Dragon Raja 4; Chapter 21: Journey to the End of the World (21)

Dragon Raja 4

A sudden cry came from behind him. Chu Zihang turned around to see the girl in the rabbit costume reappearing. She was climbing down the ship’s rail, which was adorned with protruding objects fixed to the ship’s hull. These protrusions were meant to serve as climbing holds during the polar day, but in the polar night, no one would use them for climbing, and the protrusions were covered with ice. Some people gasped while others cheered for her. She had often appeared in casinos and bars in a rabbit costume, and everyone guessed she was sent to liven up the atmosphere. Every time she appeared, it was the highlight of the party, and she indeed enjoyed being the center of attention, always performing various tricks to amuse everyone.

As she climbed, she waved fireworks, and the previously somber atmosphere lightened. The crew threw her a safety rope from above, but she didn’t take it, and more people gathered below her.

Chu Zihang watched the scene in confusion, unable to understand what the girl was aiming for. She was different from the girls he knew; her only goal seemed to be having fun. If she slipped, the grand adventure would be ruined. Each ticket cost 20 million dollars, and there was no insurance company covering these tourists. Vincent shouted urgently at Sasha, probably urging him to think of a solution, but Sasha only snapped his fingers, prompting the music to play.

Reginleif stopped a few meters from the ground, waving at Chu Zihang in the crowd:

“Chu! Come here!”

Chu Zihang suddenly remembered the dream from last night. In the dream, didn’t he wish for the girl on the bridge to leap onto his ship?

Was he always lacking initiative in pursuing certain things in life? He hoped the girl would jump from the bridge but never voiced it, and he hadn’t thought about climbing the bridge himself.

It seemed he was always like this, reacting a beat slower than others. Even if a girl wanted to jump onto his ship, he would miss the chance because he didn’t act quickly enough to stop the boat and wait for her.

Reginleif was such an impatient person. After saying that, she let go of her hands and spread her arms, seemingly certain that Chu Zihang would step out from the crowd to catch her.

Countless times on the deck, she had danced with boys, who lifted her into the air. When she fell back down, she never worried about falling, because even if there was no “A,” there was always “B,” and the world was so big that there would always be people who loved her. But tonight, she specifically called Chu Zihang. Others didn’t stand up out of embarrassment, and Chu Zihang, lost in thought for a few seconds, caused her to fall heavily on her backside… Amidst the laughter, she rubbed her sore bottom and glared angrily at the receding figure—given her saintly bloodline and skills, this height wasn’t really worth worrying about.

Macallan, watching this scene from the helicopter pad, couldn’t help but cover his face and laugh. To him, this trip still seemed interesting.

In the outskirts of Chicago, there was an European-style estate. The grassland, once suitable for horse racing, now appears desolate and yellowed. The tall trees used as fences are left with only bare branches, and a howling wind blows, bringing with it countless tumbleweeds from the horizon. Some tumbleweeds are as tall as a person and have piled up outside the empty stable, almost burying it.

A dark green Maserati sports car arrives, kicking up dust. The elderly driver, dressed in a black suit and trench coat, smokes a cigar and has a dark red rose pinned to his chest.

The Maserati stops in front of a weathered iron gate. The old man honks the horn for a long time before the gate slowly creaks open.

A rusty brass plaque hangs on the gate: “Fideris von Henkel, Private Property, Trespassers Will Be Shot.”

Fideris von Henkel—a name that can shake the world of hybrids. During the wave of hybrid families moving from Europe to America, he was a brave pioneer, suppressing numerous Death Servitors and pure-blood dragons hiding in North America. He wreaked havoc in the western wilderness and under the neon lights of Chicago, and was also a famous harmonica player. Many vampire novels of that era were directly or indirectly based on Henkel.

At that time, Chicago was the most prosperous city in the American Midwest, gathering wealth and crime. Henkel established Chicago as the headquarters for his family, and many smaller families that depended on him also set up their businesses here, forming a loose alliance centered around Henkel. Unlike the Secret Party, Henkel did not harbor as much animosity toward pure-blood dragons. When dealing with fourth and fifth-generation dragons who could restrain themselves, Henkel was even open to discussing cooperation, as only the high-blooded first and second-generation dragons had the violent urge to annihilate the world. Thus, they were considered the secular faction within the hybrid world, and their relationship with the Secret Party was not particularly harmonious.

The outside world speculated that a confrontation between Henkel and Anjou was inevitable—initially over “control of the Midwest,” then “post-war distribution of interests,” and later “the new order after the Cold War.” The two old men indeed had always been at odds. Each time it seemed like war was unavoidable, the leaders would arrange a final meeting to declare their intentions. However, after having coffee, they would go back to their respective camps and restrain their own radicals.

It is said that when they met for coffee, they often exchanged blows, sometimes even destroying a café in the process. It was as if their physical confrontations replaced gunfire between leaders.

In the distant East, this method of replacing large-scale troop conflicts to save lives is called “dueling.”

The long-anticipated showdown never came. One day, Henkel suffered a stroke and was sent to the hospital. Afterward, he could no longer walk on his own. Although he is still officially the leader of the family, actual power has been transferred to the “Centurion Council,” composed of representatives from various families. He voluntarily withdrew from the power circle in Chicago, relinquishing his luxurious office in the city center, and ceased to interact with any ruling figures.

The younger leaders do not often visit the estate, but his old rival Anjou occasionally drops by. Most of the time, Anjou pushes Henkel’s wheelchair and takes him out to bask in the sun in the estate. Sometimes they play chess, and Henkel often falls asleep during the game. A maid guides Anjou into the reception room, where Henkel, wrapped in a down robe, sits by the window with his head bowed, eyes glazed, and heavy, relaxed eyelids drooping.

“When was the last time you came to see me?” Henkel asks with difficulty, “It seems like it was last century. Do you have time for a game of chess today?”

“Just two weeks ago, your memory is getting worse. How have you been, my dear old friend? I brought you some chocolates.” Anjou approaches from behind, pats Henkel on the shoulder, and they both look at the ghostly, gnarled tree on the horizon.

“I often think lately that I should place my tombstone under that tree, or perhaps not have a tombstone at all. When you come to see me, just pour a bottle of wine under that tree.” Henkel said softly, turning to the maid, “Dear Margaret, please bring some Darjeeling tea for the Principal and me.”

The maid Margaret turned to make tea, and Anjou poured himself a glass of wine. “No problem, my old friend. As long as you don’t want to be buried with me, I’ll take care of wherever you want to be buried.”

Henkel coughed weakly, waiting until Margaret’s figure disappeared around the corner. He suddenly changed his tone. “What the hell are you coming here so often for? Is something going on?”

He had indeed suffered a stroke, and the dissent within the family that he had suppressed suddenly surged. Though he was somewhat disabled, his mind was still sharp, but he had no choice but to relinquish his power.

He knew well that any ruler who stepped down from power would be in danger, so he exaggerated his condition significantly. The reception room had been scanned with counter-surveillance equipment, and there were no listening devices, but he still did not fully trust his maid. On the other hand, he felt more at ease with Anjou because while a maid could be bought with money, no one dared to offer a price for Anjou. Part of the reason why he could live to that day is that he had Anjou as his opponent. Of course it was impossible for him to kill Anjou, but if you want to kill one of Anjou’s opponents, you need to get his permission.

“There is indeed something going on. Help me recall the organization called the Twilight Dogma; you should have had some contact with them,” Anjou said, his brow furrowed.

Henkel was taken aback. “Those guys split off from the Secret Party. You came here to ask me about them?”

“I thought they had disbanded long ago, but they have rented an icebreaker and are searching for something called ‘The Gate of the Divine Kingdom’ in the Arctic Circle,” Anjou handed his PAD to Henkel.

The PAD contained the latest investigation report on the Yamal, now given a new event code, UN-A0-002. The former Greenland Sea was UN-A0-001.

After reading the report, Henkel frowned, as if recalling something.

“Another reason I came here is that your family sent a girl to the Yamal, Cassandra. That’s a false name,” Anjou continued. “Our people said she has a very slim waist.”

Henkel nodded. “I remember someone like that. She was trained in the Siberian Swordmark Camp, an excellent spy and assassin. If the kids sent her, it means they are taking this seriously.”

“So you know about that ship? It has been drifting in the Arctic Ocean for 13 years, like a ticking time bomb, but we know nothing about it.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I don’t believe those people can find any divine kingdom,” Henkel said. “However, I have seriously studied the theories of the Twilight Dogma and can share them with you.”

“I’m not here for an academic discussion,” Anjou put down his wine glass. “If you don’t have any important information, then enjoy my chocolates and rest well. Though we both know that this illness doesn’t get better with time.”

“What do you know about the resurrection of the Black Emperor?” Henkel asked slowly. “And what do you know about Ragnarök?”

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