Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 281: A Friend of Justice (17)

Dragon Raja 3

Back to back, they used their guns to suppress the Death Servitors while slowly retreating toward the elevator shaft. The Death Servitors, scattered by the explosion, began regrouping, their menacing golden eyes locked onto Caesar and Chu Zihang. They were relentless, rising again and again after being shot, continuing their assault. Caesar and Chu Zihang didn’t speak, mechanically reloading, chambering rounds, and firing. Their only defense was the wall of bullets. Once that wall fell, the Death Servitors would swarm them and tear them apart. Though the creatures feared the pain inflicted by the roaring, fire-spitting guns, the limited ammunition couldn’t kill them. If they rushed in all at once, they could rip the two men to shreds.

But the bullets would eventually run out, just like a torch scaring off wolves, slowly burning down.

“Coming back to save me wasn’t a rational decision!” Chu Zihang shouted as he fired. “Even if we had another Gatling gun, we wouldn’t make it out!”

“Damn it! You think I wanted to come back?” Caesar yelled, holding his submachine gun while loading shells into his shotgun with his mouth. He had to ensure that at least one gun was always firing. “That Japanese guy kept saying, ‘Let’s go, let’s go!’ Why should I listen to an idiot?”

Chu Zihang stopped talking, merely smiling.

Red columns toppled one by one as the firestorm and black smoke tore through the hall. The murals curled and withered in the flames, the dragons and serpents painted on them twisting as if ready to take flight.

In the distance, Chisei’s vision alternated between clarity and being obscured by black smoke. He watched those two men, once rivals, now fighting back to back. The Death Servitors pressed closer, so near that Caesar had to shove his gun into one’s gaping mouth before blasting it away. Chu Zihang planted his blades in the ground, ready to draw them to ward off any Death Servitor that got too close, then picking up his gun to continue firing.

Even though they were far away, enveloped in smoke and dust, Chisei could always make them out. No matter how thick the smoke or fog, they seemed to shine. The light they gave off couldn’t be hidden by black smoke or dense fog.

Like snowflakes, the scattered documents were sucked into the inferno, burning in the firestorm and transforming into fiery butterflies. This reminded Chisei of that night at the Gokuraku Hall, when brilliant butterflies danced in the flames, only those were burning wads of ten-thousand-yen bills.

In the heart of the fire, the girl in the traditional jūnihitoe kimono, wearing white high heels, smiled at him and said, “This is how it should be. We moths born in darkness are destined to burn to death. Even when our wings catch fire, we still struggle to keep flying.”

Looking back, Sakurai Kogure really was a beautiful girl—the type Chisei was drawn to. If they had met at a bar in Tokyo, he would have definitely walked up to her table to invite her for a drink. But she died that night, and though Chisei wanted to save her, he couldn’t. His mission that night had been to destroy the Gokuraku Hall, and he would kill anyone who stood in his way. Sakurai Kogure stood in his way. Knowing full well she couldn’t win, she stubbornly drank a Molotov cocktail and danced in the flames, wielding her long blade. Some people are just that stubborn. Even when they know the outcome, they refuse to give up. They insist on dancing, dancing their own dance until they are burned to ashes… just like Caesar and Chu Zihang fighting in the flames, like them trudging through fields of the infected. Fighting to the end without surrendering—is that a virtue, or just plain foolishness?

“Yes! I am! Never abandoning my friends is my justice. I live for my justice, and I’ll die for my justice!” Caesar’s angry voice echoed in his ears.

Such childish words… Yet he couldn’t help but envy him, envy his youth and fearlessness…

Chisei channeled the last of his strength into his left arm. His bones cracked loudly as he dislocated every joint from his wrist to his shoulder. Thanks to his unique bone structure, he could dislocate all his joints by force. The excruciating pain pounded his brain, but he still managed to free his dislocated arm from the bindings. His arm now hung limp like a noodle, its joints twisting in unnatural directions. His right arm also broke free. With one hand, he tore off his blood-soaked white shirt, then used Dōjigiri Yasutsuna to slash open his left wrist. Blood instantly soaked the shirt. Once the shirt had absorbed enough blood, Chisei hurled it into a corner of the burning hall.

If the Death Servitors wanted blood, they would have it—plenty of it. Chisei slumped against the elevator door, his vision fading into darkness as the lack of oxygen and blood loss took its toll. What a joke, for a high and mighty emperor to die from blood loss, or more accurately, to faint and be burned alive in a fire… The spirits of past emperors would laugh at his incompetence. But there was nothing to be done. He truly was the weakest of the emperors. If the records kept by the family priests weren’t exaggerated, the previous emperors must have been ten times stronger than him. For someone as weak as he was, this was the limit.

“What’s going on?” Caesar couldn’t believe his eyes. The smoke curling from his gun barrels lingered on the ground, his guns momentarily silent, but none of the Death Servitors attacked. Their bullets were nearly depleted, and yet the Death Servitors suddenly retreated, scrambling toward a corner of the hall. Just moments ago, they had been ravenous, as if Caesar and Chu Zihang were pigs roasting over the fire, seasoned with salt and pepper. Now, they had become repulsive slop, something the Death Servitors wouldn’t even touch.

Could it be that the God of Dumb Luck had intervened to save them again? What kind of miracle had made these bloodthirsty monsters abandon their meal just as it was ready?

“Run! Run now!” Chu Zihang yelled.

Caesar snapped out of his daze. There was no time to ponder the reason behind this miracle. The C4 scattered throughout the hall could explode at any moment, and it was far too soon to kneel down and thank the God of Dumb Luck. They bolted, tearing off their heavy coats as they ran. The coats were filled with scattered guns and bullets, which became a burden as they sprinted for their lives. Behind them came a deafening blast, accompanied by a scorching gust of wind—one of the C4 charges had exploded, collapsing part of the wall. Just one pound of C4 could blow an airliner apart mid-flight, making it a favorite toy of terrorists. This hall was rigged with fifteen pounds of the stuff.

The cargo elevator was just ahead. As they burst through the black smoke, Caesar saw that Chisei had freed himself from his bindings, half of his body already inside the elevator. Caesar immediately assumed the worst—that this Japanese man intended to leave them behind and escape. He pulled out his Desert Eagle, aiming at Chisei’s leg.

There was no way he could let Chisei close the elevator door. This was their last chance. Without hesitation, Caesar pulled the trigger, and blood sprayed from Chisei’s leg. The steel-core bullet would have shattered the leg of a normal person, and even though Chisei’s muscles and bones were much stronger, without his dragon-bone form, he couldn’t withstand such a shot.

The searing pain woke Chisei, but before he could react, Chu Zihang had already dragged him into the elevator, slamming the door close button. Caesar dove into the elevator and landed a punch squarely on Chisei’s face, sending him crashing into the back of the cab.