Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 84: A Sight on the River Cam (1)

Dragon Raja 2

“But! I still can’t allow the dragons to destroy all this. If they destroy Cambridge, I won’t have anywhere left to remember. If they destroy Cassell College, I will have betrayed my Lionheart friends’ trust. If they destroy the graves of the girls I secretly loved, I will fight them to the death. Because these are the last meanings left in my life… Though they are like fleeting illusions, they are the only things I have.”

Anjou walked through the VIP corridor of the city opera house, his hands in his pockets, humming an aria. The long, narrow hallway was lined with famous paintings, from Van Gogh, Monet, to Rubens. The crimson ceiling, walls, and floor glistened under the sunlight, exuding a rich color somewhere between blood and roses.

“Congratulations on winning what you wanted.” A faint greeting, like from an old friend.

Anjou stopped. A short figure cast a shadow on the ground, hunched over, leaning on a cane. Anjou looked down at the shadow and remained silent for a long time. At the end of the corridor, Lu Mingfei was waiting for him, with two security guards following behind, pushing a cart carrying the black hard case containing the alchemical weapons worth one hundred million dollars.

Anjou smiled and waved to Lu Mingfei, “An old friend wants to have a chat with me. I’ll see you outside later.”

Lu Mingfei left, and Anjou took a deep breath but didn’t turn around.

“Weren’t you willing to have a chat? Why not come in and sit down?” the person behind him asked.

“In 1899 in Texas, you shot me in the back while I turned away. Since then, I’ve hated it when you call me from behind, Henkel. Do you still carry those alchemical revolvers?”

“That was a hundred years ago; you’re not still holding a grudge, are you?” The person behind him smiled kindly. “Back then, you could only delay for four seconds. Now it’s over ten, isn’t it? You can even slow down bullets; what’s there to worry about? Besides, I’m old now—no longer the ‘Quick-Handed Henkel’ I used to be.”

“But your ‘Sanction’ is still too troublesome. I’m not confident I could dodge your judgment.”

“Times have changed. We no longer rely on Yanlings and alchemical revolvers. Come in and have a drink; everyone’s here.”

Anjou slowly turned. On the side of the hallway, a crimson door hidden in the wall was open, and a skinny old man wearing round glasses and a leather-brimmed hat nodded slightly to him. He looked like a retired Texas Ranger, with a worn-out sheriff’s badge pinned to his hat.

Inside the room were thirteen high-backed leather chairs, each occupied by a handsome young man. They all greeted Anjou in the same way—raising their right fists and displaying the silver rings on their index fingers—simple, heavy rings with different emblems engraved on the large face. These were their family crests.

“No need for introductions, right? Hilbert Ron Anjou, a famous patron in our circle, our major client, and also the principal of Cassell College.” Henkel sat by the table, gesturing for Anjou to sit wherever he liked. “How many years has it been since we last talked, Anjou?”

“The last time was December 7, 1941, at Pearl Harbor. Our negotiation was interrupted halfway by an air raid alert when those damned Japanese launched their attack,” Anjou said, sitting down in an empty chair and lighting a cigar.

“Yes, I remember now. World War II, the U.S. declared war, and our alliance negotiations were suspended.” Henkel nodded, somewhat nostalgic. “And that suspension lasted over half a century.”

“So these are the current family representatives?” Anjou glanced at the well-dressed young men.

Henkel nodded, “All outstanding young people from each family. Some of our contemporaries have already died; others are lying in hospital beds with oxygen tubes in their throats. Their bloodline is a tragedy—they won’t die from illness, but their organs slowly fail… After all, our genes are imperfect, only half dragon. I’ve grown old too, but look at you—still as spry as ever, making me envious. If you went to a bar, there would still be young girls swooning over an old man as handsome as you. I loved that Maserati you came in.”

“Cut to the chase,” Anjou exhaled smoke. “We always see each other at auctions, but it’s been over half a century since we spoke. You’re making an exception this time—what’s the matter?”

“To celebrate you getting what you wanted.” Henkel took a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket, poured a glass, and handed it to Anjou.

“Thanks for stepping back and letting us win.” Anjou raised his glass in acknowledgment.

“To be honest, we regret it. You wanted that item so badly that you even brought people to mess with the bidding. It must have had extraordinary value. But we lost our judgment at the time; that Lu fellow you brought along was such a madman during the bidding. By the time we realized he was your plant, the auction was already over.”

“How was he a plant? He was our excellent S-Rank student.” Anjou chuckled.

“Oh, S-Rank? After so many years, you have another S-Rank student? You’ve recruited many young people with top-tier bloodlines, I hear,” Henkel paused. “I also heard you killed ‘The King of Bronze and Fire,’ one of the Four Kings.”

“You’ve always had your sources.” Anjou looked down at the wine glass in his hand, golden ripples swirling.

“But we’re not sure whether you obtained the Dragon Skeletons.” Henkel raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Anjou shrugged. “We could have, but an accident occurred. A student acted quickly and hit him head-on with a Storm Torpedo. We searched the entire area afterward but found no remains.”

The young men exchanged glances, all looking somewhat surprised. They remained wary of Anjou, sticking to their rule of listening more and speaking less. The principal of Cassell College, an early member of the Lionheart Society, an orchestrator of Dragon King slayings… Such an old man should be like a sharp knife, and those who reach for the blade should be prepared for their hands to be cut. The “Dragon Skeletons” were a sensitive topic—almost taboo among hybrids, usually referred to with code words like “Holy Grail.” Henkel brought up this question, and the room’s atmosphere instantly grew tense; the young men stared at Anjou. If this inappropriate question caused the old man to turn hostile, they wouldn’t be too surprised. But Anjou, surprisingly, looked very “approachable,” talking casually about what was supposed to be Cassell College’s highest secret.

“But you confirmed he died?” a young man asked.

“Not entirely. Even one of the Four Kings is still a living being. Hit head-on by a Storm Torpedo—even a cruiser would be penetrated. The chance of survival is slim,” Anjou said calmly. “Besides, we did kill Constantine and obtained his remains.”

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