Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 113: Greenland’s Shadow (7)

Dragon Raja 3

“One who is cruel to others must first learn to be cruel to themselves, or else they’re just a coward,” Schneider said slowly. “Many people thought I would never carry out missions again after the Greenland incident, that I would just retreat and do research because I lost six students in that incident and ended up like this. They thought that someone who returned from hell should cherish their life, but I chose to become the head of the Execution Bureau. I am the last member of the Greenland team—those young lives, blossoming like flowers, all died, and I survived. If I were a cowardly fool, wouldn’t that be a joke?”

“What if Caesar’s team repeats the fate of the Greenland team? How many more students can you watch die in front of you?” Manstein asked.

“This is the battlefield between humanity and dragons. The battlefield is like this—unnecessary mercy will only get more people killed. When the first comrade in front of you falls, you don’t have time for fear or sorrow, and you can’t throw away your weapon and curl up. You can only roar, shout for others to charge forward with you. Every inch of ground beneath your feet was bought by the life of the guy who fell in front of you. If you stop now, he died in vain. The second person falls, you keep shouting… The third person falls, you still shout… Once the charge starts, there’s no turning back. There are only two outcomes—total annihilation or breaking into the enemy’s ranks! But for a coward, there is only one outcome—total annihilation!”

Manstein stared into Schneider’s bright, fierce eyes and was silent for a long time. “My friend, you’re becoming more like the Principal. I feel like it’s the Principal standing before me, roaring, ‘I am the last of the Lionheart Society. As long as I am still fighting, the original Lionheart Society has not ended!’”

“He said that?” Schneider frowned.

“No, he wouldn’t say it like that, but it gives me that feeling. Because of the incident at Hamburg Port, the first generation of the Lionheart Society was completely wiped out, leaving only him alive. He has survived on hatred until now. On the surface, he’s a flamboyant old man, but inside, he’s a wounded tiger, always sharpening his fangs. He wants to exterminate the dragons, and anyone in his way is removed. If the School Board becomes an obstacle, he’ll flatten them too—he’s capable of it. You two are becoming more like dragons—less and less human.”

“What do you mean?” Schneider asked coldly.

“Resilient, persistent, ruthless, and sharp. These traits are more dragon-like than human virtues. As warriors, dragons are perfect like that, while humans are inherently weak—they hesitate, fear, and give up. But neither you nor the Principal allows yourselves to have human weaknesses. You force yourselves to be as cold and ruthless as dragons. You two will grow stronger and stronger, but also more alone—strong and solitary like dragons.”

“To fight a demon, one must first become a demon.”

“But what’s the point of winning that way? It’s not your victory—it’s the demon’s victory,” Manstein said. “You’ve told me a story; do you want to hear mine now?”

“Caesar’s team is still waiting for my order.”

“It’ll be quick. It’s not some big secret, nor is it full of twists. It’s about me and my wonderful old man.”

“I wouldn’t have thought the Vice Principal was your father if you didn’t mention it,” Schneider said.

“Indeed, as father and son, we have nothing in common. Even standing together for a picture feels awkward—I’m already balding, while he still ties a bandana around his neck like a cowboy.” Manstein spoke slowly. “The truth is, we don’t have a great relationship, nor much fatherly affection. He abandoned my mother and me when I was young—he’s always been a cowboy… or more accurately, a bull, wanting to pin down any heifer he finds. I don’t know how many women he’s had. My mother was certainly not his favorite, and my birth was probably due to a failed contraceptive. I only met him after I came to this college… I wouldn’t even call it a reunion. When he claimed to be my father and asked to have a drink, I threw the drink in his face.”

“Because he never fulfilled his duties as a father?” Schneider asked.

“This is what happened when we met,” Manstein pulled out a worn gold cross from his collar, “this was my mother’s keepsake, something I always carried with me. During the welcome party for new professors, the old guy suddenly put his hand on my shoulder and stared at the cross, saying, ‘Oh, isn’t that the pendant of Martha with the nice chest?’ I asked him how he knew my mother’s name. He said, ‘Was she your mother? My god, what a coincidence! If Martha didn’t hang out with any other men while we were friends, then you’re my son! I never imagined meeting you under such circumstances—we should have a drink!’ If you were me, what would you do?”

“You didn’t smash the glass in his face—you have good self-control,” Schneider said.

“Yeah, I remembered when I was a kid, moving from place to place with my mother in a second-hand station wagon from 1963, with no stable home. She had to put up with men flirting with her just to get a job to feed me. We moved a lot, so I had no friends, and local thugs bullied me, once even cornering me in an alley to pee on me. That’s when a father should have been there to teach those bastards a lesson, but I held it in and never told my mother—she was tired enough, and I wanted her to rest when she got home. Meanwhile, the Vice Principal was busy rolling around in bed with some heifer. I waited thirty years for him to stand up for me, and this bastard tells me, ‘We should have a drink to celebrate meeting like this.’ So, I threw my drink at him—and I even pushed him. The Principal had to separate us; it was a big joke at the welcoming party.”

“I thought I couldn’t stay at the college. It was my first day on the job, and I had thrown a drink at the Vice Principal. Even if he didn’t hold a grudge, I didn’t want to face him every day. The next day, I was planning to resign when I found a big cardboard box at my door. Inside were various game consoles, game discs, remote-control off-road cars, a small bicycle, and a set of ‘Richard Scarry’s Busy, Busy World.’ There was a letter in the box that basically said, ‘Dear Son, I know you lacked fatherly love growing up, and that’s my fault. To make up for it, I’m giving you all your birthday presents at once. Be happy! Signed, your dear dad.’ On the back, it said, ‘Tonight, I’ll bring a few pretty girls to celebrate with you.’ It turned out that old guy had gone to Toys ‘R’ Us in Chicago overnight and bought a box of toys to make up with me.”

“Truly… beyond expectations,” Schneider said.

He didn’t quite understand why Manstein suddenly wanted to talk about these things, but he was interested in the Vice Principal’s embarrassing stories. The Vice Principal was a mysterious man—probably only Anjou knew his background.

“The Principal returned my resignation letter and asked me to reconsider. Then someone knocked on my apartment door. The old man stood there, holding two bottles of whiskey, with a group of the prettiest freshmen hanging on his arm. He patted my chest cheerfully and said, ‘Hey girls, this is my dear son. See how much he looks like me?’ He put a yellow paper cup on my head as a birthday hat, asked the girls to take a picture of us together, and said he was making up for my eighteenth birthday, adding that no coming-of-age celebration would be complete without some pretty girls showing leg—and a bit of ‘the act of love’ would make it perfect! I took the whiskey from him, opened it, and poured the whole bottle on his head.”

“Oh,” Schneider said, unsure how to respond.

“But he still wouldn’t give up. People said he was the type to walk away if he couldn’t have a woman right away, unwilling to spend extra time. But he had patience with me. Sometimes, I’d find an extra sunny-side-up egg at breakfast. The chef said it was the Vice Principal inspecting the kitchen and frying it for me. He even wrote to the School Board, praising the young instructor Manstein as outstanding and suggesting I be promoted from assistant professor to associate professor immediately. The School Board knew I was his son but still approved it. In their eyes, that pervert was too hard to please, but he was also a valuable alchemy expert. If promoting his son could win him over, it was a worthwhile trade. Someone anonymously paid my rent for on-campus housing. When I called finance to inquire, they said it was the Vice Principal and emphasized that he had asked them not to tell me.”