Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 212: Boy in the Thorns (15)

Dragon Raja 3

Anjou crossed his twin blades to block in midair. But Onimaru Kunitsuna, bearing Inuyama’s weight and the force of his fall, pushed Anjou back, crashing through the wooden doors of the room. The blood-red light of Onimaru Kunitsuna followed, barely half a foot from Anjou. To an ordinary person, it would appear as if they were defying gravity, Anjou moving like an ethereal ghost, retreating while deflecting with lightning-fast, delicate strikes, while Inuyama attacked like a giant bear, each of his steps shaking the floor.

Outside the room, a long corridor lined with pine walls and bamboo screens awaited. In Onimaru Kunitsuna’s light, bamboo branches and leaves scattered, as everything in its path was destroyed. Once drawn, the sword was like a rampaging dragon.

Onimaru Kunitsuna buried itself deep into the floor, and Inuyama knelt, bamboo leaves falling on his shoulders. He shook the sword to the right, in a movement like shaking off water from an umbrella. This was the closing move of iaijutsu, known as “chiburi,” which symbolized shaking off the blood from a blade after killing an enemy.

Sure enough, a drop of fresh blood flew from Onimaru Kunitsuna’s blade, landing on Koto’s leg. Her pale skin made the drop of blood stand out vividly, like a red bean on white paper.

With a dark red gleam, Onimaru Kunitsuna slowly slid back into its scabbard. Inuyama had practiced this iaijutsu countless times, but today it felt as smooth as ever. When a person is determined to defeat another, they often unleash their greatest potential.

The foster daughters rushed out from the room, surrounding Inuyama from behind. Inuyama pressed his hand on his sword and strode forward. He didn’t believe that strike had dealt a fatal blow to Anjou. Anjou had undoubtedly taken advantage of the bamboo leaves to obscure his movements and leaped over the railing to the floor below.

But he wouldn’t be allowed to retreat so easily. Tonight, Tamamo-mae was filled with legendary blades.

Inuyama looked down, and sure enough, Anjou was standing in the center of the dance floor. The golden dancers surrounded him, slowly moving, as they reached under their skirts to draw the short blades hidden there.

“Women always hide their blades there,” Anjou commented as he admired the dancers’ radiant skin.

The musicians, who were also part of the performance, pulled out “Kiku-Ichimonji” swords from beneath their kimono collars. These long blades rested against their spines, with the hilts near their necks and the tips reaching below their waists, forcing them to sit upright with perfectly straight backs. They descended the staircase gracefully from both sides, spreading out to encircle the room.

“Principal, do you need a bandage? How about some sake to ease the pain, like in the old days?” Inuyama taunted loudly.

This was what Anjou had once said to him: “Do you need ointment, Katsu? Or some sake to ease the pain? You look so pitiful when you cry, just like a courtesan being mistreated by a client. Oh wait, I almost forgot—you are a pimp. No wonder you cry like that.”

Inuyama had never felt as satisfied as he did at this moment, but his face was contorted with rage, and the wrinkles between his brows deepened into a sharp, angry furrow.

He felt a slight pain in his brow, and a drop of blood began to fall straight down. Anjou casually swung his sword, and the blood drop landed neatly on the tip of the blade. He blew on it, and the droplet burst.

Inuyama pressed his hand to his forehead and saw a streak of red on his fingers. A thin line of blood silently opened at the center of his brow, and a drop of blood slowly trickled down the side of his nose.

“Too slow,” Anjou said, twirling his two blades. “You’ve become slower since you left Cassell College, Katsu. After all, a thug will always be a thug.”

He ignored the dancers with their sharp blades and calmly removed his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and took off his shirt. The room collectively gasped as they saw the full extent of his tattoo. The tiger head and the face of Yasha that extended to his wrists were only part of a larger image. The rest of his back depicted a fierce battle between countless Yasha demons and tigers in a storm of fire and smoke. As Anjou stretched his muscles, the vermilion Yasha and indigo tigers seemed to come to life, gripping each other’s throats, biting, and hammering with thunderous blows, illustrating a scene of brutal warfare. It was a scene that could only be imagined in hell, capturing the essence of violence and power, tattooed onto a single man’s back.

This was the “Rage of All Realms,” a tattoo that signified the highest status in the underworld. Only a yakuza boss would have such a depiction inked onto his body. In comparison, the “Enma Depiction” on Inuyama’s back seemed almost insignificant.

“You still haven’t removed your tattoo?” Inuyama asked.

“Of course not. Why would I? It’s proof of my identity. In the summer of 1948, I was the most feared man in Japan’s underworld. Your status was nothing more than someone who polished my shoes.” Anjou sneered. “You’re a pathetic student, and you’re just as useless in the yakuza. You embarrass me as your teacher.”

“Inuyama, now is not the time to lose your temper!” Miyamoto Shio rushed out from the room to intervene.

But it was too late. Fury clouded Inuyama’s mind, and he threw the white paper fan from his waist into the center of the dance floor.

All the lights went out, and laser beams crisscrossed the room like a net. It was as if molten lava erupted from the ground, with projectors casting fiery light onto the ceiling. Deep bass vibrations poured into the dance floor from every direction. The dancers rushed forward, their blades reflecting a pale, ghostly light. The musicians, with their long hair flowing like ink across white paper, descended the stairs. The nine types of cuts from Japanese swordsmanship—kiri otoshi, kesagiri, gyaku kesagiri, left and right horizontal cuts, upward cuts from both sides, gyaku kaze, and thrusts—were unleashed all at once. Every gap around Anjou was filled with the flash of blades.

The laser beams swept across his body, his muscular back twisting before the women. Yasha roared, and the tigers snarled!

In an instant, all the blades shattered. Before the women could even react, they were grabbed by their collars and thrown aside. No one could see what was happening in the chaos, only shadows being tossed out of the dance floor, and bodies laid out along its edge.

Suddenly, Setsuko descended from the second floor, her twin short swords flashing in a dance as swift as a flying swallow. She leaped toward the center of the dance floor.

No wonder this young ballet star kept her hair in a samurai-style ponytail. If her ballet skills were a perfect ten, then her swordsmanship was a twelve. Her style, known as “Nito-ryu” or “Two-Sword Style,” emphasized quick counterattacks. Blocking and striking simultaneously, it was called the “Unbreakable Defense.” The style required exceptional eyesight, as the practitioner had to predict their opponent’s moves. “First train the eyes, then train the cut.”

Setsuko’s sharp eyes locked onto Anjou’s weapon, illuminated by the laser lights. But instead of a sword, Anjou was holding a baseball bat!