Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 195: Girl with Sandalwood Scent (27)

Dragon Raja 3

Caesar sat in the bulldozer’s cab, one hand on the wheel and the other holding the bleeding girl. He had been waiting behind the wall all along, the sound of the bulldozer approaching masked by the storm. When the gang members had reloaded their guns, Caesar’s Kamaitachi had sent the signal, and he slammed the gas pedal, breaking through the wall. The bulldozer, spewing black smoke, charged onto the street, scattering the gunmen in panic. The machine’s sides were reinforced with steel plates to prevent debris from injuring the driver, and the sawed-off shotguns had no effect on it.

Back at Cassell College’s central control room, everyone broke into applause. At the critical moment, when even EVA was out of options, there was still one person who could turn the tide of battle. This undergraduate, often mocked by the Executives for his arrogance and immaturity, had shown his mettle. Though he hadn’t yet earned the respect of the older generation, today they applauded him as an emperor taking the field himself.

Because an emperor must lead from the front.

The bulldozer skidded to a stop in the rain, and Caesar swung the shovel down. “Quick! Get in the cab!” he shouted.

Lu Mingfei used all his strength to leap onto the bulldozer, and Caesar grabbed his arm, pulling him into the cab and placing the injured Makoto in his lap. Lu Mingfei could feel the broken bones in her body, and the pain made him want to cry.

Caesar’s face was expressionless, hardened like it had been carved from stone. If stoicism could be called an expression, then Lu Mingfei had never seen such a look on Caesar’s face before.

“Boss, are you okay?” Lu Mingfei asked, trembling with fear.

“I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.” Caesar pressed the gas pedal again, and the spikes on the bulldozer’s scoop pierced into a sports car, lifting it high into the air as he turned the vehicle to charge at the bōsōzoku gang members.

“Detonators! Detonators!” Monkey face screamed.

A dozen gang members pulled detonators from their belts, igniting them and throwing them at the bulldozer. The explosions tore through the bulldozer’s massive two-meter-tall tires, and the black smoke-spewing behemoth lost its momentum almost instantly.

“Shoot! Shoot! Throw the detonators into the cab!” Monkey face shrieked, his voice strained and desperate.

Suddenly, the dark clouds above split open, and a massive black bird descended from the sky. The B1 bomber’s shockwave swept down the street, and three bright white flares, like blazing meteors, shot across the sky. A silver case fell from the sky, deploying three white parachutes as it neared the ground. Caesar leaped out of the bulldozer, catching the case mid-air. Without a word, he opened the sealed case, which bore the insignia “Cassell College.” It was an equipment case from Cassell, a last-minute change to the B1 bomber’s mission as dictated by EVA. Instead of incendiary bombs, the bomber had dropped this equipment.

Inside, Caesar found guns, ammunition, flares, and grenades, all neatly arranged. Some bullets had red tips, the tranquilizer Frigg rounds, some had black tips, the mercury-core armor-piercing rounds for killing dragons, and others were standard brass-tipped bullets.

“He… he got the box!” one of the gang members shouted in terror. Monkey face had clearly warned them beforehand how terrifying these three targets could be once they had that equipment in hand.

Caesar calmly chose brass-tipped magnum rounds, despite standing well within the gang’s firing range. Slowly and deliberately, he loaded the rounds into his Desert Eagle, the sound of each bullet clicking into place both clear and chilling.

“Boss, those bullets are real killers!” Lu Mingfei gasped in shock.

“The old men in my family often preach nonsense, but there’s one thing they’re right about,” Caesar said coolly as he slid the magazine into place and chambered the bullets. “They say that God’s world is always just. If someone makes a mistake, they must pay the price. When a hand deserves to be cut off, it gets cut off. When a leg deserves to be broken, it’s broken. If people can make mistakes without paying the price, who would ever believe in the glory of God?”

Caesar crossed his hands, bringing the twin guns to rest on his shoulders. Monkey face and his crew instinctively began backing away, not thinking about whether Caesar was within their shooting range, but realizing they must stay far away from the shooting range of the Desert Eagles. The massive handguns held an intimidating mechanical power, their grips adorned with engraved skull-winged angels.

“Nest, Nest, the package has been delivered. Shall I return to base?” The B1 bomber pilot’s voice echoed through the central control room at Cassell College.

The American pilot believed he was following orders from Okinawa headquarters, but in reality, his communications had been hijacked by a supercomputer located within the United States.

“Flower of the Sparrows, Nest acknowledges. Permission to return to base. Good luck on your journey,” EVA’s simulated male voice responded.

“Are you sure about letting the bomber return now?” Schneider asked, still uneasy.

“Using a U.S. military bomber would trigger an internal investigation at the Department of Defense, risking the exposure of our existence. It was a last resort, but now it’s unnecessary. With the presence of Kamaitachi and 323 rounds of ammunition from the equipment case, we can officially crown Caesar Gattuso the King of the Battlefield,” EVA said calmly.

Suddenly, Monkey face let out a blood-curdling scream, waving his now-bloody arm. He had tried to give the order for his men to fire, but Caesar had already shot through his wrist. A .44 Magnum round, at such close range, wouldn’t just shatter a wrist—it could easily blow apart a rhino’s skull. The gang members collapsed in the puddles of water, clutching their legs in agony, throwing their shotguns into the mud. The bullets had pierced their calves, leaving them less injured than their leader, but they were still left permanently disabled. They had underestimated Caesar’s modified Desert Eagles, which had a range of 100 meters even without extended barrels.

A lion is still a lion—once it finds its fangs.

Caesar continued to fire, emptying the magazines before tossing the guns to Lu Mingfei for reloading. He grabbed an Uzi from the equipment case and resumed shooting. The bōsōzoku had completely lost their will to fight. They abandoned their fallen comrades and fled toward the box trucks. Some made it, others fell into the rain-soaked street before they could reach the trucks. Every shot was precise, hitting the leg. Those lucky enough to be hit by the Uzi bullets might still ride a motorcycle after recovery, but those hit by the Desert Eagle would never pass the driving test due to their permanent injuries. These lawless punks, who had terrorized the town for so long, were now tasting fear themselves.

The box trucks skidded as they pulled away, carrying the remaining gang members down the street. Caesar tossed the empty Uzi to Lu Mingfei, who handed back the reloaded Desert Eagles.

“Sir, we can’t hold out any longer! Their firepower is too strong!” Monkey face groaned, cradling his severed arm as he dialed a number from the passenger seat.

“The Battle of Nagashino in 1575—facing the Oda clan’s arquebus corps, the Takeda clan’s Akazonae charged forward. That’s Japanese courage, and I admire it greatly,” the man on the other end of the phone said with a smile. “It’s been almost 500 years, yet the spirit of Akazonae still burns in the hearts of the young, doesn’t it? Charge. Charge with bravery.”

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