Dragon Raja 4; Chapter 45: Journey to the End of the World (45)

Dragon Raja 4

Macallan let go of his cup, and it fell from the great height. At the same moment, Jörmungandr raised her long blade above her head, assuming the starting stance of the traditional Samoan sword style.

Just as the sound of the glass shattering echoed from below, they both launched toward each other like two shooting stars.

But Jörmungandr didn’t deliver her world-ending blow. Instead, she half-knelt and punched the crane arm with a devastating force. The crane, capable of lifting dozens of tons, instantly buckled, coiling like the spine of a snake before collapsing. Macallan, still in mid-sprint, suddenly found no stable ground beneath him.

Jörmungandr smirked coldly. She had suggested fighting on the crane arm, planning to use her power over the earth and mountains to turn the tide. She was a master of precise force control, not just with her sword but also in directing power into the “joints” of structures, triggering enormous counterforces. She could destroy a bridge with a single punch, not through raw violence, but by perfectly targeting its weak points.

Only then did Jörmungandr leap into the air, her red blade slashing upward in an unavoidable arc. “Brother! See you next time!”

However, just as she was sure of her victory, a sudden, inexplicable pressure descended upon her, making it hard to breathe. Her position as one of the four Dragon Kings meant Macallan couldn’t overpower her with sheer presence, so could it be… Had he already emerged from the egg? But she quickly realized the source of the pressure. She and Macallan had exchanged blood, forming a blood pact that wasn’t just ceremonial—it caused severe spiritual backlash upon betrayal. Macallan had waited for this crucial moment to trigger it.

Jörmungandr’s sword movements became clumsy as her precision dissipated, and the sharpness of her blade lost its edge. Meanwhile, Macallan didn’t fall immediately when the ground gave way. Instead, he hovered for a brief moment, then, as the red blade struck, he deftly grasped its spine, using it to propel himself in front of Jormungand. His black, crystal-like blade pierced her heart. The dragon blood tried to heal the wound, but electric arcs shot from the blade, repeatedly paralyzing her heart.

Macallan grabbed her by the throat with one hand, lifting her into the air. Jörmungandr struggled in vain, her body rapidly shrinking, shedding its scales. In seconds, she had reverted to a pale, frail girl, bearing traces of Xia Mi and Chu Zihang in her features. The blood pact had stripped away her dragon traits, forcing her into a weakened state.

“You… you planned this all along… You let me land that first strike on purpose!” Jörmungandr rasped.

“Of course. Who in our family would dance with the clever Jörmungandr without a weapon?” Macallan smiled.

Jörmungandr’s black blood trickled down his hand, falling into the sea below. As the drops hit the water, the surface rippled, and a long-necked sea dragon slowly rose.

For the first time, they got a clear view of the massive creature. It was unlike any dragon humans had ever imagined or seen. It had a huge bony head, rows of fins like a flying fish, two golden eyes on either side of its skull, and sharp, tyrannosaur-like forelimbs tucked close to its chest. It gazed greedily at Jörmungandr but bowed reverently to Macallan, clearly aware that the humanoid being was far more terrifying than itself.

“Let me ask you one last time, dear sister, are you willing to repair our broken alliance?” Macallan said slowly, “The cost is only a small amount of dignity.”

“I actually know that working with you is the best option,” Jörmungandr said through gritted teeth, blood dripping from her mouth, “But thinking about how you devoured Fenrir’s bones… I just can’t accept it.”

“Well, negotiations have failed, so this is your reward.” Macallan released his grip and pulled the blade from Jörmungandr’s chest.

The sea serpent let out an earth-shattering roar and surged upwards, swallowing Jörmungandr whole before diving joyfully into the deep sea.

The surface of the sea began to tremble slightly. At first, it was just ripples, but in a moment, it turned into giant waves. Red waves spread outward in rings, crashing against the hull of the Yamal. The center of the hatchery began to sink as a whirlpool slowly formed, drawing vast amounts of seawater into the depths. The massive Yamal, weighing tens of thousands of tons, was also being dragged into the whirlpool. At this moment, the sea serpent was racing through the underwater mountains at high speed, battling the powerful currents. It was the oldest predator in this hatchery, its massive body proof of that. It had escaped the whirlpool created by the sea’s eye countless times. With true wisdom, it knew that after consuming such a “great” meal, the sea’s eye would open, and the only way to escape was through the relative calm of the ocean floor.

But from the ocean floor, a massive column of dust erupted, surrounding the serpent. From within the dust, enormous tentacles emerged, wrapping tightly around its body.

From within the dust came an incomprehensible chant of praise: “Jörmungandr! Jörmungandr! Jormungand!”

Macallan smiled silently, for the end of the serpent’s fate was inevitable. How could the creature from the sea’s eye allow the serpent to leave with its meal? After all, it had swallowed the Dragon King Jörmungandr.

The sea serpent’s fate had long been sealed. Its repeated escapes were not due to its strength or cunning but because the sea’s eye had judged it not yet fat enough.

Such is the brutal truth of the world—while you quietly grow, someone in the shadows is already measuring your worth and ripeness.

As the Yamal approached the center of the whirlpool, the air above the ocean suddenly calmed. A steady current of air lifted Macallan from the ship’s crane arm into the sky.

He spread his arms, resembling a human-shaped cross, floating above the whirlpool, gazing down at the sea floor, which should have been impossible to see.

The ocean roared, red waves surging to the sky, and above his head, the aurora formed a vortex. The perfect sacrifice had been delivered, and the bomb capable of destroying everything was ready. An event on the scale of the Restrainer was about to unfold. Ragnarok was arriving in a sunless place. Macallan smiled silently. Although he might also perish in this twilight of the gods, he found the whole thing quite amusing.

The sea serpent continued to struggle, while inside its stomach, a pale girl soaked in acid suddenly opened her golden eyes and cursed.

The girl opened a door and said, “I’m back,” then kicked off her shoes, tossed her backpack onto the sofa, and leaped onto the bed, wrapping herself in a blanket.

A moment later, she sat up, slowly pulling the blanket down from her face, tilting her head to look at the man sitting at the foot of the bed. He sat quietly, staring out the window at the amber autumn outside.

“This is the third scene. Haven’t you had enough?” the man asked softly.

“You ruined my great plan to overthrow the world, and now I can’t even play around with you? I’ve locked you up, and I can play however I want!” the girl snapped.

When Jörmungandr’s claws had pierced his heart, Chu Zihang had thought his consciousness would fade away, but in the next moment, he woke up in this little room.

It still retained its original appearance—simple and desolate but neatly arranged. He lay on a small bed, fully dressed, with a flower-patterned quilt partially covering him. Directly opposite was a tilted floor-to-ceiling window, through which the sunset cast shadows of the sycamore trees onto the ground. From the adjacent room, faint voices of parents calling their children and the sounds of pots and pans could be heard, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t open the door to find out if anyone was really there. The leaves spun as they fell, never ceasing, but the tree itself never seemed to lose any.

He was trapped in the third scenario, and each one was entirely different. In the second one, Jörmungandr had not tried to slay his inner demons but had performed a theatrical play to mock him.

She was undoubtedly a great actress. When she played the role of Xia Mi, she immersed herself in it. If the Dragon Kings had an Academy Award, she would win it.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before footsteps approached, and the door opened. Xia Mi walked in without looking at him and threw herself onto the bed.

It felt like just another ordinary autumn day, another ordinary dusk when a girl came home from school to her small, solitary house, and he waited here as if it were only natural.

After a while, Xia Mi seemed unsatisfied and kicked Chu Zihang in frustration. He endured it silently, as it didn’t really hurt.

When she appeared in Xia Mi’s form, she looked like the quintessential soft girl—wearing a turtleneck sweater and school uniform skirt, with long, slender legs and delicate ankles, dressed in white cotton socks with a wavy pattern.

“Why aren’t you asking whether I’m Xia Mi or Jörmungandr? Isn’t that something you care about?” Xia Mi stopped kicking and pulled her foot back.

“Suddenly, I don’t think it matters anymore. Right now, I feel like you’re Xia Mi, so I’ll talk to you as if you’re Xia Mi,” Chu Zihang said, gazing out at the autumn scene.

“Who said you get to decide that?” Xia Mi frowned.

“Love and hate are both things built over time. There was once someone with whom I shared time, whether she was called Xia Mi or Jörmungandr. That connection exists.”

“You’re being self-indulgent. The dimension of time is different for Dragon Kings and humans. Your lives are fleeting, but for us, time is just a number,” Xia Mi shrugged. “In the river of time, you’re just a small rock, while I am the river itself. The river doesn’t linger around a rock for long—the sea is its final destination.”

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