Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 49: Sword Devil with Flaming Rage (10)

Dragon Raja 2

Caesar was stunned. He slowly drank the rest of his wine. “How generous…”

“You should understand how significant the family’s blessing of your engagement is. Is there any need to doubt it? The family only blesses the marriage of the future family head. You are the future head. You wouldn’t want your future wife, Chen Motong, to be unblessed, would you? How pitiful that would be for her!”

With a loud crash, the glass in Caesar’s hand shattered, scattering shards of pale pink glass.

“My engagement has nothing to do with the family. Now take your generosity,” Caesar bit his tongue and spat out a fierce word with all his might, “Leave!”

The sudden outburst of rage flashed in his eyes, so intense that his pupils even took on a faint golden hue—a sign seen only when a hybrid’s emotions reached their extremes.

Dragon blood was boiling!

In the distance, Anjou also sipped his gin, smiling with a hint of malice as he watched the uncle and nephew speak. He didn’t have the hearing ability of a “Kamaitachi,” so he couldn’t hear their words, but just seeing the changes in their expressions was enough to amuse him.

Eventually, Frost turned and left in anger, leaving Caesar alone to watch the sea. His downcast eyes were shadowed, no longer a pure ice blue but as deep as the sea under rolling clouds—dark blue and mysterious.

“A family melodrama,” Anjou shrugged. At that moment, his phone rang. He answered it, frowning after a few seconds: “Chu Zihang is in trouble again?”

Rund Group Tower, 18:57.

The van with the “FedEx” logo suddenly turned on its headlights, the beams piercing through the rain as its old engine roared, like an old man taking in a deep breath with withered lungs, ready to make his aging muscles exert force at any cost. The van burst through the glass curtain wall, shattering glass flying everywhere, and crashed into a wedge-shaped load-bearing column. The column stopped it and split the front of the van in half, like a sharp blade slicing into an enemy’s skull.

The engine sparked, the radiator cracked, and white steam spread everywhere. The whole building shook, but not as much as the shock the college workers felt in their hearts. The windshield was shattered, and the driver’s seat was empty.

This was the vehicle they had arrived in, and the keys were still in one of the maintenance workers’ pockets. They hadn’t left anyone in the car. While they were causing chaos on the ground floor, this driverless van had been silently circling Rund Group Tower, like a predator stalking its prey, looking for a chance to strike.

A van without a single trace of human presence… trying to hunt people?

Supernatural occurrences weren’t exactly rare for the maintenance workers, given their bloodline, and their response measures immediately escalated. One of them drew out a flare gun, took a kneeling stance, and fired. A brilliant red flare shot through the glassless window and into the van.

For these men, a flare gun was hardly considered a weapon—they were used to firing micro-SMGs with both hands. But this particular flare gun was an exception. The massive recoil knocked the former Navy SEAL, who could bench-press 250 pounds, flat onto his back. The “flare” screamed through the air, pierced through the vehicle, and shot out of Rund Group Tower, finally melting a 20-centimeter-wide hole in the aluminum sculpture in the middle of the square.

“Is… is this still supposed to be a flare?” The maintenance worker felt like he’d just fired a miniature rocket.

Then again, it was something to get used to—that was just how the Gear Department operated: extreme modifications, overpowering capabilities, and… vague manuals. When the flare gun had been handed over, the gunsmith had casually mentioned to shoot vertically to avoid “unpredictable” outcomes. Now the maintenance worker understood why—it was indeed sound advice. Aiming this rocket at anything would indeed cause “unpredictable” results.

But they’d fired it, and it was what it was. If the Gear Department had made it, even ghosts couldn’t withstand it, right? The maintenance workers exchanged glances.

It seemed everything had returned to normal; the van that had started moving by itself hadn’t caused any real trouble… until a grating metal sound suddenly reached their ears—it was the sound of steel cables breaking.

A few seconds later, there was a tremendous crash outside the glass curtain wall, as the several-hundred-kilogram platform smashed into the asphalt road below.

The maintenance workers were stunned—according to the schedule, Chu Zihang… was on that platform!

Chu Zihang hovered in mid-air, suspended by the rain. At the moment the platform fell, he leaped upward with all his strength, tilting his head to face the sky. The entire sky was reflected in his pupils, as if every raindrop fell from a single point in the heavens, all destined to fall into his eyes.

It was as though a god floated above the world, observing it, making everything appear especially clear.

In an instant, he underwent a transformation, like being reborn. His blood flowed through his veins like a great river after the thaw, and every cell breathed wildly, like new spring buds pushing with all their might. Infinite power coursed silently through his muscles and veins.

He had triggered “Blood Rage.”

This was a technique that used mental means to instantly increase blood purity. Before the industrial era, it was the highest secret of certain families, allowing them to attain near-pure dragon power in a hybrid body. But it was also seen as a form of black magic and placed under many restrictions, eventually losing its legacy during the heretic purges of the Dark Ages. It wasn’t until the early 20th century that the Secret Party’s new force, the Lionheart Society, revived the technique, quickly surpassing the older generation and establishing themselves as the new leaders.

Chu Zihang was the current president of the Lionheart Society.

The records preserved by the Lionheart Society stated that it was as though there was a lion hidden in one’s bloodline. If one was willing to unchain it, one could access its strength. And what bound that power was, ultimately, oneself.

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