Dragon Raja 4; Chapter 18: Journey to the End of the World (18)

Dragon Raja 4

Macallan poured the remaining half of his whiskey into the water. “To share with you, Miss Maria. Even in hell, we drink fine wine because our cries will never reach God.”

He turned to leave, Vincent trailing behind him. Just before reaching the door, Vincent glanced back at the iron box. In that instant, a slender black shadow suddenly shot up from the water, accompanied by a sharp whooshing sound, aimed directly at Vincent’s back. It was one of the tendrils embedded in the steel plate, and it wasn’t soft—once pulled out of the plate, it became rigid, like the claw of a sea spider. It had many joints, with the tip as sharp as a blade, some even splitting into forked hand-like structures, bristling with spikes.

Vincent screamed and backed away, pressing himself against the bulkhead. He had made a mistake tonight. Normally, when he came down here, he wore a gas mask and pumped 100 liters of mercury into the watertight compartment to keep the creature in a state of poisoning. But tonight, the creature had been eerily quiet, and with the esteemed guest accompanying him, Vincent hadn’t dared ask Macallan to wear a gas mask. Macallan had been right—this thing was bound but would never stop resisting. As long as the dragon lived, its blood would continue to boil! The raging dragon’s soul would forever roar within its cage!

Macallan sighed and casually crushed the crystal glass in his hand, releasing a flurry of sharp fragments, like a dazzling snowstorm. These sharp shards could easily cut human skin, but would normally only cause small wounds. However, in Macallan’s hands, they became a tiny explosion. The monster’s claw-like tendrils were sliced to pieces by the glass shards, spraying foul-smelling black blood everywhere. From within the cement-filled iron box came a terrible screech, like a chorus of owls howling in despair. Vincent stumbled out of the watertight compartment, hurriedly turning the valve by the hatch, flooding the compartment with a massive amount of mercury. Thick, white mercury vapor descended from above.

Mercury vapor at that concentration was toxic to humans, hybrids, and even pureblood dragons, but Macallan showed no urgency to leave. He remained calm and composed, as though he were standing at the bow of a ship, admiring a sunset. The majestic yet desolate beauty seemed to stir something within him, but not a single drop of the monster’s blood had splattered on his clothes.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, dear Miss Maria?” he asked softly.

“Please… kill me!” came the exhausted, mournful cry from inside the iron box.

“Sorry, that’s the one thing I cannot do for you.”

In the first-class cabin reserved for him, Macallan held yet another glass of whiskey. It was unclear whether he truly loved drinking or simply enjoyed the appearance of holding a glass. One of the eight coffins had been brought into this cabin as well; Macallan claimed it contained a well-known figure from their life. Yet instead of sitting on the sofa, he casually perched atop the coffin lid.

Vincent, still shaken, pulled up an old navigation chart on the screen, respectfully explaining his progress to Macallan: “This is the 1943 navigation chart of the Gauguin Prince. At that time, they used Aldebaran as a marker and successfully found the gate to the Kingdom of God. After twelve years of attempts, we realized the error in this, because of the Earth’s axial shift. We’ve now corrected the chart and have successfully located the Rainbow Sea Maria spoke of.”

The screen then switched to a hospital room, where a disheveled woman in plain clothes mumbled into the camera: “We crossed the Sea of White Sand… and then the Sea of Rainbows… we walked through the towering mountains, and the trees sang before us. Every flower sang hymns of praise…

“We finally saw that great door. It had no end above, below, to the left, or the right. Reflected in the door was our faces—some were laughing, others crying… We will live forever, and we will die… We will walk with God…”

Macallan turned his head to gaze out the window. The sky was filled with brilliant auroras. Along the Arctic Ocean’s route, auroras were not uncommon, but ones as bright and magnificent as this were rare even for seasoned Inuit sailors who spent their lives navigating the Arctic. This spectacle was called the “Goddess’s Skirt.” Legend had it that the Inuit goddess was passing through the sky at that moment, wearing an aurora as her gown, its vastness covering the entire frozen sea.

“So, this is what the Sea of Rainbows means,” Macallan murmured, nodding slightly.

Upon closer observation, the edges of the aurora shimmered with red and purple hues, resembling an oil slick flowing across the void.

“Exactly, Your Excellency,” Vincent replied respectfully. “The White Sand Sea must refer to the ice storm we encountered earlier. It may seem that we could sail in any direction across this vast frozen sea, but there’s a hidden route. First, we must pass through the ice storm, then through the aurora-covered sea, and beyond that, we will see…” Vincent hesitated briefly, “the towering mountains.”

Of course, there were no towering mountains on the frozen sea, nor were there singing flower trees.

Macallan chuckled, “No matter. You’ve never sailed this route, so your partial understanding doesn’t surprise me. If all goes well, we’ll soon see those legendary mountains.”

Vincent froze for a moment. “…I’ve already revealed all of my secrets. According to our agreement, I should be leaving by helicopter now.”

“Our agreement was that you would deliver the dead aboard this ship to the Gates of the Divine Kingdom before you could leave,” Macallan said, staring at the star chart. “After that, you’ll continue to serve as our ferryman, going back and forth across these seas. We have more cargo waiting for you to transport. And yes, you’ll keep receiving payment. Now, do you understand the meaning of the code name ‘Charon’? His job is to ferry the dead across the River Styx, collecting a coin from each one.”

“No, no! Your Excellency! I’m old now. I only want to live out the rest of my days in peace, with a bit of money!” Vincent cried, his face pale with terror.

“Charon, we’ve investigated your past—you’re not trustworthy,” Macallan warned, casting a sidelong glance at Vincent. “In the far North, you’re nothing more than a petty errand boy, not even qualified to lick the boots of Herzog, the man you look down on. Yet you covet the Holy Grail just as he does. Herzog couldn’t get it, but you did. In 1939, you secretly married Miss Maria, gaining both her body and her love. But your ambition didn’t stop there—you longed for the Divine Kingdom. You orchestrated the expedition in 1943, but at the last moment, you lost your nerve and stayed off the submarine, waiting in a destroyer outside the ice floes. The expedition failed, but the self-sacrificing captain managed to send Miss Maria off in a lifeboat, and you got her back. After the war, you fled to Argentina with the mentally damaged Maria, hiding for half a century. But you couldn’t resist trying to sell the greatest secret you possessed—the secret of the Divine Kingdom. You no longer dared to seek what lies beyond the gates because you’d figured out that it might cost your life. Three years ago, the aging saint couldn’t control the thing inside her anymore. Out of fear, you stuffed her into that iron box and filled it with cement. You locked her up like a demon, but maybe you were the real demon all along. You used that star chart and your grand adventure story to swindle investments from us. You cloned Maria’s genes to create the so-called second-generation saint, but it’s nothing more than an empty puppet.”

Vincent staggered back, his trembling hand instinctively reaching for the gun hidden in his wheelchair. But he didn’t dare draw it—he had already witnessed Macallan’s power in the watertight compartment.

What kind of monster could make the creature in that compartment wail in agony?

“You also violated Hervor and Olrune. They were both created from Maria’s genes. From the age of 20 to 120, you’ve had a fixation on the same type of woman. The only one you haven’t touched yet is Reginleif, because she’s the one who most resembles Maria, your most valuable tool, and also the most troublesome one in terms of personality,” Macallan continued. “You’ve spent your entire life exploiting the people around you, and you wanted to exploit us, too. But we believed your story because, as long as there’s a ferry across the Styx, there has to be a ferryman. You think you’re at the top of the food chain, just like Herzog. But you have no idea what lies beyond, what higher predators are waiting for you to fatten themselves up.”

Vincent, shaking uncontrollably, rose to his feet and then collapsed onto his knees, his frail body trembling from age and fear. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, crushed by a force that made him want to lie prostrate on the ground like a dog.

“Don’t be like this, Charon. We don’t dislike bad guys. I know plenty more of your sins, like that trick you always perform—the immortal saint act. You always keep a few mindless clones on board, and when you shoot one of them in the head, you use sleight of hand to switch the corpse while your clients are too shocked to notice. The autopsy doesn’t matter because the saint really did die. But what does it matter? As long as you’re useful to us, we’ll keep you around. I just don’t want you using the Valkyries’ names for your clones anymore. Those ancient names shouldn’t be defiled. God’s handmaidens are only for heroes,” Macallan waved his hand. “Go about your business now. I have some private words to share with our dear Reginleif.”

Vincent hesitated for a moment, then realized what was happening. Quickly, he pulled out a key from his pocket. As he handed it to Macallan, his reluctance showed. “I hope you enjoy a pleasant evening with her.”

It was the key to Reginleif’s bedroom, which he kept on him at all times, supposedly to monitor the unruly girl.

Macallan took the key, toying with it in his hand, his voice teasing, “Remember what the myth says: sometimes Charon’s boat wobbles because it carries a soul too heavy for it. There’s one such soul aboard your ship.”

Reginleif walked gracefully across her bedroom, on tiptoe, mimicking Xia Mi’s delicate gait, stepping with the ball of her foot, as if a breeze followed her every move.

She didn’t know who Xia Mi was, only that the girl mattered to Chu. The day Chu Zihang boarded the ship, Vincent had handed her the video footage, instructing her to study it closely.

She didn’t enjoy imitating others, but she couldn’t oppose Vincent in everything. However, she only began to take it seriously after she saw Chu Zihang that night. She had never met someone so professional and businesslike in her presence, like a strict border guard interrogating someone trying to cross illegally. Her competitive nature was piqued at that moment. Half of what she’d told Chu was true, half was not. She longed to leave the ship, to live freely and fall in love. One day, she would leave this ever-rocking ship and leap from the grasslands to the vibrant, gleaming city, which until now she had only seen from afar at lit-up ports. But she wouldn’t place her hopes on Chu—none of the boys who had claimed to love her had ever returned to find her, and Chu wouldn’t either, especially since he wouldn’t even spare a glance when she danced.

Series Navigation

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