Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 187: Jörmungandr (12)

Dragon Raja 2

Chu Zihang released Xia Mi, struggling to his feet, stepping back step by step. Xia Mi slowly sat down, her long hair falling to cover her face.

A folding knife pierced through Xia Mi’s back, its blade glowing with a Philosopher’s Stone-like crimson.

Anjou’s personal weapon, forged from fragments of the Lionheart Society’s first leader Manecke Cassell’s Atlacan sword—the blade that had once seriously wounded Constantine—was a highly toxic, dangerous weapon for dragons, like a dagger coated with arsenic to a human. The poison had spread through Jörmungandr’s bloodstream, her cells decaying rapidly, her blood as thick as tar.

“Truly the human most like a dragon, you did well.” She reached back, pulling out the folding knife.

“You’re not Xia Mi. You are Jörmungandr,” Chu Zihang rasped.

“Yes, I am Jörmungandr, the Dragon Queen Jörmungandr!” Xia Mi lifted her head proudly. Death was now inevitable, but her dignity was untouchable. She was the Dragon Queen Jörmungandr.

The two stared at each other for a long time, both with dark eyes, both expressionless, as if both had made up their minds to remain enemies until death.

But then, as if a stone had been thrown into a frozen lake, ripples spread, the ice melted, and the water rippled—softly, weakly. Xia Mi withdrew her gaze, spitting out a key she had kept in her mouth. She hung it on the ring of the folding knife, tossing it toward Chu Zihang, sneering, “It’s not like I ate your girl or anything… Go find Xia Mi there. I left everything of hers behind.”

Chu Zihang picked up the folding knife, staring at the key for a long time before looking up at Xia Mi. He really hated this kind of silence—a silence that could drive one mad. He wanted to say something, but there were too many things, too many questions to ask and too much left unsaid, yet there was no time for any of it.

“Goodbye,” he finally said softly.

“Goodbye…” Xia Mi whispered as well.

The last glimmer of light in her pupils went out as she fell backward, light as a leaf. She lay naked on the still-warm cinders, which scorched her back and her long hair, soon soaking in her blood. The bright red blood against her alabaster skin—two violently contrasting colors—merged subtly, evoking the image of the rose fields woven into the Bulgarian valley.

Indeed, there were roses. Lu Mingze walked around her, looking up at the sky, tearing handfuls of rose petals from his bouquet and scattering them in the air, letting them drift slowly down onto her body. He tore at them as if they would never end, until the sky was filled with petals, like a sudden snowstorm. Chu Zihang lowered his head, standing silently by.

Lu Mingze was right; this was a funeral. Xia Mi lay in her coffin, Chu Zihang was the family, Lu Mingze the priest, and Lu Mingfei was the passerby.

The girl who loved to sing was buried beneath the flowers, along with her ambition, savagery, and enigmatic past.

Mai and Chips clapped their hands together. “All done!”

They both let out a long breath, their cold sweat dripping. Witnessing a battlefield of gods was indeed too much pressure for humans. During the final moments when Chu Zihang and Xia Mi flew and clashed like meteors through the vast space, they couldn’t capture any clear images, even watching the surveillance footage frame by frame. The extreme speed of dragon blood at a boil had exceeded the limits of the cameras.

“Didn’t you fight her once before?” Chips asked. “Why are you so nervous now too?”

“I have no memory of it. When I woke up, I was in a hotel in Stockholm, lying in the bed I was most familiar with. I thought for a long time, but I couldn’t figure out how much of it was a dream and how much was real.” Mai shivered slightly. “It’s only now that I realize just how deadly that fight was.”

“Chu Zihang is absurdly strong.”

“Yes, but according to the boss’s plan, only one person was supposed to leave the subway,” Mai frowned slightly. “The boss’s plans have never deviated before, but now it seems Chu Zihang isn’t quite at death’s door.”

“I feel like something’s off, but I can’t figure out what.” Chips pressed her temples.

“Take off your clothes,” Chu Zihang said softly.

Lu Mingfei froze, puzzled. Two people were already undressed—was he not going to be spared either?

“Take off your clothes!” Chu Zihang’s voice grew irritable.

Lu Mingfei didn’t dare disobey, nervously taking off his jacket and handing it to Chu Zihang. Chu Zihang squatted down, covering Xia Mi’s body with the jacket.

“Is that necessary?” Lu Mingfei wondered. “Aren’t all those rose petals enough?” He immediately understood—Lu Mingze and the white rose petals could only be seen by him. This little demon or priest was merely a layer of special effects overlaid on the real scene.

Chu Zihang walked around, collecting the tennis bag and black case, carefully organizing the contents one by one. He was as methodical as always, as if preparing for a long journey.

“Let’s go.” He brushed past Lu Mingfei, carrying both items. “There’s a subway in the tunnel. Follow the tracks, and you’ll reach Fuxingmen.”

“Hey, hey, Senior, wait for me! Don’t go so fast, I twisted my ankle…” Lu Mingfei limped along behind him.

Suddenly, he shivered, his ears instinctively perking up. It seemed like there was a rustling noise behind him, like a snake slithering. He suddenly remembered a story he had read before: if you are walking in the South American jungle and hear leaves rustling behind you, never turn around—it’s a giant python following you. It is studying you, trying to figure out what you are. If it hasn’t seen your face, it doesn’t know whether you are dangerous, so it won’t attack. But if you turn around, it will coil around you and crush every bone in your body. Just like the story of the Underworld—be a real man, and if you say you won’t turn around, then damn it, don’t turn around!

“Senior, when we get back, we’ll be big shots, right?” Lu Mingfei quickened his pace, talking loudly on purpose to bolster his courage.

But Chu Zihang suddenly stopped, the veins on the back of his hand bulging as he held the black case.

“No way? You heard it too?” Lu Mingfei grimaced. It wasn’t just his imagination—it was a snake. That wasn’t too bad; with his stoic senior around, unless Xia Mi’s spirit came back…