Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 432: Night of Wind and Tides (12)

Dragon Raja 3

Alongside the tsunami came Category 12 winds and torrential rain.

Within minutes, rainfall had exceeded 100 millimeters—an entire year’s worth for some arid cities.

“Dr. Miyamoto! Dr. Miyamoto! The Prime Minister’s Office is calling! They demand an explanation from the Meteorological Agency—why wasn’t there a warning?! Why wasn’t there a warning?!”

A young operator clutched the phone, shouting in desperation.

Miyamoto Ze shoved him aside and stormed onto the rooftop.

The sea had already reached the building’s foundation. The entire first floor was submerged. Skyscrapers around them stood amid a vast ocean.

Miyamoto Ze stared westward, as if his greatest nemesis lurked within those clouds.

The sky to the west was suddenly torn apart by a deafening roar, as if a cannon several kilometers in diameter had just fired. A few seconds later, the western sky was set ablaze in a fiery red.

“Mount Fuji… it’s erupting!” A subordinate rushed onto the terrace, shouting, but the moment he saw the scene before him, he understood what Miyamoto Ze was waiting for. The eruption of Mount Fuji was something everyone in Tokyo could see.

That was indeed Miyamoto Ze’s mortal enemy, as well as the nemesis of all meteorologists and geologists in Japan. The eruption of the “father of volcanoes” signified that the magma deep within the Earth’s crust had fully boiled over—the submarine volcanoes and land volcanoes were connected at the deepest layers of the crust.

“The shockwave is approaching Tokyo! 10, 9, 8, 7…” The colleague monitoring the seismic waves shouted.

A shockwave of magnitude eight struck, throwing everyone in the room to the floor. An operator slammed into the corner of the wall, splitting his head open, yet still clutched his receiver and shouted “Moshi moshi!” Miyamoto Ze grabbed him by the collar, yanked the receiver from his hands, and pressed it to his own ear.

“Prime Minister, stop questioning this poor guy. He knows nothing. There’s no point in explanations anymore—there’s nothing we can do to stop this disaster. Listen! There will be no warnings, and no contingency plans! There’s only one piece of advice—”

He took a deep breath. “Run for your life. Staying in the Prime Minister’s Office won’t do you any good.”

He hung up the phone, straightened his suit, and scanned the room. “Evacuate. Shelters won’t be reliable, and low-lying areas are deathtraps. Head for open high ground—that’s the safest place. And if there’s anything else you want to do… pray for Tokyo.”

The normally unremarkable middle-aged man had suddenly become imposing and resolute, like a warrior gripping a long blade.

“But…” one of his subordinates stammered.

“Idiot! What use is staying here? Against a disaster of this scale, you’re just as powerless as everyone else! Go! Move! Warn as many people as you can along the way to head for higher ground—that’s all you can do!” Miyamoto Ze bellowed.

His commanding roar stunned everyone into action. In truth, the meteorologists had wanted to flee as well, but their pride as scientists wouldn’t let them abandon their posts. Yet Miyamoto Ze was right—there was nothing more they could do. This disaster was far beyond human comprehension. All they could do was run like everyone else and pass on the correct escape routes to those they encountered.

The massive office emptied in minutes. The last to leave was the bloodied operator, a fresh graduate from the University of Tokyo and the lowest-ranking intern. He stood frozen, staring at Miyamoto Ze sitting at the control console, expressionless, copying data while broadcasting disaster alerts through every available channel.

“Senpai…” the operator murmured.

“Go. The others are useless, and you’re even more useless,” Miyamoto Ze said coldly. “But someone has to stay and record this disaster—this data will be invaluable for future research. One day, you need to become someone useful—someone who can analyze the data I leave behind.”

He shot the operator a sharp glance, his eyes like blades, and roared, “Now—get out!”

The operator bowed deeply, then ran after his fleeing colleagues. Glass shattered in rapid succession, and a storm of wind and rain tore through the office. Miyamoto Ze remained at the console, watching the ground below through meteorological satellites in Earth’s atmosphere.

As Miyamoto Shio’s uncle, he understood what was happening—this was the awakening of a god. Humanity could not stand against such an exalted force. The only ones who could step onto the battlefield were hybrids like them.

A massive crystal chandelier crashed into the center of the dance floor, sending shards flying in all directions. The shattered fragments tore through a nearby girl’s dress and flesh, creating a scene of both breathtaking beauty and apocalyptic horror.

Cracks snaked up the walls from below, and seawater burst through with immense pressure, forming white jets. A young girl was struck in the chest, spewing blood. Zatō quickly stepped forward and caught her in his arms. Within a minute, the dance floor was waist-deep in water. Just moments ago, this place had been filled with music, laughter, and the scent of perfume. Now, scantily clad girls stumbled through the water, crying and screaming, not knowing where to go—only knowing they had to run, as far as possible.

High heels, handbags, necklaces, and earrings were strewn across the floor. Just days ago, a single piece of these luxury items would have made any working-class girl ecstatic for weeks. Now, no one spared them a glance.

What they didn’t realize was that Takamagahara was already faring better than most. This old-fashioned Catholic church was incredibly sturdy—otherwise, it would have collapsed the instant the tsunami’s shockwave hit.

“Hana Squad! Hana Squad!” Sakurai Nanami called out.

No response. She immediately understood—in a catastrophe like this, the squad controlling the street intersections was gone. As for the Tetsu Squad managing the interior of Takamagahara, they were now struggling in the flood alongside the guests.

The only ones still operational were the Kiba Squad, in charge of sniping, and the Tsuru Squad, responsible for aerial defense. Above them, two “Ninja” light attack helicopters hovered—their ticket out of this disaster zone.

“Kiba Squad! Tsuru Squad!” Sakurai Nanami called out.

“Situation unclear! The tidal surge has reached Shinjuku! I repeat—the tidal surge—” The Kiba Squad leader’s report was abruptly cut off by gunfire, followed by agonized screams.

Sakurai Nanami instantly recognized the sound of military-grade shotguns—high-powered weapons forbidden to civilians, far deadlier than the hunting shotguns used by the Yakuza. Someone was systematically eliminating their snipers. The Kiba Squad was out.

All of this pointed to one thing—someone had known about the impending super-tsunami in advance, allowing them to time their attack with surgical precision.

As the tsunami obliterated the defense perimeter, the assault began.

“Tsuru Squad! Land on Takamagahara’s rooftop! The patriarch is on the third floor! I repeat—the patriarch is on the third floor! Evacuate him first!” Sakurai Nanami commanded.

“Tsuru Squad copies! Moving in!”

Fūma Kōtarō’s phone rang—it was Miyamoto Ze. After listening, he adjusted his kimono and rose. Amidst the panicked crowd, the old man stood as firm as a reef against crashing waves.

“Su-san, with your understanding of the Dragon Raja, I assume you already know what’s happening,” Fūma Kōtarō said, fixing Enxi with a steady gaze.

“The awakening of a god,” Enxi’s voice trembled. “It can only be the awakening of a god.”

“I take it this was beyond even your expectations. Otherwise, you wouldn’t still be here drinking with me,” Fūma Kōtarō mused.

“I swear on my life—I knew nothing!” Enxi was deathly pale, shaking uncontrollably. “Is it… an earthquake?”

She was usually calm and composed, which made Fūma Kōtarō often overlook her age and see her as an equal partner. But now, with disaster looming, Enxi was behaving like a little rabbit cornered by a predator. It was only at this moment that Fūma Kōtarō realized she was just a young girl. No matter how clever and cunning she was, she would still panic in the face of a real battlefield.

“If only it were that simple. Run while you still can,” Fūma Kōtarō said coldly. “At this moment, all the money in the world won’t save you.”

Although he couldn’t be completely sure that Enxi had nothing to do with this incident, Fūma Kōtarō still decided to let her go. When an annoying yet attractive young woman suffered a setback and was on the verge of tears, adults tended to feel less animosity toward her.

“Th-thank you…” Enxi took off her high heels and disappeared into the panicked crowd.

Fūma Kōtarō had no time to worry about Enxi; he had to find Chisei. The meeting at Takamagahara had turned out to be a trap. Most of the elite forces of Yamata no Orochi were gathered here, and the patriarch was upstairs. Fūma Kōtarō had to protect Chisei and ensure his escape.

“I knew we couldn’t trust that man!” Fūma Kōtarō muttered under his breath, thinking of Chime. He suspected that brotherly affection had made Chisei let down his guard.

He drew his tanto—a short blade originally meant as a symbol of his resolve, but now it would have to serve as a weapon. The officers of the Iron Squad waded through the water to his side—only about a dozen of them, but this was all the force Fūma Kōtarō could command at the moment.

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