Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 261: Divine Hall of Murals (15)

Dragon Raja 3

The exchange of slashes ended in less than ten seconds, beginning and ending abruptly, without any transition between extreme movement and stillness. The three of them sprang apart, remaining in defensive stances, like statues. If an observer were present, they might have had the illusion that the three had never moved at all.

A drop of blood slid down the bewitching blade of Kumogiri, falling to the ground. Caesar looked down at his chest, where a red line slowly extended across the pristine white of his shirt.

He had been struck by the final move of Reverse Rolling Blade: Tenpyo Ichimonji. That slash had unfolded with the force of a wall crashing down in front of him, its killing intent so suffocating that it felt like it was choking him.

Chisei hadn’t held back; under the combined assault of Caesar and Chu Zihang, he couldn’t afford to. Likewise, neither Caesar nor Chu Zihang had held anything back. The sleeve of Chisei’s garment was slowly tearing open—Caesar’s slash had nearly severed the artery in his wrist.

“You use a katana, and he uses a katana, but his swordsmanship is completely different from yours,” Caesar whispered. “I can’t predict his attacks.”

“Kagami-shin Meijin-ryū, one of the three major Edo sword schools,” Chu Zihang took a deep breath. “He’s a Royal trained by the Yamata no Orochi, probably by a master of the purest classical swordsmanship. I don’t have such high-level teachers.”

“So, what style do you practice?”

“No style. I learned swordsmanship from an instructor at a youth martial arts class. The tuition was 3,600 yuan for 36 sessions. I’ve only had those 36 lessons—everything else I learned through practice on my own.” Chu Zihang raised his sword overhead, assuming the standard Seigan stance of Japanese swordsmanship.

“Damn it! I always thought your katana skills were legit! I thought by studying you, I’d have figured out Japanese swordsmanship!” Caesar exclaimed in shock.

“Sorry for the misunderstanding, but I never said I practiced Japanese swordsmanship. I just use a Japanese sword,” Chu Zihang replied.

“Well, your apology comes a bit late,” Caesar said, half-laughing, half-crying, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Kumogiri. “I thought I knew a lot about katana techniques, but after dueling a true Japanese sword master, I realize I was just sparring with a knock-off from a youth class.”

Chisei stood silently before the altar, the pale gleam of Kumogiri held horizontally in front of his chest. His fingers gently brushed along the blade before lightly grasping the tip. This wasn’t the starting stance of any sword style; his whole posture was full of openings, yet neither Chu Zihang nor Caesar dared to take advantage.

The motion was like that of a priest preparing for a ritual, silently polishing the long sword, ready to sever the head of a sacrificial offering with reverence. Caesar and Chu Zihang were the offerings on the altar, and the bone-chilling killing intent filled the hall. The offerings were destined to die, and time was running out.

Chisei was quietly shocked. This was the first time anyone had posed a lethal threat to him. He was a Royal, born to stand above all others. Even dragonified beings like Sakurai Mei and Sakurai Kogure were merely “dangerous prey.” But Chu Zihang and Caesar were not prey—they were hunters, just like Chisei. The three of them had just performed a deadly dance on the edge of their blades, and though Chisei had a slight advantage, he wasn’t certain of victory. The bloodline refinement techniques of the Lionheart Society were holding their own against the noble Royal blood. Chisei had turned his blade into a wall, and Caesar and Chu Zihang’s attacks had all been repelled by it. Yet even so, he felt that his Reverse Rolling Blade was being suppressed. The combined assaults of Caesar and Chu Zihang were like a torrential storm, and within that storm, Chisei could only defend.

If he wanted to break through their combined assault, he would have to use one of the forbidden techniques of swordsmanship—first, severely wounding one of them, like the strike that injured Caesar: Tenpyo Ichimonji.

He only had five minutes in total.

“I’m genuinely glad to see you all still alive. That is the truth. The family owes all of you a great deal, and if we had met under different circumstances, we might have become friends. Even if we didn’t become friends, it would have been better than becoming enemies,” Chisei said coldly. “I apologize.”

“You Japanese always apologize too much and too late. If it’s useless, say it less often in the future,” Caesar’s voice became severe and cold as well. “Makoto, that girl we met at the comic and toy store, she’s dead. She died at the hands of your family. In the war you started, many people like Makoto will die, and as a high-and-mighty Royal, you won’t even hear their screams. Damn it! I used to think the Gattuso family was the only rotten one in the world, but now it turns out there are eight more rotten families in Japan!”

Chisei was slightly taken aback, a small crack appearing in his icy expression. “Indeed… apologies said after so much time are always too late, so why even bother saying them?”

He slowly raised his sword above his head, lowering into a crouch. This was the first time he had taken a formal stance—he was finally taking things seriously.

Caesar and Chu Zihang exchanged a quick glance, and Chu Zihang shook his head slightly. He wasn’t joking when he said that his katana techniques were learned in a youth martial arts class at the community center. His graduation gift was a lightsaber toy from Star Wars—it even had two AA batteries inside, and when you pressed a button, it lit up and played the Star Wars theme song. So he had never studied the “secret techniques” of Japanese swordsmanship and couldn’t understand the intricacies of Chisei’s stance. Even if he had studied at a formal dojo, it wouldn’t have mattered. The Royal had received the strictest and most traditional Japanese education, and Chisei had studied every existing sword technique in Japan, including ancient assassination techniques. No student trained in a regular dojo could ever comprehend them.

After the Meiji Restoration, swordsmanship, like tea ceremony, became a part of traditional culture. The invention of the bamboo sword allowed dojo students to engage in mock battles, but the only time they might hold a real sword was when they posed for graduation photos. However, before the Meiji Restoration, the sword was a samurai’s life, and a samurai’s life was soaked in blood. Samurai who served noble families were always prepared to die on the battlefield for their lord, while those who taught in dojos awaited challengers who might cut them down at any moment. And the ronin, with their wolfish gazes, walked the streets, ready to kill at the slightest provocation. That was an era of killers—where lives were as fragile as cherry blossoms, and the samurai’s right to carry a sword was essentially a license to kill, without legal repercussions. Thus, the most sinister, ruthless, and deadly sword techniques were developed—completely unlike the refined, elegant swordsmanship of modern Japan. Back then, swordsmanship was purely about killing, and only those who survived were considered dignified. To kill, one could be as ferocious as a wolf, as cunning as a rat, or as monstrous as a demon. This was the essence of ancient assassination swordsmanship.

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