Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 391: Night of the King’s Assassination (7)

Dragon Raja 3

Caesar and Chu Zihang were also running as fast as they could, navigating through the pitch-black interior of the Tokyo Tower building. The place was eerily empty, and when they climbed out of the cable tunnel, it felt like they had crawled into a tomb. Unlike Chisei, they weren’t in a dragon-bone state, and neither of them thought climbing 250 meters to the special observatory was a smart move, so they opted for the elevator like normal people. Caesar frantically hit the up button, hoping the old elevator would be fast enough.

“What’s this sticky stuff on the ground?” Caesar felt uneasy.

“Looks like something left behind by a creature,” Chu Zihang crouched down, touching the marble floor.

There were wave-like “footprints” on the ground, a sticky, transparent substance clinging to the marble, shimmering faintly in the dim light. Caesar shuddered. No human could leave such “footprints.” They indicated that snake-like shadows had passed through the Tokyo Tower building recently. Where had those dangerous creatures gone? “Lu Mingfei, Fingal, scan the area around the Tokyo Tower. Any suspicious targets?” Caesar spoke into his microphone.

“No suspicious targets detected. I’m using an infrared scope, and there are only five heat signatures around the Tokyo Tower—Herzog, Tachibana, you, Chu Zihang, and… the Emperor,” Lu Mingfei’s voice suddenly faltered. “No… wait! There’s a sixth target! Someone is on top of the Tokyo Tower!”

Fingal suddenly chimed in, “Good evening, miss.”

Sakura was standing at the top of the Tokyo Tower, clad in a black, skin-tight combat suit, drenched in the torrential rain. Her infrared signal was incredibly faint. The extreme thinness of her suit insulated most of her body heat, and the rain washed away the rest. She had been there the entire time, yet Fingal’s airship, hovering less than 30 meters away, hadn’t detected her. That was the power of a ninja. When necessary, they could lower their vital signs to the bare minimum—slow heartbeats, calm blood flow, and reduced body temperature, mimicking a state of hibernation. But they could instantly awaken, their vital signs surging to twice the level of an ordinary person.

Her heartbeat surged to 240 beats per minute, her blood pressure spiked past 200 mmHg, and her body burned like hot embers—Sakura had awakened, which is why Lu Mingfei was able to spot her.

She removed her mask, her pale face as delicate as raw silk, with long black hair flowing in the wind. Her body was adorned with various intricate throwing weapons—some shaped like crescent moons, others like slanted crosses.

From the Asuka period, Japanese ninjas had been studying these finely crafted throwing weapons, known as shuriken, kunai, or senbon. Different weapons were suited for different distances, and due to their aerodynamics, they would trace unpredictable paths through the air, like butterflies in flight. But each of these “butterflies” was deadly.

In any other situation, encountering her would have been a stroke of luck. Even now, in this tense moment, Fingal couldn’t resist greeting her, which is why he said, “Good evening, miss.” No matter the circumstance, he always greeted a beautiful woman. He had once told Lu Mingfei that even if you’re a toad, you have to leap into the beautiful woman’s line of sight. Otherwise, you’re just another unnoticed toad in the grass—an existence devoid of value. Lu Mingfei had no retort, so he just responded with a resigned “Oh, come on.”

Seeing this scene through his scope, Lu Mingfei nearly wanted to cry, thinking, Brother, you’re playing with fire! That girl is not on your side! Sure, you’re both hiding and waiting to ambush, but you couldn’t be more different! How could you be this clueless?

Sakura smiled faintly. Though she could have easily pierced Fingal’s small airship with one of her projectiles and killed him, she merely put a finger to her lips and shook her head at him.

Her gaze flowed silently, illuminated briefly by the signal light at the top of the tower. The silver rain streamed down her back, and her figure was as enchanting as distant mountains in spring. Fingal immediately fell silent and even gave a mock salute, as if to say, Yes, Madam.

Sakura had signaled Fingal to stay quiet. After all, those who lay in ambush should remain silent—the moment they made a sound would either be the moment they attacked or the moment they died. Fingal didn’t have such awareness, though. His principle was that a beauty’s words should always be obeyed.

It was only then that Lu Mingfei realized Sakura had noticed Fingal’s airship from the very start. Unlike Herzog or Tachibana, she was closer, and without thick glass in the way, it was easier for her to spot the trembling airship in the storm.

Tokyo Tower had been cleared of people, even excluding Chisei. So why was Sakura hiding here?

The situation had spiraled into chaos, a series of ambushes within ambushes. Lu Mingfei suddenly thought that Japan itself was like this—a tangled web of mysteries. They were stuck in a labyrinth, unable to find their way out, as if the paths were like a ball of yarn tangled by a mischievous cat.

Chisei stepped onto the special observatory, initially moving like a black lightning bolt, but then coming to a sudden halt, frozen in place like a statue.

Through the broken glass, he could clearly see what was happening inside the small room. The tear gas and mercury smoke had been washed away by the storm, leaving behind only the white mist and the elderly men standing there. They looked like warriors forged from iron, evoking images of the Sengoku period’s deadly duels.

A German and a Russian were battling in the purest Japanese style.

Tachibana’s shirt was torn, revealing a body covered in knotted muscles, bronzed like someone who had spent years in the sun. Tonight, he shone with a brilliance, as if he had returned to his youthful prime.

He held only a half-broken sword, the blade hidden under his ribs so that Herzog couldn’t see his grip or predict the angle of his attack.

Herzog’s clothes were mostly intact. Despite such a brutal fight, even his cufflinks were still in place. His sword remained whole but was riddled with cracks, a testament to the countless times their blades had clashed. Tachibana owned a small but prestigious sword museum, and his collection was filled with masterpieces. Now, those masterpieces were strewn about the elevator, hilts pointed outward, each belonging to a historically significant blade. Herzog and Tachibana had grabbed these swords at will, using them until they broke and discarding them. The floor was littered with the remains of these once-prized weapons.

Chisei dared not move, knowing that even the slightest action could break the tense balance between the two.

Neither of them made a move. Any attack would create an opening, and the opponent’s counterattack would be swifter. Sometimes, before the sound of a weapon cutting through the air could even reach the ear, the body had already been sliced open.

Rain poured down relentlessly, and the world was enveloped in an endless, hissing sound. Everything could lead to that one fatal moment. Once it came, either Herzog or Tachibana would die, and a full-force strike could sever someone in two. What good would even the strongest regeneration ability be then?

Chisei gripped his sword tightly, running through his mind the image of a perfect strike. He recalled one of the deadliest techniques from his heart-shaped sword style, the Rasetsu Demon Bone from the Four Directions and Eight Phases. It was his fastest and most brutal attack. If Tachibana were to fall, Herzog wouldn’t leave this place alive either.

As he fully grasped the situation, Chisei realized how reckless he had been. Tachibana hadn’t come to negotiate with Herzog—he had come to kill. Chisei’s sudden arrival had disrupted Tachibana’s plans, forcing him to risk his life to stall Herzog.

Tachibana locked onto Osho’s forehead, Osho locked onto Tachibana’s throat, and Chisei focused on Osho’s back. All the blades were drawn, and all the bows were taut, waiting for the moment when blood would be spilled.

The rain couldn’t extinguish their burning fighting spirit. Some had their shirts soaked in sweat, while others had theirs drying at a visible speed. Dragon blood burned intensely, causing their body temperatures to rise to unbelievable levels, as if they would burst into flames, only kept in check by the constant downpour.

Was it finally time for it all to end? This ceremony of resurrecting a god had played out like a grand drama, with everyone making their entrance. The murderous intent intertwined like the jagged teeth of a saw. From the beginning until now, too many people had already died, their blood painting a huge, bloody totem on the stage. Yet, the god hadn’t even shown themselves. It was as if this were a curse left behind by the White Empress for her descendants. They fought each other for the power she had left behind, and only those who could reach the bloody road’s end would receive her blessing.

Enough! Enough! This bloody cycle must be broken, along with all the desires and ambitions, and the demon who escaped from Black Swan Bay!

An unprecedented determination rose in Chisei’s heart, like a blazing torch ready to set the heavens on fire.

Silver butterflies descended from the sky, brushing past Chisei’s shoulder and hovering in the storm. Neither Osho nor Tachibana noticed the small butterfly, but Chisei did—it was there for him to see. Silently, countless butterflies floated around the special lookout point, not flying but slowly rotating. They weren’t real butterflies but small, silver blades, their edges coated with deadly poison.

Sakura was here, though Chisei couldn’t pinpoint her location.

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