Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 477: The Jester (5)

Dragon Raja 3

The dancer wore a tailored tuxedo, paired with crisp trousers and a vibrant purple shirt, complete with a white silk bow tie and black-and-white brogues. Bathed in the LED lights, he looked every bit the dashing gentleman—a strikingly handsome figure. His every movement was perfectly in sync with the music, spinning with lightness and joy. Even a ballet star would have been impressed by the old man’s flawless dance. Yet, something was off—the music should have been somber and full of despair, but he danced with such smugness, as if he were delighting in the spectacle.

How could such a dancer exist, someone who could revel so joyfully in the bloodshed of others?

The elevator platform descended to the bottom of the Red Well, and the old man danced lightly, his feet splashing through the pool of blood as he circled around Chime and Chisei with effortless grace. That familiar white mask on his face bore a smile that was growing ever more affectionate and charming.

Chime was gripped with terror, almost ready to scream, but no sound came out. Osho—the unkillable ghost, whose head Chisei had crushed just minutes ago—was now back, impeccably dressed and dancing before him.

Osho bowed before Chime as though he were an actor giving a curtain call to his lone audience member.

“What a pity!” Osho chuckled softly. “Such a spectacular performance, and you’re the only one left to witness the finale.” He smiled, speaking to Chime with a lighthearted tone. “But you should feel honored, for you are the only one who will know the truth.”

He slowly removed his mask, revealing the face that once sent shockwaves through the underworld of Japan.

“It’s you! It’s you!” Chime shrieked in horror, as if he had seen a ghost.

Standing before him was Tachibana, the former patriarch of the Yamata no Orochi clan—the man Chisei had once regarded as both a father and a teacher. He should have perished in the inferno beneath Tokyo Tower, yet here he stood, looking healthy and even radiant.

Tachibana placed the mask back on his face, then took it off again, repeating the gesture several times. In one moment, he was the white-faced demon; in the next, he was the elderly man of high rank and power. Both faces, so utterly different, wore the same grin—the mask with its subtle and mysterious smile, while Masamune’s own expression brimmed with self-satisfaction.

He should have smiled more humbly, but he was too overjoyed to hide his gleaming white teeth, grinning like a split pomegranate.

“It’s you! It’s you!” Chime shouted repeatedly.

In Chime’s mind, the image of Tachibana and Osho merged into one. The layers of fog that had shrouded the truth were suddenly lifted, and all the clues became crystal clear.

Both Tachibana and Osho possessed the gene technology from Black Swan Bay. Both raised Death Servitors, and they were the only survivors from Black Swan Bay, capable of verifying each other’s identities. For thirty years, they had both relentlessly pursued the divine—though Osho claimed to seek the resurrection of a god, while Tachibana professed to want to kill one. Masamune was the leader of the Yamata no Orochi, and Osho led the Oni Clan. On the surface, they seemed to be mortal enemies, but their actions were strikingly similar.

If Tachibana and Osho were, in fact, the same person, then everything would make sense. But the idea was too horrifying—was the only difference between Tachibana and Osho that mask?

“Shocked, aren’t you? I do love that look of surprise!” Masamune beamed with delight. “My clever child, I’m sure you’ve already pieced together much of the truth, but the full story can only be revealed by me. With your limited intellect, you could never grasp it all. Of course, I’m happy to spend a few minutes explaining it to you, because success, when known by no one, is unbearably lonely.” He smiled, shaking his head in exaggerated satisfaction. “Though, I suppose I’ll have to bear that loneliness soon enough. Every creature that ascends to the throne must endure it—that’s the side effect of power.”

Chime held Chisei and retreated into the corner. In his eyes, Tachibana without his mask was far more terrifying than the masked Osho. No matter how bright his smile, it always carried a hint of ferocity, as if he could pounce and devour someone at any moment.

“That’s right, Tachibana and Osho are the same person, only one wears a mask and the other doesn’t. I am your teacher, and also your brother’s teacher. I command the Oni Clan, and I command the Yamata no Orochi. You lack ambition. Without me, even after a thousand years, you wouldn’t find God. It was I who taught you to hate each other and wage war, so you would stop at nothing to find God, because no one wants the divine power to fall into the hands of the other. War, hatred, and greed—these are beautiful things, they are the driving forces of the world’s progress. Only in the face of war does human intelligence reach its peak. So, human history is essentially a history of war. These concepts might be too profound for you, my poor, theatrical young man.”

“Who are you? Who exactly are you?” Chime’s voice was hoarse.

“Herzog, Dr. Jung Von Herzog. I was once the youngest scientist in the Third Reich’s Academy of Sciences, and the sole director of Black Swan Bay. I am the human who understands dragons best in this world, though my bloodline cannot compare to yours, you monsters. But I think like a dragon,” Tachibana pointed to his own head.

He reached into his suit pocket and took out a silver cigarette case, pulling out a Russian cigarette, tapping it slowly against the case to pack the tobacco tighter. Just from these few movements, he transformed from a Japanese person back into a Russian, evoking the image of a distinguished Soviet-era scientist stepping out of a library, standing under the clear Moscow sky, lighting a cigarette with an indifferent expression before boarding a Volga car puffing warm smoke into the cold wind. He had spent too many years in the Soviet Union, and the marks left by Germany had faded, while the Russian style was deeply imprinted on his soul. His every move was that of a Russian, yet he disguised himself so flawlessly as a Japanese. Perhaps he was the best actor, even better than Ruri.

Now, it was more appropriate to call him Dr. Herzog.

Herzog bit down on the cigarette, lit it, and took a deep inhale: “This story begins with my encounter with a man named Bondarev. He was truly a mysterious man, the only one in this world who could deceive me. To this day, I still think of him sometimes, with a sense of nostalgia.” He undid a few buttons of his shirt, revealing the scar on his left chest. “Though he shot at my heart, nearly killing me. Luckily, my heart is positioned slightly to the right, so his bullet only pierced my lung.”

“That was in 1991, the year the Soviet Union collapsed. He came to Black Swan Bay from Moscow, proposing that we share the throne of the world,” Herzog’s voice was filled with nostalgia. “He persuaded me, for he understood the Dragon Raja far better than I did, and his ambition was even greater than mine. All I wanted was to use genetic technology to create super soldiers carrying the genes of the Dragon Raja, but Bondarev’s goal was the seabed of the extreme east, where an ancient city and the White Empress’ remains had slumbered for millennia. I don’t know where he gathered such intelligence, but he was an unparalleled storyteller, and I was captivated by the stories he told. I must correct what I said earlier—I am not the human who understands dragons best, that honor belongs to Major Bondarev. But I never knew his true identity, nor where he came from.”

“But you said Major Bondarev was a hybrid you created,” Chime held his dying brother tightly. Despite his extreme fear, he still wanted to know the truth behind the conspiracy.

“That was a lie. After all these years, everyone who witnessed the great fire is dead, so I can fabricate any lie I want. I have two identities: the lies of Tachibana will be confirmed by Osho, and vice versa, so you believe it without question,” Herzog said lightly. “Bondarev claimed to be a descendant of the Romanov dynasty, but my later investigation proved that to be false. He wasn’t a KGB major either, and the KGB file you found was fake as well. The KGB had 22 departments at that time, but none of them had ever heard of Major Bondarev. He had no past, and yet he suddenly appeared at Black Swan Bay in 1991, telling me everything about the Dragon Raja. He showed me the information he had collected from ancient ruins around the world: cuneiform, hieroglyphics, black magic books, and lost alchemical classics. All the data pointed to the existence of a great ancient civilization before human history, where dragons were the rulers.

“The more I studied Bondarev’s materials, the more convinced I became of that civilization’s existence. I also agreed with his plan: to ascend to the throne of the world, we must inherit the Dragon Raja’s legacy. We should follow the path of evolution to become the new Dragon Raja. But to achieve that, we first need to resurrect God. The Dragon Raja left no path of evolution for humanity because, in their eyes, humans were mere slaves. Why would the rulers of the world elevate their slaves to be as powerful as themselves? But the rebellious White Empress left us one last chance, and that was the Sacred Remains. To awaken the Sacred Remains requires a great price—the life of another ancient dragon. Fortunately, there just happened to be one such ancient dragon in Black Swan Bay. Bondarev said it wasn’t truly dead, its cocoon was located inside the remains.

“That winter, the Soviet Union collapsed. From Moscow to Siberia, everyone lived in chaos. We decided to end Black Swan Bay’s mission and move the research facility near the Black Sea. We staged the fire that destroyed Black Swan Bay, burning all evidence. The world’s greatest dragon research base turned to ashes overnight. Countless precious embryos and hybrid children from all over the world perished. But we took the true essence with us, including the finest hybrids I had created—like you and your brother—and some frozen embryos and the most critical data,” Herzog sighed faintly. “But that night, the fox-like man betrayed me. He shot me in the back and boarded the Lenin alone, taking the essence of my life’s research with him.”

“In the flames of the vacuum bomb’s explosion, my entire skin was burned off, but the cold of Siberia saved me. I was buried in the snowstorm and miraculously survived. I had nothing left except a set of forged identification papers. Those were my preparations for escaping Black Swan Bay. Originally, I thought they wouldn’t be needed if I escaped on the Lenin, but in the end, they were crucial. I dug up a stash of platinum crucibles buried near the port, which was also part of my escape plan—I needed funding. After selling the platinum crucibles, I had money and eventually made my way to Japan. By then, I had heard that the Lenin had sunk in Japanese waters, never making it to the Black Sea. So, I knew Bondarev had already started his plan to resurrect God. I couldn’t let him succeed first. The throne of the world is mine. In Japan, I underwent plastic surgery, transforming my burnt face into a Japanese one, which made it easier to search for Bondarev.”

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