Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 247: Divine Hall of Murals (1)

Dragon Raja 3

The moment the elevator doors closed, the floor indicator screen abruptly went dark. All the buttons stopped working, and above the doors, the red words “神道” (Shinto) lit up.

Chu Zihang’s brows furrowed slightly. These boxes of documents were supposed to be sent to some warehouse in the lower district, but no one had mentioned anything about “Shinto.” Shinto wasn’t something that should appear inside a building.

In ancient China, “Shinto” was synonymous with the “way of the dead,” referring to the path leading to a tomb. It was said, “A road opens before the tomb, with stone pillars as markers, and this is called the Shinto.” The belief was that once you stepped onto this path, you were walking into the underworld, and the stone figures and horses on either side were servants of the tomb’s owner. The end of the Shinto was usually a red gate that led to the ancestral shrine where offerings were made to the dead.

In Japanese, “Shinto” also refers to Japan’s national religion, where shrines often enshrine beings that are somewhere between gods and spirits.

An extraordinary sense of mystery pervaded the elevator. Chu Zihang pulled the brim of his black military hat lower, shielding his eyes.

When the doors opened, the scent of burning incense flooded the space. Before him was a faintly illuminated corridor, flanked by red votive candles. Chu Zihang realized, to his surprise, that he had arrived at a space resembling a Buddhist temple. The corridor passed under a large torii gate, standing three to four meters tall, its vermillion paint weathered and peeling, revealing the dark red wood beneath. Clearly, this was an ancient artifact, originally built outdoors, now disassembled and reassembled inside the Genji Heavy Industries building. Silence enveloped the place—there was no sign of human life. Chu Zihang adjusted the position of his sword under his coat, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. He quickly unloaded the boxes from the elevator and carried one forward.

Towering wooden statues loomed in the shadows, partially concealed by veils, resembling guardian deities or demons bound by sacred white ropes of woven paper, known as “shimenawa.” These ropes symbolized both sanctity and sealing, used in Shinto shrines to bind the various bizarre entities, halfway between gods and spirits, that were worshiped there. The dim candlelight barely reached the heads of the statues, which seemed to lean forward, watching over those who dared step into this space, their imposing aura palpable. Various ritual implements were scattered around—a wooden palanquin held a shrine, with unknown ancient deities enshrined inside. Thick purple ropes wound around the palanquin like dragons guarding a divine throne.

If the elevator was indeed the Shinto path, then Chu Zihang had entered the ancestral shrine, and beyond this would likely be the resting place of the dead.

He passed through several layers of curtains until a perpetual lamp illuminated his path. Ahead of him stood an enormous partition wall, typically built at the entrance of temples to shield them from view and protect the spiritual energy within. While such walls weren’t uncommon, this one was colossal, standing four meters high and extending over ten meters wide, with a gilded top.

On the massive wall was a mural painted with bold strokes of rust red and indigo. It depicted half-human, half-serpent giants entwined with each other, their long tails coiled together. The male giants were fierce and menacing, while the female ones were regal and compassionate. Surrounding them were various monsters from Japanese mythology. Behind the giants, countless arms sprouted, wielding different weapons as they fought against the demons.

It was a breathtaking work of art—an explosive mix of rage, violence, death, and sensuality, all culminating in a profound sadness.

More unsettling than the mural, however, was the blood. Thick, crimson liquid was slowly oozing down the wall as if buckets of red paint had been thrown against it. Chu Zihang had faced the most vicious death servitors and witnessed the bloodiest battlefields, but nothing compared to the carnage depicted on this wall.

A human body contains only about five liters of blood, and no matter how severe the injuries, the amount of blood loss is limited. Once the heart stops beating, the blood dries in the veins. But the amount of blood covering this wall was enough to repaint it. How many people had to die for this? And what kind of brutality could have pumped so much blood from their bodies before their hearts stopped?

Chu Zihang removed his contact lenses, and his golden eyes gleamed in the dark. He dropped the box and drew his sword. The domain of Yanling: King’s Blaze expanded, and the blade glowed red-hot, emitting a light somewhere between red and black.

The blood was still fresh, indicating that the massacre had just occurred. There was a high probability that the killer was still in the area. At this point, there was no use hiding his identity—survival was paramount.

The last person to arrive here should have been Caesar. Caesar wasn’t a madman who killed indiscriminately. Chu Zihang only hoped he wasn’t among the dead.

He rounded the wall and stepped into the deepest part of the floor. According to the sequence of the Shinto path and the partition wall, he had now entered the shrine that housed the coffins. The dim light from his sword illuminated his face, and his golden eyes gleamed menacingly in the darkness. The air was thick with the smell of blood, which had been masked earlier by the incense. A thin layer of liquid covered the floor, sticky underfoot. It didn’t need to be said—it was fresh blood, not yet congealed. If the lights were on, the floor would probably be a deep crimson.

Corpses littered the ground, strewn around heaps of document boxes. Every one of the dead wore a black coat—they were all members of the Execution Bureau’s elite force. They had been ambushed while busy transporting the files, their hearts pierced with precision. The left and right pulmonary arteries had been severed, and since all the arterial blood in the human body flows through them, nearly all their blood had been pumped out with their final heartbeat.

Chu Zihang sheathed his sword and knelt beside one of the bodies, attempting to discern what weapon had been used. But it was difficult to tell. The wounds were enormous—someone had cleaved this person from shoulder to heart, almost severing the shoulder and arm. This was not the work of a conventional blade. The most likely weapon, if enlarged three times, would be a fire axe—but this axe seemed to have serrated edges. In short, it was an unusual combination of axe and saw, with a three-foot-long blade, weighing over thirty kilograms, wielded as easily as a feather. It seemed unreal, unless a troll from World of Warcraft had descended upon the real world.

Caesar crouched on the other side of the corpse, and with him there, Chu Zihang didn’t have to worry about sneak attacks. With “Kamaitachi” activated, almost no one could ambush Caesar—he was like a radar.

“What the hell kind of wound is this? Piercing, laceration, or explosion?” Caesar pinched his nose. “Or maybe a ‘bitten by a giant dragon-like monster’ wound?”

Caesar had a point—it was possible these people were bitten by some enormous creature with a mouth over a meter wide and jagged, saw-like teeth.

“When I arrived, their body temperatures were still warm, meaning the killer left just a few minutes before I got here,” Caesar said. “If I’d come a few minutes earlier, I’d probably be dead too.”