Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

The terrifying scene just now seemed to be a hallucination caused by extreme fatigue and mental stress, a vivid illusion that was suffocating.

With trembling hands, the driver disregarded everything else and forcefully turned the radio's power switch.

A soft "click" sounded.

The machine is off.

The car fell into true, complete silence, with only the roar of the engine and the sound of the wind.

The driver raised his hand and rubbed his face vigorously, trying to erase that eerie smiling face from his mind.

It's a hallucination, it must be a hallucination.

Driving at night is too tiring, and on top of that, I was just scaring myself after hearing that ghost story.

Just as the driver was trying to convince himself with reason.

"buzz"

The radio turned on by itself again.

The screen emitted a faint green glow, which was glaringly bright in the darkness.

The deep male voice rang out again, without any warning.

"Sorry for the signal interruption. Let's continue."

He paused for a moment, a pause that was just right, giving the driver time to process his reappearance.

"We just mentioned the abandoned underground line in the capital, that alternate dimension filled with unclaimed souls and remains."

He spoke at a steady pace and his words were clear.

“Some listeners might think that’s just a distant legend. But according to a recently received, unverified intelligence report…”

"One possible entrance to it is not hidden in the deepest darkness of the city."

"It's right in front of you."

"Please pay attention to the sign for the next exit."

"Perhaps you are closer to the truth than most people."

After the words were spoken, the radio went silent again.

This time, there was true, utter silence; even the power indicator light was off, like a cold, black tombstone.

The driver looked up, his gaze passing through the windshield and into the distance.

On the dark highway, a green highway exit sign with white lettering was gradually illuminated by car headlights.

The sign clearly shows: Next exit, 2KM.

The name of the export site is "Graveyard".

I've never heard of that name before; it carries a strong sense of foreboding.

My heart was pounding wildly, and the blood rushed to my head only to freeze instantly.

Reason screamed in refusal, warning the driver never to approach that exit.

Step on the gas, accelerate, and drive straight ahead! Get out of here!

but.

The dark, gaping holes in the rearview mirror looked like a "graveyard."

Fear gripped the driver's heart, forcefully twisting his will.

As if it had its own thoughts, the foot slowly moved away from the accelerator and gently placed itself on the brake pedal.

The car began to slow down.

The indicator light flashed, click, click, click.

The steering wheel became incredibly heavy, and the driver maneuvered the vehicle, detaching it from the main road and onto the downward-sloping exit ramp.

This ramp is unusually narrow, the road surface is severely damaged, and it is full of potholes and has not been repaired for many years.

The sound barriers on both sides of the road shoulder are covered with dirty stains and large patches of graffiti, and in many places they are twisted and deformed, revealing the dark and haphazard vegetation growing behind them.

The streetlights were sparse, and most of them were out of service, barely illuminating a small section of the road.

The ramps twisted and turned, with no end in sight; only deeper darkness awaited ahead.

It took a good two or three minutes to drive, far exceeding the normal length of a ramp.

As they descended deeper, the sounds of vehicles on the main road faded into silence, and the surroundings became eerily quiet. Only the engine of the driver's beat-up car was amplified and echoed in the narrow space.

Anxiety creeps up on me like vines, tightening its grip.

Did he make an extremely foolish decision?

Finally, we reached the end of the ramp.

The road surface became smoother, but even more dilapidated.

The car headlights flashed, vaguely illuminating an open space ahead, unlike a normal toll station or connecting road.

Then, the beam of the car headlights caught sight of something.

A signpost standing by the roadside.

It was severely rusted, with curled edges revealing dark red rust underneath.

It stands there, ready to collapse at any moment.

The driver slammed on the brakes, slowing the car even further, almost grazing the front of the sign.

The headlights barely illuminated the remaining writing on it.

The words, which should have been white, have now peeled off, turned black, and become difficult to read.

The driver squinted and read the words with difficulty.

The first line of text is relatively large, but several characters are missing, so we can only guess.

There is no road ahead.

My heart skipped a beat.

Move your gaze downwards.

The second line of text is even smaller and similarly damaged, but still faintly legible:

"Welcome to our destination."

The last three words.

“Nibelungen”.

No sign.

A figure slowly emerged from the darkness.

It stood precisely at the boundary between light and darkness, motionless, facing the driver.

We've been waiting here for quite some time.

Wearing a theatrical costume, covered in stains.

He wore a clown mask with a white background, red and blue paint, a wide smile, and a vicious look.

The two dark eye holes on the mask pierced through the dim light and locked onto the driver inside the car.

He stood there quietly, without making any move.

A few seconds of deathly silence.

The driver saw that something moved beneath the mask, let out a sigh, and shook its head.

The amplitude was small, but the meaning was crystal clear.

Disappointed?

God knows what that damn clown is thinking.

The clown stepped back and disappeared into the darkness that the car headlights could not penetrate.

Disappeared.

All that remained were the rusted signboard, the driver's dilapidated car parked at the end of the deserted ramp, and the driver inside, his body ice-cold.

The radio clicked softly again.

The screen glowed with a faint green light.

The deep male voice rang out one last time, its tone unchanged, calmly narrating as if reading a weather forecast unrelated to himself:

"pity."

"Not a mixed-race person."

"Then let's do it."

"I'll let you off this time."

Chapter 161 No Water, No Food

The chilling roars emanating from the depths of the tunnel swept across the platform like a cold tide, then vanished into the deathly silence, as if it were merely an illusion.

But the faint, lingering fishy smell and oppressive atmosphere in the air reminded everyone that it was not an illusion.

"What was that just now?" Lu Mingfei's voice was dry as he moved closer to Frillie.

"I don't know, but they're definitely not a good person." Chu Zihang gripped the Murasame sword tightly, and the blade in its sheath sensed the threat, emitting a very faint hum.

Chu Zihang scanned the dark tunnel from which the sound came, but he could see nothing but deeper darkness.

The compass needle in Zhu Mumu's hand spun wildly again, finally pointing shakily toward the tunnel.

"The source of the malevolent energy lies deep within. This thing harbors immense resentment and is perfectly integrated with the atmosphere of this place. It is likely a guardian or jailer born from the 'rules' of this place."

Fingel looked miserable. "I knew this awful place was no good! We just walked in and we're already getting a welcome ceremony? Can I file a complaint and leave a bad review?"

"Since we're here, let's make the best of it." Frillie remained calm, possessing an extraordinary ability to adapt to such eerie environments. "Fear is useless. Keep searching; the more information we have, the greater our chances of survival."