Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 256: Divine Hall of Murals (10)

Dragon Raja 3

“I believe what you said now! Alright, so super-Hybrids and Super Saiyans are real!” Caesar wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth fiercely.

That arm punched through the bronze door again and again. No matter how exceptional a Hybrid’s muscle and bone resilience might be, it couldn’t compare to a dragon’s. But that person was using sheer physical force to hammer through the hard bronze.

Caesar and Chu Zihang exchanged glances, simultaneously turning off their flashlights and slipping into the darkness.

With a resounding boom, the bronze door crumbled, revealing a narrow path lit by candlelight in front of Chisei. He slowly rotated his wrist, the bones in his body crackling in succession. He only had five minutes, and one of them had already passed. The high-voltage line in the elevator shaft had snapped, and the bright electric sparks projected his figure into the mural hall. His blow through the door had injured his opponent, but not fatally, and the opponent didn’t cry out in pain, indicating that their bloodline was also extremely pure, likely on par with the dragonified Sakurai Mei.

There were no suspicious targets in his line of sight, and his opponent hadn’t launched an attack when he broke through the door. It seemed his entrance had left a terrifying first impression, and his opponents were lying in wait, hidden in the darkness, ready to ambush him.

He leapt up, not charging forward but landing on the beam in the elevator shaft. The high-voltage wire sparking in front of him was the only light source in the elevator shaft. In this way, his shadow disappeared from the mural hall, preventing his opponent from tracking his movements by his shadow.

His opponent, seeing his shadow vanish, must have been terrified, but they still made no sound, like a pack of wolves patiently waiting in the dark to ambush a lion.

Chisei took off his suit jacket, balled it up, and threw it forcefully. This trick was nothing new, but it was highly effective, especially in dimly lit environments. His ambushers were undoubtedly staring at the elevator door, and upon seeing the black shadow, they had only a fraction of a second to react. They likely had guns in hand, and in such a high-tension state, 99% of people would shoot, firing not out of thought but out of reflex.

The jacket flew six or seven meters before fluttering to the ground, like a black eagle descending. It seemed as though there were no enemies in the darkness at all.

His opponents were extremely calm, far beyond Chisei’s expectations. This meant that not only was their bloodline excellent, but their training was also exceptional.

Chisei glanced at his watch. One minute and twelve seconds had passed, and in another three minutes and forty-eight seconds, Tachibana would lift the lockdown on the building. By then, the intruders would be free to blend into the crowd and quietly leave the building. There was no more time for probing. He crouched down slowly, then suddenly exerted force, leaping over the steel beam and charging toward the shadowed wall. It was purely a race against speed. His initial acceleration could rival that of a supercar. As long as he was fast enough, the enemies’ intercepting moves would fail, and the barrage of bullets would fall behind him.

Due to the enormous wind pressure, his suit rippled like flowing water, concealing the dangerous Kumogiri hidden beneath it, along with his right hand hidden under his clothes.

The Tōsha-ken, or the “Priestly Robe Blade,” was a sword technique created by monks during Japan’s Sengoku period. The monks wore long robes that covered the weapons beneath, making it impossible for the enemy to know how they wielded their blades or from which direction they would strike. By simply changing the grip and adjusting the movements of the wrists and elbows, the blade could be swung in any direction, including the blind spots behind. This technique was therefore called the “Monk’s Assassination Blade,” though it was later abandoned under the leadership of the spear master Hōzōin Inei at his temple. Today, the use of the Tōsha-ken survives only in certain “dishonorable” schools of swordsmanship. Chisei didn’t care about a school’s reputation. From the first day he held a sword, Tachibana had told him that a sword is a bloody thing, and those who wield it are demons. If that were the case, how could the reputation of “dishonor” be attached to human-invented swordsmanship?

He needed to end the battle quickly. Killing the intruders didn’t matter; what mattered was preserving the secrets in the mural hall and buying enough time for people in the building to escape and find safety.

Chisei lost his balance and, carried by immense inertia, slammed flat onto the ground. This fall was quite undignified—what the Chinese call “dog-eating mud.” He had fallen into an ambush. Whoever set the trap was a scoundrel. A rope had been strung tight, about thirty centimeters above the ground. The rope didn’t obstruct his jacket but managed to trip Chisei. Shadows pounced from both sides. One attacker swung a bladed weapon, and Chisei heard the metallic hiss slicing through the air. The other attacker fired rapidly, bullets sparking around Chisei. They were giving him a way out—surrender, and he wouldn’t be hurt—but if he made any sudden moves, bullets would pin him to the ground. Kumogiri had flown from his grasp when he tripped, embedding itself in the shadowed wall.

Unarmed, Chisei raised both hands to signal surrender. Chu Zihang withdrew his force at the last moment, his long blade lightly grazing the back of Chisei’s neck. Caesar pressed his Desert Eagle against Chisei’s forehead. Both were panting heavily, having nearly exhausted themselves to succeed in their ambush.

It was the thick purple rope wrapped around the altar that had tripped Chisei. It was as thick as an arm and could easily bind an elephant. Chu Zihang reached toward Chisei’s waist to check if he had any other weapons hidden.

Chisei tilted his head, slamming it against the muzzle of the gun. The power of the Desert Eagle could shatter a deer’s skull from 200 meters away, and most people would be terrified at the sight of its exaggerated barrel. But Chisei dared to hit it with his head.

Yagyū Shinkage-ryū: Muto-dori – Ryutō-tsui.

This was one of the rare unarmed techniques in Japanese swordsmanship, perfected by the sword saint Yagyū Muneyoshi Sekishūsai. Its secret lay in rushing into the opponent’s embrace, disarming them barehanded. Because of this divine technique, Yagyū Muneyoshi often went about unarmed, for he considered every sword at the waist of others to be his own. Caesar made a mistake by getting too close, and Chu Zihang made another by thinking a Desert Eagle alone could subdue a Royal.

The gun barrel swerved, and Chisei spun to his feet, shaking off the long rope. He reached out with just two fingers and pinched Chu Zihang’s blade, lifting it above his head and guiding it past his shoulder. The blade glided silently toward the shadowed wall.

Kagami-shin Meijin-ryū: Basara-mai—though called a dance, it was actually a sword technique’s footwork. During the Edo period, Tokyo had three major sword schools: the Kagami-shin Meijin-ryū’s Shigakukan, the Hokushin Ittō-ryū’s Genbukan, and the Shindō Munen-ryū’s Renpeikan. Their sword styles were vastly different. Kagami-shin Meijin-ryū’s grandmaster, Momoi Haruzō Tadanao, was a renowned handsome man, and his swordsmanship emphasized elegant movement and graceful footwork, earning him the title “Momoi of Poise.”

Caesar, wielding the Dictator in one hand and the Desert Eagle in the other, chased after Chisei, but Chisei twirled around him like a dancer, as light as if moved by the wind. Despite all his efforts, Caesar couldn’t match Chisei’s footwork, watching helplessly as he slipped through the barriers of blades and bullets.