Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 398: Sakura’s Fall (5)

Dragon Raja 3

Through his scope, Sakura looked stunning. Although she had always been beautiful, she usually kept her hair in a ponytail and her entire appearance neat and tidy, with no excess detail. Now, her long hair and coat billowed wildly in the wind, like a demonic flower in full bloom.

She had been a flower that had stayed in bud all her life, but now, in her final moment, she bloomed with wild abandon.

Each bullet blossomed into a mercury flower atop a Death Servitor’s head. To ensure the most precise hits, Sakura even waited until a Death Servitor was right at her feet, then stepped on its face and pulled the trigger.

Lu Mingfei didn’t feel like Sakura was about to die. She seemed so calm and unhurried, like a general on the battlefield. The gunfire from her long and short weapons alternated seamlessly, like a perfectly synchronized duet.

Several Death Servitors closed in on Sakura at the same time, and Lu Mingfei fumbled as he changed magazines. Sakura coldly watched as those pale faces drew nearer. The barrel of the Western Watch hung freely, as she always did at such close range, maximizing each bullet’s power.

After reloading, Lu Mingfei returned to his firing stance. The highest Death Servitor was swinging its metallic blade toward Sakura’s foot. This time, Sakura didn’t kick its face… Instead, she slammed the Western Watch into its face, and the gun tumbled down from Tokyo Tower.

The bullets had finally run out.

She looked up in the direction of Lu Mingfei, and he wondered if she had guessed who he was. He ripped off his raincoat, jumped up, and waved at her.

Sakura suddenly smiled, the same smile she had when she first met Finger. She turned in Lu Mingfei’s direction, bent deeply at the waist, and mouthed, “XXXXXXXXXXXXX.” [Arigato, kudou anīmasu] — “Thank you,” in formal Japanese.

It was her last words in this world, spoken with utmost politeness.

Then she leaped.

The scent of royal blood had long driven the Death Servitors mad. Now, seeing this living blood meal fall before them, several Death Servitors couldn’t help but leap off the top of the tower, their mouths wide open, trying to bite her. Black serpentine shadows chased after the girl with flying hair, falling from the 330-meter tower like a swarm of snakes lured by the beauty of a flower, willing to follow her into hell. From Tokyo Tower’s height, it would take eight or nine seconds to hit the ground, and most of the Death Servitors wouldn’t survive.

Lu Mingfei covered his ears tightly, refusing to hear the terrifying sound that would follow in eight or nine seconds.

He thought Sakura was amazing. Her calmness didn’t come from the hope of survival, but because she had long accepted her fate. Who said you couldn’t foresee your own ending? She was such a beautiful, gentle, and understanding girl. Being eaten by those ugly Death Servitors would be the most intolerable thing. So, she jumped, and even in death, she took a few of the Death Servitors with her.

That’s why Lu Mingfei thought she was amazing.

Because she was so amazing, and because Finger had been amazing too. But amazing people like them were dying, all for the sake of that damned god, and so he suddenly began to cry.

Crow didn’t cover his ears, nor did he look away. He watched with open eyes as that girl, like a black tulip, fell. She seemed to crash into his heart, shattering the heart that had always been filled with malice and filth.

He recalled that afternoon many years ago when he and Yasha were walking side by side under the sunlight. He wanted to tell Yasha about a girl he was quite fond of. But since they were thugs, they couldn’t say things like “I really like that girl; she’s so beautiful.” So Crow lewdly said, “Hey, hey, I know a girl who’s pretty good-looking. As long as you give her food, she’ll do anything for you.” That’s how thugs talk about women. Just then, they were shoved aside by the expressionless young master. From that day on, the girl Crow was fond of became his colleague. That day, he and Yasha were summoned to the shrine to receive the family’s appointment as subordinates of Chisei.

Crow had been a thug, a gambler, a schemer, and a refined scoundrel all his life, and he’d fancied quite a few pretty girls before. So when Sakura liked Chisei, Crow was actually happy for her. He often tried to remind Chisei, “Hey! Hey! Sakura likes you! If you’re a man, you should make a move!”

Since Sakura wouldn’t like him anyway, and she liked a good man, Crow thought that was fine. He did think the boss was a good man—just a bit nagging and sometimes a bit effeminate.

Yasha said, “Hey, hey, this guy known for his impulsiveness is now at a loss.” Once, after getting drunk, Crow told him about Sakura, but he pretended not to know, acting as if he were drunk. Now, he couldn’t pretend anymore. In the rain, Crow truly looked like a crow, perched on a wet, withered branch.

Suddenly, Crow grabbed the SAM-16 man-portable missile launcher, his eyes bloodshot.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a floor covered in water; they had finally reached the underground garage. A faint bloody smell lingered in the air, indicating that Death Servitors had been active here not long ago, but now they had left.

Chisei’s vision blurred intermittently; he could faint at any moment. His stamina showed no signs of recovery because he had lost his fighting spirit.

He just had a strong urge to drink.

How else could he wash away that kind of pain? He was the leader, the underworld boss in the spotlight; a man like him couldn’t shed tears.

Tachibana dragged him forward; at this moment, this exhausted old man was the strongest among them. They waded through the water, the splashing and their heavy footsteps echoing. It seemed as if someone was watching them in the darkness, but upon closer look, it was just cars parked in the shadows, their headlights reflecting faintly. Chisei’s gaze was empty, while Tachibana’s eyes were vigilant; he seemed to sense some danger rapidly approaching from behind.

They found Tachibana’s antique Mercedes-Benz. Masamune stuffed Chisei into the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt. “Can you hold on? Can you drive?”

“I don’t know; I’ll try,” Chisei gripped the silver-plated steering wheel, but his hands were visibly shaking. “Get in the car.”

“No, I’ll drive your Hummer. We’ll split up to avoid being surrounded.” Tachibana said, turning on Chisei’s car lights. “If the elevator’s power is restored, the entrances and exits should be open. Follow the signs and head straight for the south exit!” He took the Hummer’s keys from Chisei’s trench coat pocket, turned around, and dragged his feet away. “I’ll take the north exit. If we both get out safely, we’ll meet at the plaza to the north.”

The Mercedes roared out of the parking spot—a wild car that Chisei could barely control. Tachibana drove up in the Hummer, and at the moment the two cars crossed paths, Masamune tossed Raikiri into Chisei’s car.

Chisei followed the signs, his vision intermittently blacking out, everything blurred. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on, so he simply floored the accelerator. The Mercedes sped through the garage at 80 kilometers per hour, drifting sharply, the tires screeching against the floor.

Rows of box trucks were parked in the unloading area. Why were there so many identical box trucks in the underground garage? Perhaps these trucks had brought in the Death Servitors. But as Chisei sped past, the trucks showed no unusual signs.

He hadn’t encountered any obstacles, so the road to the south exit was clear. But what about the north exit that Tachibana was taking? He pressed hard on the accelerator; he had to leave the garage quickly and head to the north exit on the surface to meet up with Masamune.

He turned onto the ramp leading to the surface, and suddenly the tires began to slip. Just as Chisei thought it was a temporary effect caused by rainwater, the Mercedes lost power, the speedometer rapidly dropped to zero, and the car slid backward down the slope.

Some kind of glowing liquid was flowing down the ramp—it wasn’t rainwater; it was oil. A waterfall of oil was streaming down the slope, and soon the entire ramp would be flooded with it. No matter how powerful the car was, it was useless on a frictionless surface. Tachibana’s antique Mercedes-Benz was a rear-wheel-drive car, impressive on the track but most prone to losing control on slippery surfaces. This was a common trick in the underworld; just a few barrels of oil could trap a target in an underground garage. Masamune had swapped cars with him to protect him but hadn’t expected to send him into a deadly trap instead.

Chisei suddenly felt a sense of calm. He turned the steering wheel, letting the car’s body lean against the side of the ramp, sliding slowly downward amidst a shower of sparks. He placed Raikiri on the passenger seat, ready to use it at any moment.

He knew clearly that he couldn’t escape this calamity, so he shakily took out a cigarette, lit it for himself, and took a deep drag. There was nothing to regret, except for Sakura; her sacrifice had only bought Chisei a few more minutes of life.

He sincerely wished she were sitting in the passenger seat now, so they could look at each other and smile. If it were Sakura, her smile would be beautiful, wouldn’t it?