Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 217: Boy in the Thorns (20)

Dragon Raja 3

He shouted incoherent words: “I’m from the Inuyama family! These are Inuyama’s women! Get out, you Americans!”

He had only met these two prostitutes the day before, but as he yelled, broken images flooded his mind: the U.S. colonel pressing down on his sister, the sunlight glinting on his father’s corpse, his eldest sister lying dead in the street with her robe open, exposing her tattooed chest of flowers and cranes… He gritted his teeth, tasting blood between them.

One of the soldiers stepped on his head while another kicked him hard in the groin. Despite the pain, Inuyama continued cursing, writhing in the mud strewn with cherry blossoms. It was a beautiful spring, but for him, it was a day of suffering. He curled up in agony, thinking it was all a cruel joke. At this rate, he’d never grow into a real man. How laughable—the last man of the Inuyama family, which ran the sex trade, was about to be finished off.

Suddenly, the soldiers flew through the air, like little sparrows. Inuyama looked up, dazed, and saw a tall figure under the falling cherry blossoms.

“Gentlemen, we won the war in the Pacific by defeating Japanese men, not women and children, right?” The American officer in white bent down, picking up the soldiers’ dropped belt and swung it lightly. In his hands, the belt became as agile as a cowboy’s whip, leaving welts on the soldiers with each strike. The soldiers roared in anger, but every time they tried to get up, the officer would whip them on the knees, forcing them back down into the mud. He walked circles around them, lashing out again and again until the two bull-like men finally gave up and surrendered.

“A gentleman doesn’t use violence on the weak,” the officer tossed the belt in front of the soldiers. “That only makes you weak.”

A light drizzle began to fall. The officer, now holding an elegant black British umbrella, had a travel suitcase in one hand and his military cap tucked under his arm. It was clear he had just arrived in the city. He didn’t even glance at the two crying, half-naked prostitutes. Instead, he kicked the exhausted Inuyama. “You’re a kid unafraid to charge into a thorn bush, but you need to get out of it to truly grow up.”

Inuyama hated his cold, arrogant tone, but he wiped the mud from his body to show the officer his tattoos.

“So, you’re a child of the Inuyama family. Go back and tell your family, my name is Anjou, Hilbert Ron Anjou. I’m a Hybrid from America. I’m here to negotiate. You can choose between peace or dignity.” The officer spoke casually and then pulled out a handkerchief, tossing it on the chest of one of the prostitutes.

Cherry blossoms fell from the hole in the roof of the schoolhouse. Hilbert Ron Anjou gazed up at the rain-washed sky, a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit.

“Teacher!” Inuyama summoned all his strength and shouted.

“No need for thanks. I used you to control the Japan Branch, so we’re even.” Anjou stopped. “There’s no room for negotiation between us. Yes, I’m a man seeking revenge, and I intend to put every Dragon King on the gallows. I won’t ignore anything related to their resurrection. I’ll uncover your secrets and personally kill your god. There’s no negotiation on this matter. Of course, I know you won’t easily tell me your secrets.”

“What did you come for today?” Inuyama gasped.

“To see you, Katsu. It’s been a long time… Next time we meet, we might be enemies,” Anjou said softly.

“Teacher! The family has its own reasons; we never intended to be your enemy!” Inuyama struggled to stand, his hand trembling slightly as he gripped the back of the chair.

“If you even dare,” Anjou shrugged.

“Maybe it’s just as you said, teacher… From now on, we may all be enemies.” Inuyama bowed deeply.

As Anjou turned to leave, carrying his suitcase, a faint metallic sound echoed from above, and killing intent rained down like a storm! Everyone instinctively looked up, but no one could pinpoint the source of the murderous aura.

Anjou’s shoulders shook violently, and with that movement, he transformed into a tiger, a beast that had been strolling leisurely through the forest but now flexed its muscles, with power coursing over its body like a surging tide. Ancient steel roared, and Inuyama lunged toward Anjou’s back, Onimaru Kunitsuna flashing coldly in his grasp. “Satsuna” unleashed at the ninth level, with an unmatched 512-fold speed! Anjou spun around, and Inuyama crashed straight into his embrace!

The deafening sound of gunfire followed, cutting diagonally across the dance floor like a barrage, tearing through the air. The guns were fixed to the Yamato-mae roof’s red eaves—high-caliber anti-aircraft machine guns. The speed of the bullets reached twice the speed of sound, triggered by automatic equipment. Two guns, each with twin barrels, roared as the bullets sprayed over an area spanning dozens of square meters.

There was no escape, and Anjou didn’t intend to. His folding knife drew dark golden patterns in the air. The torrent of bullets, carrying immense impact, pressed Anjou and Inuyama to the ground. Crystal glass from the dance floor shattered into countless fragments, swallowing their forms.

Miyamoto Shio and Ryoma Genichirō were stunned. They had not brought weapons to demonstrate sincerity, leaving them unprepared to deal with the heavy firepower above. The girls could do nothing but press their backs against the walls, covering their ears to avoid having their eardrums ruptured by the deafening gunfire.

For a full half-minute, the suppressive fire continued. Thousands of bullets rained down like a steel waterfall from the sky.

Finally, a flash of fire shot up to the roof, triggering a massive explosion that collapsed the red eaves. It was Ayane who fired the rocket launcher. Initially paralyzed with shock, she eventually grabbed her rocket launcher. Without her action, the suppressive fire would have continued for another half minute. Fragments of the red eaves fell, and the roof of Yamato-mae caved in with a roar. Light rain began to fall, drizzling onto the crimson silk below.

Through the dust, Anjou sat cross-legged, cradling Inuyama’s head on his lap. Bullet holes surrounded them, created by the bullets Anjou had deflected. Had there been a high-definition camera filming Anjou at that moment, it would have captured his folding knife slicing each machine gun bullet in two. As the bullet trajectory reached him, it split into two paths.

“Now, this is speed,” Inuyama said softly. “I didn’t see anything, only stars.”

Aside from a minor shrapnel wound to his brow, Anjou was unharmed. The wounds were all on Inuyama. Onimaru Kunitsuna had shielded Inuyama’s left chest, deflecting a few bullets and protecting his heart, but the rest of his body was riddled with bullet holes. His Hybrid bones were tough enough that even machine gun bullets couldn’t penetrate. He had used his entire skeleton to absorb most of the bullets. His blade had not been drawn to attack but to protect his heart—he needed to stay alive, to protect Anjou by taking the bullets.

Both he and Anjou had immediately recognized that the metallic sound was the firing pin striking the bullet’s primer.

“バカ (idiot),” Anjou muttered softly.

“I told you so many times, I really am an idiot,” Inuyama said with a faint smile on the still-intact side of his face. “I didn’t know about those guns.”

“Of course you didn’t. Whoever it was, I’ll avenge you. And I’ll take care of your goddaughters,” Anjou replied with no expression.

“Can I embrace you?” Inuyama asked.

“Of course.” Anjou leaned down and held Inuyama’s head in his arms.

“Teacher… the war is about to begin. They don’t believe in you,” Inuyama whispered into Anjou’s ear, so quietly it was barely audible. “No one in Japan is trustworthy. Find… that man. He’s still alive. He knows everything.”

“Hmm.” Anjou patted his head.

“I finally understand what you were trying to teach me,” Inuyama said, his last words in this life.

How long does it take for a student to understand their teacher’s teachings? Maybe it happens in a moment during class, or maybe it takes a lifetime.

Anjou suddenly understood. Just as he hadn’t come here to negotiate with Inuyama, Inuyama hadn’t come to negotiate with him either. Despite harboring resentment toward his tyrannical teacher, Inuyama had always regarded him as his teacher. Inuyama had been warning him—something terrible was about to happen, a danger was approaching, one so severe that even someone of Inuyama’s status couldn’t grasp its full scope. His surroundings were filled with spies, and there was no one left in the Yamata no Orochi that he could trust.

Inuyama, the former head of Cassell College’s Japan Branch, had done all he could before his death.

“Loyal to your family, faithful to your teacher—is this what you Japanese call loyalty and honor?” Anjou stared hard at the furrow in Inuyama’s brow, as if trying to smooth out the crease that remained even in death. “How foolish.”

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