Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 105: Nigh Watch (8)

Dragon Raja 2

“In their final moments, human genes exhibit a surprising resilience and fight back. The powerful dragon genes cannot eliminate the last bit of impurity. To dragons, these impurities are like refuse that remains. As a result, hybrids never truly evolve into pure-blood dragons; instead, they become ‘Death Servitors.’ When they reach the final moment of evolution, they die and lose their sense of self, becoming walking corpses. Dragons do not see them as kin, and humans consider them enemies. If the world of dragons is heaven, and the human world is hell, these beings are lost souls between heaven and hell, accepted by neither. They serve dragons because of the call of their blood, and dragons use them as cannon fodder in their wars against humanity. Their deaths don’t matter, because there are always more to be born.”

“I understand.” Chu Zihang nodded after a long silence.

“Blood Rage is a forbidden technique because it activates dragon blood instantly, with the side effect of possibly crossing the ‘critical blood limit.’ Once crossed, you are like a roller coaster on a downward track, and no power can pull you back. The technique is like a devil. The pleasure from instant blood purification will make you sink into an illusion of omnipotence. If you are too greedy for power, the devil will silently lead you across the boundary and push you into the abyss. Your fate will be to become a Death Servitor. And at that point, I can only kill you. For you, death would be the best outcome,” Anjou said, staring into Chu Zihang’s eyes.

“Are you going to expel me?” Chu Zihang asked softly.

Anjou stood up, turning his back to Chu Zihang. “‘Blood Rage’—I can pretend not to know about it. But if the School Board finds out, I can only imagine how they would handle you. As an educator, I never violate the rules I set, and this might be the only time I break them. Your courage left a deep impression on me. Don’t abuse forbidden techniques—everyone wants to live a little longer.”

“Make sure to eat the pear.” He pushed the door open and left. Chu Zihang sat alone on the bed, watching as rain began to fall outside.

The overwhelming rain lashed against the small chapel’s bell tower, the bells echoing in the wind. The door creaked open, and a man in black, holding a black umbrella, entered.

“Doesn’t it feel stifling to live here? Always listening to the bell, like a funeral,” the man said, sitting down on the single chair in the corner. “Make me something to drink—whatever you’ve got.”

“You get used to it. That way, on the day of my funeral, when I’m in the coffin listening to the bells outside, I’ll think I’m just lying in bed at home.” The middle-aged man, sprawled lazily in front of his computer, said. “Anjou, on a gloomy, rainy day like this, can you not dress like an mourner to come here and listen to the bells?”

“A black suit, what’s wrong with that? Haven’t I dressed like this ever since I met you?” Anjou loosened his tie, unbuttoning his white shirt collar.

“Because you’ve been preparing for a funeral all these years.” The Watchman casually grabbed a bottle of single-malt whiskey nearby, along with a suspicious-looking cup, pouring a small amount and handing it to Anjou.

Anjou curled up on the sofa, sipping his drink, both men remaining silent for a long time. It was truly a messy attic. The sun-facing wall was all glass windows, plastered with large posters of low-cut-dressed women. Inside, there was only an unmade bed, a single sofa, a computer desk with a swivel chair, and a large bookshelf filled with Western movie DVDs. Of course, there were also empty bottles all over the floor and adult magazines scattered everywhere. The college’s hidden figure, the Watchman, had lived here for decades, with home decor reminiscent of a frustrated teenage boy.

The style of the attic clashed heavily with Anjou’s aesthetic, but Anjou naturally occupied the most comfortable spot after entering. He knew the place well—he had to, because only here could he find the Watchman.

Everyone has a few friends like that—friends who always meet you at places with questionable sanitation, drinking cheap beer and eating lousy seafood. But you still show up in your tailored Armani suit, exchanging banter with them, and enjoying every moment.

That person might just be your true friend.

“Mind if I use your speakers?” Anjou tossed a recording pen to the Watchman.

After the crackling static, two deep male voices could be heard, both like sleep talk. The first was Anjou’s. When the Watchman heard the second voice, he paused slightly.

“You didn’t see any cars on that elevated road, right?”

“No cars… It was quiet, very quiet, just the sound of the wind and rain.”

“Do you remember your speed?”

“It felt like… the speed was gone.”

“Tell me about those shadows. Who were they?”

“They were hungry… thirsty… they wanted fresh meat, but they couldn’t get any… They… died.”

“The entrance to the elevated road, do you remember the number?”

“The sign… was blocked by willow branches.”

“But you tried to look at the sign, didn’t you? So, you remember that it was covered by willows.”

“I looked… couldn’t see… The willow was swaying in front of the sign…”

“Think carefully. You looked at that sign—a green sign, covered by willow branches, but the wind blew, and the branches swayed, revealing some of the text, right? Revealing some text—do you remember anything?”

Suddenly, the sound of breathing grew unusually heavy, vibrating throughout the attic through the high-fidelity speakers. The entire space felt like a massive lung of some monster—contracting and expanding. The sound of the rain outside grew clearer, as if that night when the sky was hidden had returned. That night seemed like a devil, and the wind and rain were its messengers. The Watchman frowned, licking his teeth, like watching a horror film during the climax—you know the bloodsucking villain is about to jump out, but you don’t want to look away. You just wait, full of anticipation, ready to see exactly where it would strike.

“000… 000!” The heavy breathing was abruptly cut off, as if the speaker had been severed.

Anjou turned off the recorder. “I hypnotized Chu Zihang when I went to see him this afternoon. He didn’t know. Originally, I wanted to hear about ‘Blood Rage,’ but I ended up recording this.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” the Watchman said softly.

“I checked the map. The entrance numbers for that elevated road start at ‘001.’”

The Watchman nodded. “So, the entrance Chu Zihang entered didn’t exist. Was the Maybach found later?”

“Yes, it was found on wasteland outside the city, with the car body severely damaged—as if bitten by hundreds of sharks. The scene was fifteen kilometers away from the nearest elevated road. There were no towing marks, which means it drove itself there.” Anjou handed over a black-and-white photo, showing a pitted Maybach stuck in the mud. “The only fingerprints on the steering wheel were Chu Zihang’s and his father’s. It must have been the two of them who drove it there.”

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