Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 163: Cycle of Catastrophe (6)

Dragon Raja 3

“Why?” Anjou instinctively asked.

“Exactly! This is the point where someone needs to ask ‘why’ so the storyteller feels a sense of accomplishment!” Pompeii said excitedly. “The epicenter was actually within an ancient city. During the violent shaking, the city was torn from the landmass of Japan and dragged into the deep sea by an unprecedented tidal wave, eventually settling near the bottom of the Japan Trench. Under the force of gravity, the ancient city slid slowly down the steep slope into the trench’s depths, finally reaching one of the deepest places on Earth. It was sealed off by the ocean for ten thousand years, until the Trieste descended from above, and mankind rediscovered it.”

“And the dragon died in the catastrophe it caused?”

“Yes, Takamagahara became its burial ground. But such a mighty Dragon King wouldn’t truly die. It merely fell into slumber, and after ten thousand years, the icebreaker descended from the sky, with its hull filled with fresh fetal blood. The Dragon King sucked the fetal blood and revived. The Trieste witnessed the grandest blood sacrifice ever at the deepest abyss, yet they didn’t find the one being sacrificed to. If the sacrifice itself required an ancient dragon embryo, what level of being was the one receiving the sacrifice?”

Anjou’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly.

“Perhaps the word ‘king’ is insufficient to describe the exalted recipient of this sacrifice. We should call it… a god.” Pompeii said slowly. “Brother, compared to suppressing the rebellion of the Yamata no Orochi, the more urgent task is godslaying! Think about it, that thing awakens and immediately wants to destroy the world. It’s even more vicious than the Earth and Mountain King or the Bronze and Fire King. For ten thousand years, no monk has chanted prayers over it to dissolve its hatred. Its hatred for the world can only have grown deeper! If I had been killed for ten thousand years, the first thing I’d do when I woke up would be to destroy the world too!” Pompeii grew more excited. “Brother, you have to act quickly! Otherwise, we’ll have to say goodbye forever to cherry blossoms, sake, wagyu, sashimi… and those obedient Yamato Nadeshiko girls, because there might not be a Japan left in this world!”

“Facing something of that scale, the issue isn’t acting quickly. The question is—can it even be killed?”

“The Dragon King doesn’t fully awaken immediately after revival. That’s the best time to kill it. Otherwise, when it becomes a world-ending entity, we’ll have no choice but to ask the U.S. government to nuke Japan along with it. Let me show you a simulation of the disaster if that catastrophic god awakens…” Pompeii opened the last file. “The first wave of disaster starts from Aso Mountain in Kumamoto, which is still an active volcano. Lava will cover hundreds of square kilometers. Next, Mount Fuji, the emperor of Japan’s volcanoes, will erupt, and seismic waves will devastate the Kansai region, with cities sinking into liquefied soil one by one. Coastal lands will tear away in massive landslides. The second wave will be a cross-shaped seismic wave tearing through Shikoku and Hokkaido, with magma rivers surging from deep in the earth. The third wave will be a kilometer-high tsunami crashing onto the land. This will be the deadliest wave: seawater will mix with lava, and the resulting explosions will flip the entire country upside down. After that… sayonara, Japan.”

In the simulation, one second represented one hour in reality. Within seconds, the islands of Honshu and Kyushu had vanished, leaving only the central highlands and relatively stable Hokkaido above sea level. The super tsunami had already reached China’s Yellow Sea.

“One day—Japan sinks,” Pompeii concluded.

“Why are you telling me this? You should be discussing this with Frost.” Anjou stared into Pompeii’s eyes.

“For something this important, do you think I can trust my crazy brother? I’d rather trust a professional. When it comes to slaying dragons, you’re the professional. Japan sinking doesn’t matter, but my precious son is still there.”

“There’s actually bad news. According to Norma’s calculations, their chance of surviving from the ocean floor is very slim… so slim that I don’t want to say it, and you don’t want to hear it.”

“I know, the survival rate is less than 1%. Screw the 1%! If he were that easy to kill, could he even be called Pompeii’s son?” Pompeii said each word with emphasis.

Watching this man who suddenly exuded such a commanding aura, Anjou realized he had never truly understood Pompeii. Deep down, Anjou had always looked down on him. How could a vengeful warrior respect a playboy? Their relationship had survived until now only due to Pompeii’s shamelessness and flattery. But at this moment, the man sitting across from him was far from useless—he was practically a genius. From the start, Anjou had misjudged Pompeii’s intentions. He wasn’t here to extract information from Anjou; he came to deliver it. For ten years, Pompeii had distanced himself from major decisions, but now he couldn’t resist stepping in—perhaps he truly cared for the son he didn’t seem to get along with.

“Caesar’s life should be like his father’s—leaving footprints on all seven continents and four oceans, with girlfriends in every corner of the world! Until that great goal is achieved, the men of the Gattuso family will not die!” Pompeii righteously declared with a stern expression.

Just as Anjou’s opinion of him had risen, it came crashing down again. Pompeii was this kind of man—he could never stay serious for more than ten minutes. Even if he died one day and the Gattuso family lined up to throw white roses onto his coffin, Pompeii wouldn’t lie there solemnly. He’d probably pop the lid off, rise up, and greet every beautiful woman who came to pay their respects with a cheek kiss—that was the style of Pompeii Gattuso.

“In any case, just help me get my son back. I’ll handle the family,” Pompeii said cheerfully as he skipped down the stairs like a lively colt… only to trip over the parachute he’d dragged behind him. Too late to recover, he tumbled down the stairs with a series of thuds.

Anjou sat back down beneath the skylight, sipping the last cup of tea Pompeii had poured before leaving. The sun was about to set, casting dappled shadows throughout the atrium. Anjou’s face was now half in shadow, half in light. The squirrels, gathered in threes and fours on the shelves, gazed at him cautiously. They, too, sensed that the master of the house had suddenly changed, no longer the kind-hearted elder who smelled of books, but someone more imposing and solemn.

Lazy footsteps echoed from the stairs.

“That shameless guy is showing up too. Looks like there’s real trouble,” the Vice Principal said as he slowly ascended the stairs, holding half a bottle of brandy, his denim shirt open at the chest.

“Why not say hello to him?” Anjou asked. “I don’t believe Pompeii didn’t notice you were here.”

“There’s a Chinese saying: a stable can’t hold two stallions. I don’t like him.”

“The saying is actually ‘a mountain cannot hold two tigers,’” Anjou corrected. “I need to make a trip to Japan. Maybe I’ll kill one or two Dragon Kings while I’m at it.”

“The Yamata no Orochi never liked you. Before, you kept them under control, so they were submissive, but now they’ve rebelled. Japan is enemy territory for you. As the commander, are you planning to deliver your own head as a gift?” the Vice Principal said.

“Even if they don’t like me, the Yamata no Orochi doesn’t have the courage to challenge me openly yet.”

“You plan on going alone?”

“Bringing too many people would be useless. I still have a few friends and subordinates in Japan.”

“Subordinates? The entire Japan branch is descended from the Yamata no Orochi. They all resigned. What subordinates do you have left?”

“I sent a few students to Japan for internships before, and there’s also Caesar’s team. I trust they’re not dead.”

“You think those three idiots and a few interns are going to help you handle an unknown giant dragon? That’s like Buddha sending the monk on a pilgrimage with just a pig and a water monster, no Monkey King, and expecting him to defeat monsters along the way.”

“The young people I sent to Japan are neither pigs nor water monsters, and I’m not a Tang dynasty monk who only chants sutras.” Anjou retrieved a folding knife from the drawer and slid it into the sheath on his wrist.