maria of the Stars wore a cruel yet blissful smile on her once-beautiful face. She had been waiting for this day for many years.

“As you wished, dear grandmother,” Reginleif whispered. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Live a good life, my dear child,” Maria of the Stars replied, her voice as beautiful as a song. “Do not love, and do not expect to be loved.”

“Alright, Grandmother. Then… farewell.” Reginleif softly retreated from the room.

On this ship, everyone had their own agenda, except for the Saint’s, which was always uncertain. People thought of her as an uncontrollable child—playful, reckless, vain about her beauty and charm, and fantasizing about free-spirited love. The divine kingdom meant little to her. She would play along with Vincent, acting as the puppet that he wanted if it suited her. If Macallan sent her videos, she would obediently study everything about Xia Mi. If she sensed that the organization behind Chu Zihang intimidated even Vincent, she would immediately strike a deal with Chu.

But, in truth, she had a stance of her own. As a child, she had followed a faint cooing sound into this damp, dark place, where she heard soft sobbing from within a large iron box. She recognized the voice of Maria of the Stars.

In the last years of Maria’s life as a human, she had interacted with her clones, living together like a family. Among the children, Maria of the Stars liked Reginleif the most, always holding her tiny hand and telling her about the outside world—the lions and elephants, the black-and-white bears, towering forests, and vast deserts. Her sisters, Hervor and Orlune, grew mature early, understanding that pleasing Vincent was the way to live well on this ship. But Reginleif, uninhibited and endlessly curious about the outside world, loved listening to Maria’s stories. Like many mediums, Maria of the Stars also kept an owl, and she taught Reginleif how to understand its language.

One day, Maria of the Stars disappeared. Vincent told them she had grown too old and died, and the owl she kept had flown away. Afterward, Reginleif became quiet and withdrawn, until one night she heard the owl’s call again.

Reginleif hadn’t lied to Chu Zihang. Maria of the Stars had begged her for help from inside the iron box. When Reginleif asked what she wanted, Maria replied, “Death.”

Young Reginleif pressed her small face against the iron box and whispered, “Alright, Grandmother.”

But what Maria wanted was not a simple death. She wanted everything buried in that hatchery. This long revenge began the moment Reginleif entered the watertight compartment. Over the years, Maria of the Stars had slowly grown her blood vessels throughout the Yamal, gradually seizing control. This was a tree’s revenge on humanity and the divine—its weapon was growth. Lady Cassandra had stumbled upon her secret and been killed for it, which was why even Vincent hadn’t taken emergency measures. Cassandra had had a chance to stop the ship from reaching the hatchery, but Maria intended to bury both the hatchery and her enemies together.

“That young man, Chu Zihang, must die here with me too. Only then will you truly be free,” Maria said behind Reginleif. “Don’t let Cassell College know of your existence in this world. They will bring you back to the Divine Kingdom.”

“I understand, Grandmother. You don’t think I’ve developed feelings for him, do you?” Reginleif pulled up her hood, hiding her silver hair and porcelain-like face.

“Not at all, my dear child. But you do talk about him often.”

Reginleif shook her head and said, “The world outside is vast, isn’t it? There are many beautiful boys out there who will like me, and I will like them. I’m about to be free—what do I need him for?”

Chu Zihang stood in the swaying shadows of trees, sunlight streaming in from the side, and a thin mist enveloped the familiar basketball court. He looked ahead at the red-brick-faced school building, then glanced behind him at the once-modern library. The basketball court was surrounded by wire fencing, with poplar and birch trees planted around it.

This was the basketball court of Shilan Middle School. He had once scored 58 points here by himself, and now he had returned, still wearing the No. 11 jersey from back then.

The gate to the court was open, and he could leave anytime. But no matter which direction he walked, he would soon find himself back there, unable to reach the school building or the library.

A delicate girl sat on the bleachers by the court, smiling with her hands propped under her chin, watching him come and go. Her long ponytail swayed, and her fluffy bangs were like a mist. The oversized jersey on her looked like a dress, revealing a pair of slender, lovely legs beneath. She playfully stepped on a basketball, as if waiting for him to join her in an intense game.

“What should I call you? Xia Mi? Or Jörmungandr?” Chu Zihang asked softly.

“Of course, it’s Xia Mi! Have you forgotten what I look like?” The girl grinned, baring her teeth, her ponytail swaying like a willow in the wind.

Chu Zihang shook his head and walked to the bleachers, sitting beside her.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t this nice? Here’s the basketball court you love, and I’ll always be here to play with you,” Xia Mi said, patting him on the shoulder. “Am I not enough for you?”

That was indeed how Xia Mi used to speak. One morning, many years ago, he had gone to the court alone to practice, only to find her sitting on the bleachers in the morning mist. He had long forgotten these memories, but suddenly, they surged back. That morning, he had asked Xia Mi why she was there, and she had replied, “The court doesn’t belong to you, does it?” He had found the moment somewhat ambiguous and said he needed to run a few more laps to warm up, hoping that others would arrive in the meantime. Xia Mi had pouted, saying, “What, am I not enough of an audience for you? Are you waiting for all the girls in the school to come watch you?”

The memories were vivid, but they brought him no comfort. He said, “No, you’re Jörmungandr… Queen Jörmungandr.”

“If I’m Jörmungandr, then who is Xia Mi?” Xia Mi twirled the basketball on her slender fingers. “Do you still want to stab me with that knife?”

Chu Zihang had no response. He couldn’t tell who had accompanied him in those past days—perhaps Xia Mi had never existed at all. The lonely girl who had lived in the small cabin might have been nothing more than his imagination. He instinctively touched his chest, where the hard pendant still hung. For years, he had worn that key as a necklace, but he had never returned to that cabin.

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