Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 64: Japan Branch (12)

Dragon Raja 3

“But I remember hearing you say earlier that the only people still using mixed baths these days are elderly women with sagging chests.”

“Impossible!” Crow quickly denied, patting his own chest. “There are very perky young girls there!”

“You said that earlier, along with something about Yasha’s mother,” Chisei said. “Have you ever had a school trip?”

“I dropped out before I finished middle school, so no school trips for me. Not that it matters. What is a school trip anyway, if not a chance to get closer to the prettiest girl in class? If you’re lucky, you might even hook up during the trip,” Crow said. “I dropped out because I did hook up with the class beauty.”

“Sometimes I wonder who’s the scoundrel—the prey, or us,” Chisei said lightly. “Alright then, let’s take a short break, a school-trip-style holiday. We can go to Otaru and have a look. Sakura, do you like railroads?”

“Railroads?”

“I like railroads. When you follow a railway, you’ll always find a city or some other populated place at the end. Unlike birds flying in the sky, not even knowing if there’s a destination ahead,” Chisei said.

“All done.” Yasha sealed the body bag. “All the documents were in his pocket—I destroyed them. I left twenty gallons of kerosene in the carriage; it should be enough to burn it to a blackened shell, leaving no evidence.”

“Inform the Hokkaido division to send the body back to the Tokyo Ganryū Research Institute for dissection. The next train arrives in three minutes. Hurry up,” Chisei said.

“Understood!” Yasha and Crow jumped onto the roof of the train. A strong wind descended from the sky as a massive construction helicopter rose from behind the mountains, flying over and hovering above the railway bridge, lowering steel cables with hooks. After securing the hooks, Yasha lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and let the cigarette fall through the skylight. The moment the carriage burst into flames, he and Crow leaped into the air. The downdraft suddenly increased as the helicopter lifted the carriage off the bridge, then released it into the valley. The burning carriage crashed into the rocks below, tumbling with a resounding boom, startling the birds roosting in the forest. The four leaned over the railing of the railway bridge, looking down. A mighty wind blew through the mountains of Hokkaido, and the vegetation on the hillsides rippled like the layers of a girl’s skirt, colors shifting from yellow-green to emerald.

“Honestly, Crow, even without your suggestion, I also wanted a break… been exhausted for a long time,” Chisei said softly.

“Oh yeah! Vacation! Vacation! Vacation!” Yasha and Crow cheered, raising their fists.

At that moment, Chisei’s phone rang. He glanced at the message that had just arrived.

“The college’s headquarters is sending people to Tokyo soon. Masamune has summoned us. Vacation canceled,” Chisei said, tossing away his cigarette butt. “Return to Tokyo immediately!”

Fine rain fell on the mountains, and the wind through the pines was like the sound of the sea. The small house glowed with the hot light of the furnace, and the sharp clang of a hammer striking steel rang out continuously. Chisei pushed open the door, and the old man in white hemp clothing was at the forge, tempering a blade blank, sparks flying.

“I thought you’d be waiting for me at the office. With people from headquarters coming, you still have the leisure to come to the mountain’s forge to make a blade?”

Chisei took off his coat and hung it by the furnace to dry.

“The Chinese ancients said, ‘The mountain collapses before me, and my expression does not change; a deer arises to my left, and I do not blink.’ The sword saint Miyamoto Musashi said something similar. In combat, one should remain centered. If you’re swayed by your enemy’s rhythm, you’ll expose a flaw.” The old man put the blade blank back into the charcoal fire. “Rest for a while, then we’ll talk about headquarters. There’s some Kansai shochu next to you—drink a bit to warm up. It’s been a rainy spring, the chill seeping into the bones.”

The old man turned his head to see Chisei staring at the furnace flames while sipping his drink. “You’ve liked watching me forge blades since you were a child, though these years, I’ve yet to make a truly fine blade for you.”

“I just like watching the flames—it feels warm,” Chisei said. “If I wanted a good sword, there are plenty in the family sword museum. Why make them yourself?”

“Forging swords is a national art of Japan. The Japanese katana, the Damascus sword, and the Kris are known as the world’s three finest blades. But the Damascus and Kris were born in countries rich in iron—lands of Islam with vast territories, where high-quality iron ore was abundant, which is how they forged their beautiful, agate-patterned crucible steel. The Malay Archipelago has many meteorites—gifts from the heavens—which they used to craft the wavy Kris swords. But Japan is different—Japan is a poor country, without good iron ore or even high-quality coal. Swordsmiths could only use purple oak and holm oak to make charcoal and use that to refine iron. Such charcoal could only produce crude sponge iron, which had to be forged a thousand times to balance the iron and carbon. The sharpness of the Japanese katana comes from the intention the swordsmith hammered into every blow. When a samurai swings such a blade to deliver a lightning strike, the thousands of strikes hammered into it by the smith all come alive, raising a fierce wind and thunder.”

“You see blade forging as a form of spiritual practice,” Chisei said.

“Everything is spiritual practice—every cup of tea, every meal, every flower, every leaf. Your missions are also a form of practice,” the old man said, dusting the ash off his hands. “I heard about Akira’s case. You did the right thing.”

“Father, you also executed a lot of similar people back in the day, didn’t you? Watching the blood flow out, bright red and dazzling—didn’t you ever soften?”

“I did at first, but gradually it faded. Those who fall eventually turn into Death Servitors. They must be eradicated. If killing is inevitable, then see killing as a form of spiritual practice as well.”

“Once fallen, does one lose all human dignity?”

“Yes. For Hybrids, there are two paths—one of humanity, one of the dragon. Walking the dragon’s path is a fall from grace, and once fallen, one loses all ties to the human world.”

Chisei was silent for a moment. “The genetic drug called Molotov Cocktail—the sample has been handed over to the Ganryū Research Institute for analysis. Although the side effects are apparent, it does indeed activate dragon blood. Many have pursued the evolutionary path of purifying the dragon’s bloodline throughout history, but there have been few successful cases. Now that Koyama Ryuzo can use genetic technology to force evolution, if this continues, it’s only a matter of time before a true purification serum appears. How many Hybrids will be able to resist its temptation then?”

“Isn’t that exactly what the Oni Clan desires? They’ve long been tired of their human identities, yearning day and night to evolve into dragons.”