Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 452: The Sword of Damocles (12)

Dragon Raja 3

“There’s no time to mount it on a missile. It’ll have to be delivered by helicopter, and you’ll need to manually arm it and detonate it.”

“How long will it take to get the warhead there?”

“About 30 minutes, which means the sulfur bomb should be ready to detonate by the time Judgement is released,” Matur explained.

“Prepare your sulfur bomb. I’ll buy you 30 minutes and gather those creatures into a one-kilometer circle,” Anjou said, turning to the Vice Principal. “Notify the helicopter to be ready. Caesar and Chu Zihang, you’re coming with me. The full command here, including Eva, is transferred to the Vice Principal.”

“No problem, don’t worry. As long as I’m here, everything will be fine!” The Vice Principal grinned, drinking his tequila. Only a madman of his level could smile at a time like this.

Anjou grabbed the bottle from his hand and downed the last of the tequila. “Stop drinking. If Judgement misses, Tokyo will be destroyed.”

“Relax! When have I ever messed up after drinking?” The Vice Principal was brimming with confidence. “Besides, Eva already input the coordinates, right?”

“I’m not worried about you messing up the coordinates. I’m worried you’ll get drunk, get too excited, and deliberately blow up Tokyo.” Anjou stared into the Vice Principal’s eyes. “Tell me honestly, you wouldn’t really blow up Tokyo, would you?”

The Vice Principal scratched his head. “Okay… this time, I won’t.”

“Principal, a man named Uesugi Koeru is asking to see you,” Sakurai Shuichi hurried into the conference room.

Anjou was surprised, then couldn’t hide a look of joy. “Perfect! I had forgotten there was still such a monster in Tokyo! Bring him in.”

Moments later, Koeru appeared before Anjou, drenched from head to toe. His arrival disappointed Anjou slightly—he was wearing a soaked coat and carrying a heavy suitcase, with the edges of undergarments sticking out of its seams. He was probably cooking ramen when the disaster struck, as he still had his headband on, a symbol of his ramen chef identity.

“Can you get me a ticket out of Tokyo?” Koeru asked abruptly, without even a greeting. “I saw your announcement on the big screen. You’ve taken control of Tokyo, haven’t you? I need a ticket to leave!”

Anjou was stunned. He had never expected Koeru to seek him out for such a thing. In his imagination, the former family head had come with a long sword to offer assistance.

“Everyone leave. I want a word with Uesugi alone,” Anjou ordered coldly, staring into Uesugi’s eyes.

The conference room emptied within seconds. Even Vice Minister Carl and Researcher Matur, despite being mad scientists, could tell from Anjou’s expression that something was off. But why was he giving such a menacing look to a ramen chef?

“The god has awakened, hasn’t it?” Koeru asked softly.

“You’re the former head of the Yamata no Orochi, and you were responsible for defending against it. You should know better than I do,” Anjou replied.

Of course, Koeru knew. The moment the tsunami and earthquake struck, he understood. He tried to drive out of Tokyo, but the streets were completely clogged. Then he thought about taking the Shinkansen, but the railway was shut down, with some sections submerged. Desperate, he saw Anjou’s image appear on the advertisement screens, and like a drowning man grasping at straws, he picked up a bike by the roadside and pedaled his way to the Meteorological Bureau.

“Please, just help me get a ticket,” Uesugi avoided Anjou’s gaze. He knew exactly why Anjou was glaring at him. Once, he had been the protector of this city and this country, but now, he only wanted to flee.

“Narita Airport has reopened, and we’re letting as many planes leave Tokyo as possible, but every flight is fully booked. The airport is packed with people,” Anjou said. “I’m not an airline. There’s no point in asking me for a ticket.”

“But you control Tokyo now. Please, think of something, my friend. Even if you have to stash me in the luggage hold, I just want to get out of Tokyo,” Koeru pleaded in a low voice.

“This city is dying! You’re one of the few people in the world who could save it! And yet, instead of helping, you come to me asking for a plane ticket! Aren’t you religious? Wouldn’t God condemn a coward like you?” Anjou finally lost his temper.

“Once the god wakes up, no one can stop it! The only way to kill it is before it fully awakens. You’ve already missed that chance!” Koeru argued back. “From Susanoo to Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi, generations have tried and sacrificed everything just to bury it deep in the sea. But it’s still alive, and now it’s back!”

“As long as it’s alive, it can be killed. Gods are no exception.”

“Fine, fine. I can’t argue with you. You’re the future of humanity, and I’m just a deserter. Whether it’s you or God who despises me, I don’t care. But all I’m asking for is a plane ticket. Have I ever asked you for anything before? This is my only request. I want a ticket to France. Please!”

“Damn it! You want to flee to France now? If you wanted to go, you should have left long ago. If you wanted to protect Tokyo, you should stay now. You’re just like you said—you ruin everything. You belong neither to Japan nor to France. Both countries would be ashamed of you!”

Koeru pulled out a thick stack of papers from his suitcase and handed them to Anjou. “These are my medical reports. I don’t have much time left. I might be a King, but I’m not a monster like you. I’m already an old man—an old monster, nearly dead.”

Anjou flipped through the medical reports, unable to hide his shock. His studies in medicine at Cambridge made it easy for him to understand. Based on these documents, Koeru should have had his memorial service long ago. All his organs were failing, his brain’s blood vessels were collapsing, and mysterious growths had taken over his cardiovascular system. This systemic deterioration had been ongoing for thirty years.

“I should have died long ago, but my King’s blood keeps me hanging on. Every night I hear Death knocking at my door. I’ve been hearing it for thirty years,” Koeru said bitterly. “I only have one dream left: to go back to France, to see the convent where my mother once lived, to die there, to have a funeral, and lie in a coffin while they sing me a requiem. It’s not that I don’t want to leave Tokyo. I’m just too scared. I’ve been away from France for too long. I don’t understand it anymore. All my friends there are dead. I’m afraid I’ll just be disappointed if I return. But I’ve been saving money—enough to buy a small place in Lyon. I have to go. If I don’t, I won’t even get the chance to be disappointed.”

“Years ago, you came to Japan to assassinate me, and now you want to flee this country? It seems I underestimated the power of time. We’ve both grown old, and you’ve turned into a coward,” Anjou said, his voice bitter.

“Why should I sacrifice myself for Japan? I’ve already done it once. Isn’t that enough?” Koeru lashed out. “I’m only half Japanese. I should have lived my life peacefully in France, but the Japanese tricked me with pretty lies to come here. When I got off the boat, I realized I had no family left here—my father had passed away! The Japanese only cared about my bloodline. They lined up wives for me, wanting to turn me into a breeding tool like my father. They even sent my genetic samples to Germany for research. If they could make a new King using test-tube babies, they would’ve discarded me without hesitation!” Years of bitterness erupted from Koeru. The pain the Yamata no Orochi had caused him far outweighed any honor, which was why he had burned the family shrine, wishing that the flames could consume everything related to the White Empress’ lineage.

Anjou froze, staring hard at Koeru. In his mind, the desperate man before him slowly overlapped with the young man who had sat in that same chair not long ago—Chisei had been just as anxious, though for the opposite reason. He was eager to die.

Anjou should have realized it earlier: Chisei must have inherited his King’s blood from someone. But who else in the world could have passed down such a pure White Empress bloodline? Despite the fact that the reproduction process had been done through test tubes and embryo culture, the resemblance between this father and son was undeniable, both in their posture and expression.

When Chisei sat in that chair, he had looked just as exhausted, rain dripping from his hair. Anjou remembered that decades ago, Koeru had been a somewhat androgynous beauty, with a hint of seductive grace in his movements. One of his sons had inherited that androgyny, while the other had inherited the allure.

So, this was the truth. Koeru had never married, refusing to pass down his cursed King’s blood, but he hadn’t expected that genetic samples taken decades ago would be sent from Germany to Siberia, where they would create a new King and send him back to Japan.

“Anjou, help me. I’m not a hero. I’m just an ordinary man. Everything I tried to do in my life, I did wrong. Can’t you let a failure like me off the hook?” Koeru pleaded. “I’m no help to you. You’re a madman, a zealot, willing to do anything to achieve your goals. I don’t have that kind of courage.”

“Do you really think so little of me?” Anjou asked quietly.

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