Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 447: The Sword of Damocles (7)

Dragon Raja 3

At this point, such words felt powerless. Yamata no Orochi, once boasting control over all of Japan, couldn’t even summon a helicopter. The one they managed to find was hastily requisitioned from Hachioji City.

“Hurry up and go. I recall you’re married and have a daughter, right?” Chisei removed the gold Rolex from his wrist and handed it to the driver. “You have a responsibility as a father. Staying with me won’t help anyone.”

He opened the car door, pulling out an umbrella from inside, and despite the driver’s calls, strolled casually among the traffic.

Each car was a stage, and on every stage, there was a family. Through the car windows, he could see various scenes of family life.

On one stage, a middle-class father was driving, the mother in the passenger seat, and their child in the back. The father impatiently honked the horn, while the mother turned to comfort the child softly. The older brother held his younger sister in his arms, and the sister clutched her beloved teddy bear.

On another stage, there was only a young couple. The girl was crying in fear, resting her head on the boy’s shoulder. The boy wrapped one arm around her, gripping the steering wheel tightly with the other, staring fiercely ahead like a warrior on the battlefield. He wanted to protect his woman, but was powerless to do so.

On yet another stage, there was an elderly couple. The old woman was likely on the phone with their child, far away, and her husband gently wiped her tears with a handkerchief. They were the most at risk of death. Their old car could stall at any moment in the storm, and their strength likely wouldn’t last long enough to escape the city.

The most surprising was a boy, no more than twelve or thirteen, clearly from a wealthy family, well-dressed and driving a luxury car. The family’s maids sat in the backseat. His parents were probably away, leaving the child in the care of the maids, but none of the maids knew how to drive. In a critical moment, the young master jumped into his father’s Mercedes and yelled, “Get in!”

It was like a thousand televisions all playing family dramas before Chisei, each at its final episode. Every smile and tear was so genuine, without a trace of falseness.

But Chisei already knew the ending for all of them. They were all going to die. Thinking Divine Punishment alone could kill the god was overly optimistic on Anjou’s part. Divine Punishment was certainly a powerful weapon, but so was a nuclear bomb, and the U.S. military in Okinawa had nuclear bombs. Anjou could have tried to borrow one from them. How could Osho not be prepared for this?

The satellite carrying the Damocles’ Sword wouldn’t reach Japan’s skies for another 60 minutes. How could Osho leave the god at Red Well for Anjou to bomb? As long as the god remained alive, Tokyo’s destruction couldn’t be stopped.

So all these people would die, no matter how moving their family bonds were. In the face of ultimate death, everyone is equal. Whether in good times or bad, rich or poor, healthy or sick, happy or sad… they would all fulfill the vows they made when they married.

But Chisei envied them. The people in these cars could still hold each other for warmth, while there was no longer anyone left in this world for him to protect. Tachibana was dead, Sakura was dead, and his own brother had become a demon following Osho.

In the midst of this apocalyptic storm, Chisei wanted to call someone and say the word “love,” but who would answer his call?

The helicopter descended from the sky, and a rope ladder was thrown down. The people who had come to fetch him had finally arrived. Just then, a white-haired old man pedaled by on a bicycle, carrying a heavy suitcase on the back. Judging by the headband tied around his forehead, he seemed like a ramen chef. Chisei wasn’t fond of ramen and wasn’t particularly familiar with any ramen chefs, but he found the man strangely familiar. For a brief moment, they glanced at each other, but as the helicopter took off, they went in different directions.

“To the shrine,” Chisei said as he sat in the cabin, looking down at the masses below.

The helicopter’s rotors tore through the rain, shattering the mountain’s silence. Chisei jumped off the helicopter. The white-robed shrine priests stood shoulder to shoulder under the eaves, waiting for him. The rainwater hung like a transparent curtain in front of them.

Chisei looked up at the weathered face of the Buddha statue. Rainwater collected between the statue’s brows and eyes before falling, making it seem as if the Buddha was crying. He wasn’t particularly religious, but tonight, he suddenly felt the urge to offer incense. He reached out into the rain, and immediately three lit sticks of incense were handed to him. Without any prayers, he inserted the incense directly into the burner.

He slowly sat down in front of the ink-painted screen, facing the open doors of the hall. The stormy wind and rain blew in. The shrine priests gathered around him, removing his white ceremonial robes and bowing deeply. Underneath the robes was a black suit with a white tie—a sign of mourning for the fallen tonight, as well as an expression of his resolve to head to the battlefield.

Once the supreme family that controlled all of Japan’s underworld, now only these shrine priests were left to fight. However, the family’s shrine priests were not benevolent—they had all once been vicious criminals, punished to guard the ancestral spirits at the shrine. Tonight, they would return to their criminal selves.

The order had already been given before Chisei arrived at the meteorological bureau. The priests had made their preparations, cleaning the shrine one last time and offering flowers before the graves of the family heads.

“How is Erii?” Chisei asked.

“The head of the Uesugi family is waiting for the clan leader in the back hall,” the head priest said. “I will take you there immediately.”

It was hard to tell whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, but Erii had been transferred from Genji Heavy Industries to temporarily stay at the shrine. Otherwise, she might have single-handedly wiped out the Oni Clan invaders at Genji Heavy Industries, helping Yasha defend the building—or perhaps she might have been captured by the Oni Clan.

“No need, I’ll meet with her once everything is arranged. Everyone, sit down,” Chisei said, sitting upright.

The shrine priests knelt on the tatami mats. The sound of the wind and rain outside grew clearer.

“Record what I’m about to say,” Chisei said softly. “I am Chisei, the 74th clan leader of Yamata no Orochi. I have brought disgrace to my ancestors by failing to protect my kin, leading the family and Japan to the brink of destruction. I have committed unforgivable sins. As of tomorrow morning, I will transfer all authority as clan leader to Sakurai Nanami, head of the Sakurai family. Sakurai Nanami will be the 75th clan leader. After me, the members of the family must adhere to the teachings of our ancestors. Under no circumstances should anyone seek to become a Dragon, for that is a path that will lead to ruin. Anyone who violates this prohibition will face retribution from all members of the family. The ‘Oni’ in the Black Prison must be treated well, as long as it does not endanger the innocent. Every ‘Oni’ carries the family’s blood. If we treat them well, they will stand by our side. If we abandon them to the wilderness, they will take revenge on us…”

He spoke slowly, meticulously designating new leaders for each department of the family, handing over contact lists, passwords, and even the keys to the family’s treasury. Everyone listened intently, and the head priest scribbled furiously to keep up with the dictation.

“Is it all written down?” Chisei asked.

The head priest presented the scroll to Chisei. He glanced over it, then cut his finger and smeared blood onto his Gentian-crested ring, pressing it onto the document, sealing it with the Gen family crest.

Chisei handed the scroll back to the head priest. “Keep this letter safe and give it to Sakurai Nanami. Are you all prepared?”

“There are 27 shrine priests in total, and we are all prepared as per your instructions,” the head priest replied quietly.

“Tomorrow, I will no longer be the clan leader. But for this final moment of watching over the family, I ask all of you to accompany me to the battlefield. Now, Yamata no Orochi consists only of the 28 of us. We are Yamata no Orochi.” Chisei bowed. “I’m counting on you!”

“We will follow the clan leader, serving as both his spear and his armor,” all the shrine priests bowed in return.

“Very well.” Chisei stood up. “I’m going to check on Erii. Have the helicopter ready—departure in five minutes.”

He walked into the back hall. The walls were adorned with ancient, colorful paintings. This particular painting, however, was not a depiction of ancient history but a prophecy of the future. The family had long believed that this painting was likely the product of someone’s imagination, which is why it wasn’t removed and sent to Genji Heavy Industries for safekeeping. Instead, it remained in the back hall as decoration.

The painting depicted the day when the White Empress’ descendants would rule the world. The white emperor sat on a grand sedan carried by hundreds of people. Her footprints crossed oceans and Europe, reaching the red plains at the ends of the earth. Her attendants, clad in bronze and gold, raised long banners that covered the sky. The blood of her enemies splattered onto the towering banners, and it would take three days for the blood to flow down to the ground. Wherever she went, cities were built on the bones of her enemies, forming an impenetrable wall. South of the wall would be her imperial capital, and all the conquered peoples were exiled to the north of the wall, left to wail in the freezing cold, praying for the sun to rise and bring them even the slightest warmth.