Dragon Raja 4; Chapter 41: Journey to the End of the World (41)

Dragon Raja 4

“Chu! Chu, you bastard! Wake up! Is this the standard of men from Cassell College?” Reginleif’s shout turned into a furious curse.

Each step forward left a trail of blood, some her own, some from others.

She was covered in wounds, her once pristine hands now stained red, and the once-mighty halberd bent into a bow shape. When her boot heels broke, she simply kicked them off and walked barefoot across the icy deck.

This gladiatorial match was doomed from the start. No matter how brave the gladiator, they would eventually be worn down and killed by the beasts the king kept releasing.

Reginleif wasn’t foolish; she knew the vast difference in power between her and Macallan. But even knowing that, she came to fight this battle she could never win.

Macallan had anticipated her return. The night he arrived on the Yamal, after visiting Maria of the Stars, he paid a visit to Reginleif. Before entering her room, he had spent a long time observing her through a hidden camera in the ceiling, something Reginleif had no idea about. At the time, she was wrapped in a floral bedsheet, practicing dance moves from a video. On the screen, a girl in a Bohemian-style skirt led a group of peers in a workout, while boys gathered around the chain-link fence of the basketball court to watch. Golden leaves fell from the sky, and while the girls danced, their expressions ranged from soft and shy to confident, the leader standing out with her bright and open demeanor. Every time a leaf covered her eyes, it was like a camera shutter closing, capturing the beauty of the moment in those clear, observant eyes.

The last time Jörmungandr had “appeared” in the world, it had been for only a few years. During that time, she carefully hid herself, blending in as an ordinary girl. But times had changed. In the past, a few years might have left only a handful of blurry portraits behind, but in today’s world, there were countless cameras—hidden in people’s phones, in shop security systems, even in the leg rings of protected birds—constantly recording people’s lives. Jörmungandr hadn’t escaped these modern eyes.

When all the fragments of her existence were collected, the fictional girl named Xia Mi seemed to come back to life.

Tired from dancing, Reginleif curled up on the couch with a pillow, her eyes flicking through thousands of video clips, her expressions shifting as they did. In her short twenty years of life, she had met many different people, but her understanding of relationships was shallow. She had no true family, every step of her growth relying on her own exploration. Like a wildflower growing untamed, she was vibrant but thorny. Most of her logic was straightforward and crude, and her understanding of love even more so, often drawn from movies she found in the ship’s library.

For Reginleif, the video of Chu Zihang and Xia Mi was also just a movie, telling the story of a boy and girl spending time together. It was simple, like water—no love triangles, no dramatic moments—just day after day, year after year: aquariums, cinemas, libraries, basketball courts, old houses shaded by sycamore trees. They passed each other in the streets of the city, in the corners of the campus. The girl’s ponytail brushed the boy’s shoulder, like spring flowers and autumn leaves sweeping time away.

Reginleif watched intently, envying Xia Mi’s life. It was like the goddess looking down from on high, yearning for the freedom of the girls wandering the streets. Reginleif was an actress lost in her role, consumed by her character. She wasn’t pretending to be Xia Mi to seduce Chu Zihang; she wanted to be Xia Mi. To her, Chu Zihang was just an accessory to the role of Xia Mi.

But what was she willing to sacrifice for this? What limits could she break? This was precisely what intrigued Macallan—the depths of the human mind, and the limits of willpower. Such an ordinary, insignificant species had managed to wrest control of the world from the dragons. Their lives were short and fleeting, but when they chose to sacrifice, they could burn brightly enough to dazzle even the Dragon Kings.

The moth that flew into the flame—should one praise its courage or mock its stupidity?

A fire axe struck Reginleif heavily on the shoulder blade, her halberd slipping from her grasp and clattering to the deck. A baseball bat followed, smashing into her knee, the bat breaking as her kneecap cracked audibly. She finally collapsed onto the icy deck, the graceful doe now exhausted. The pack of wolves swarmed her. Someone holding a sharp steel pipe moved in to pin her to the ground, but Reginleif retaliated, stabbing her sword through the man’s thigh. She struggled to stand, but the person with the fire axe was already poised behind her, ready to strike again.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Out of nowhere, Macallan appeared in front of Reginleif, casually throwing his half-finished drink onto the deck. The exploding liquid and shards of glass cleared the area around them. 

He gently lifted her chin, looking into her eyes. “That’s enough. You could have had a bright future. Whatever Cassell College can give you, the Saint Palace Medical Society can provide as well. You’re not like poor Charon; you carry noble blood. You deserve to be one of us. Your name should have been written in the new chapter of history.”

Reginleif’s gaze was unfocused, her pale face covered in bloodied frost, but the strand of hair clenched between her teeth was a stubborn act of defiance.

“I told you already! I have no deal to make with you!” Reginleif growled through bloodied teeth. “History doesn’t matter to me! I just want to live my own life!”

“What a pity,” Macallan sighed softly. “I should have called you sister, but it seems we cannot walk the same path.”

Reginleif stared blankly at him, while Jörmungandr suddenly turned her head, her eyes flashing with blinding golden light. In that instant, everything clicked into place in her mind. The reason Maria of the Stars had survived that submarine battle was because the sea eye let her go. She wasn’t simply gene-polluted; she had been reshaped by the hatchery. The reason she had grown such a massive bone structure wasn’t due to mutation—she was nurturing the body of a massive dragon. The Maria locked in that iron box was no longer human, but the embryo of a dragon. Reginleif was her closest clone. Both of them were direct descendants of the Black Emperor. In a sense, they were all daughters of the Black Emperor. Macallan hadn’t drawn Reginleif into his Sahā world out of reluctance, but because he couldn’t. This seemingly ordinary girl might one day stand equal to them on the throne.

Given time, Reginleif, too, might develop a colossal dragon’s body, making her a rival on their level. Such a possibility had to be eliminated. The throne, vast as it was, had no room for many. Slowly, Jörmungandr drew her blade, a murderous aura gleamed in her dragon eyes.

Macallan pulled out the steel pipe, lifted the barely conscious Reginleif, and threw her between himself and Jörmungandr. His intent was clear: this was a solemn execution, to be carried out jointly by the siblings. The war between the old gods and the new was about to officially begin, and Reginleif would be the first divine sacrifice offered to it. Her genes were a valuable treasure, meant to be shared by Macallan and Jörmungandr, providing insight into the Black Emperor’s new creation code. In the ancient times of primordial chaos, the Black Emperor’s creations were limited to a few supreme beings, but in this new era, he could generously share his genes with countless offspring, dragging the entire world into a chaotic revenge.

From the Book of Revelation: “When the thousand years are up, Satan will be let loose from his cell, and will launch again his old work of deceiving the nations, searching out victims in every nook and cranny of earth, even Gog and Magog! He’ll talk them into going to war and will gather a huge army, millions strong. They are as numerous as the grains of sand in the sea.”

They simultaneously moved toward Reginleif, with the shadow of death looming over her. Reginleif struggled to lift her head. In her vision, at times she saw the blank-eyed Chu Zihang walking toward her, and at other times a young girl in a red dress and a golden crown.

As Jörmungandr walked, she began to tiptoe, making her appear even more lithe and tall, yet imposing and regal. There was a certain rhythm in her steps that Reginleif found familiar, as if a goddess was walking barefoot across water, each step light, leaving ripples in her wake. The image of the blank-eyed boy and the powerful girl kept alternating in Reginleif’s eyes, like two spliced films playing together. Gradually, their images merged. Reginleif could see Chu Zihang’s sleepwalking face on one half, while the other half was the radiant girl from the video, now ten times more seductive and cruel, with a mocking smile on her lips.

Reginleif felt as if a heavy blow had struck her heart, and she suddenly understood. She screamed hoarsely, “Wake up! Wake up, Chu! It’s me, Reginleif!”

“Yes, you are Reginleif, but what use is it that you are?” Macallan said with a smile from behind her. “You are not Jörmungandr.”

Reginleif froze. The proud saint had to admit that she was an outsider in this struggle. No one needed her bravery or sacrifice, and she had no chance to replace anyone. She was just a pink rabbit hopping around, a warm-up act, maybe useful for some drumming and noise-making, but when the main show started, she had to exit. The mysterious heroine had never left the stage; she had been watching her futile struggles from behind the curtains all along.

Series Navigation

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