Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

The second batch, the third batch...

Erii's sword moved slowly, the deadly line sweeping across the surface. Thousands upon thousands of mermaid corpses fell and vanished like waves of wheat. They didn't even have time to howl, no time to react, before they were reduced to nothingness in the realm of judgment.

But Frilian saw the price.

Erii's body was trembling. Blood seeped from the cuffs of her kimono, staining the garment crimson from ruptured capillaries under high pressure. Blood was also seeping from the corners of her mouth, each breath accompanied by bloody foam.

She was burning her life force. Clearing out the horde of zombies this way wouldn't last her long either.

Why? While the Corpse Guard horde is dangerous, the Sumeru Throne's firepower configuration makes it perfectly capable of handling it with conventional weapons. Why resort to such a devastating, self-destructive tactic?

Unless… Frillian's magical senses shifted to the deep sea. She understood. Erii wasn't cleaning up the corpse guardians. She was purifying.

The realm of judgment can erase not only the existence of matter, but also the traces of filth. Traces of dragon activity, remnants of alchemical rituals—all things in the world can be annihilated completely, leaving not a single remnant.

To open the gates of the burial grounds, Tachibana Masamune needs a sacrifice and a pure ritual environment. The mermaid corpse guardians, who serve as the protectors of the burial grounds, carry ancient marks, and their deaths would pollute the ritual site.

Therefore, Erii must remove them all before the door is fully opened. In the most thorough way possible.

What a cruel plan. Tachibana Masamune is definitely no good. Lu Mingfei must have had a grudge against him in his past life. What a nuisance.

Frilian stared at the crimson figure swaying precariously atop the tower. Erii's sword swings grew slower and slower, each movement feeling like a struggle against the weight of the entire world. Blood flowed from her eyes—not tears, but real tears of blood, streaming down her pale cheeks.

But she didn't stop; the blade traced its final arc. The last swarm of corpse guardians vanished from the sea, and the domain retracted.

Erii swayed and leaned forward.

But she didn't fall. Two figures rushed out of the shadows at the top of the tower and caught her before she hit the ground. It was Crow and Yaksha, Genji's confidants. They carried the unconscious Erii and quickly retreated into the tower, the whole process taking no more than three seconds.

It's like we've rehearsed it countless times.

Frillie withdrew her gaze. Now she understood. Erii was also part of the plan. A weapon to be used and discarded. And what about herself? What was she on Tachibana Masamune's chessboard?

It's just a potential problem that needs to be addressed beforehand.

There was no time to think. Taking advantage of the chaos caused by the trial, which had diverted the search team's attention, Frillie rushed to the berth. Sure enough, a small speedboat was moored there, the key in the ignition. Was it a trap? Or had Kuroda prepared this in advance?

It didn't matter. Frillie leaped into the cabin and started the engine. The roar of the engine was particularly jarring in the silent night. Immediately, searchlights swept over, gunshots rang out, and bullets struck the edge of the berth, sending sparks flying.

Frillie jerked the steering wheel, and the speedboat shot off the berth like an arrow, plunging into the dark sea. Behind them, the alarm from the Sumeru Tower blared again through the night. Searchlights crisscrossed the water, but the speedboat was already out of range.

Chapter 452 Escaping the Snake-Headed Eight Family - Frillie (Part 2)

Frillie glanced back. Under the blood moon, the platform resembled a steel tomb floating on the sea. The top of the tower was deserted, with only an ancient longsword stuck in the railing, gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

Further out, beneath the surface of the sea, fluorescent green lights were converging into a vortex. The door was about to open completely.

Frillie sensed Lu Mingfei and the others' imprint. It was still there. But it was moving away from her at an alarming speed—a dimensional alienation. They were falling into the depths of the trench.

She gripped the steering wheel tightly and floored the accelerator. The speedboat sliced ​​through the waves, speeding towards Tokyo Bay. The wind carried the briny scent of the sea, mixed with a faint, rusty tang of blood. It was the lingering scent of the trial. It was also proof of the countless lives lost that night.

Tokyo, X Ward underground drainage system.

Darkness is three-dimensional. The entire space is filled with a heavy, textured darkness. The air humidity is high, the temperature is constant at 13°C, and the smell of hydrogen sulfide and methane lingers deep in the throat, each breath feeling like swallowing rusty gel.

Frillie leaned against a concrete pillar three meters in diameter and unwrapped the makeshift bandage on her abdomen. The strips of cloth were soaked in blood and stuck to the wound, causing a sharp pain when torn off. She gritted her teeth and used the last of her magic to condense a faint orb of light, ice-blue, the size of a fist, hovering thirty centimeters above her palm.

The light illuminated the surroundings.

This is the pressure regulating water tank of the "Outer Outer Waterway of the Capital Region," known as the "Underground Temple." The enormous space is large enough to accommodate a shrine, with sixty-nine giant pillars supporting a thirty-meter-high dome. Below is a bottomless reservoir with water as calm as ink.

A perfect hiding place.

The prerequisite is that you can tolerate the silence here—not the absence of sound, but the emptiness that comes from the infinite dilution and absorption of sound. Water droplets fall from the cracks in the dome into the pool, at intervals precise to seventeen seconds, like the ticking of an eternal pendulum.

Frillie examined the wound. A bullet graze; the edges of the wound were beginning to fester, turning an unhealthy grayish-white. The toxins were affecting her more severely than she had anticipated, not only inhibiting her own healing abilities but also breaking down muscle tissue.

She took out real medical supplies from her small bag: sterile gauze, iodine, hemostatic gel, and a syringe labeled "Universal Antidote (Experimental)". It was given to her by Flamel, who said drunkenly at the time, "Theoretically, it can neutralize 327 known toxins, but it has not been tested on humans, and the side effects are unknown."

There was no choice. Frillie plunged the syringe into her thigh and injected the medication. The cool sensation spread through her veins, quickly turning into a burning pain. She groaned, her fingers digging into the moss on the concrete pillar, her nails splitting, but she didn't let go.

Thirty seconds later, the pain began to subside. The grayish-white color of the wound visibly returned to its normal flesh color, the suppuration stopped, and fresh blood began to seep out again.

It worked. But side effects followed: dizziness, tinnitus, and colored spots appearing at the edges of her vision. Frillie leaned against a pillar, waiting for the reaction to pass.

In the brief moments of her blurred consciousness, she once again tracked the magical mark on Lu Mingfei's body.

It's still there. And it's even become more stable?

No, it wasn't stable; it had entered a state of equilibrium. Lu Mingfei's signal was still weak, but it was no longer weakening. They had found a way to survive. More than 8,000 meters below the surface of the trench.

Frillie opened her eyes, the orb of light illuminating her pale face. She needed a plan.

First, she needs to treat her wounds and recover her strength. This place is safe for now, but the Snake Clan will eventually search the underground water system. She needs to move and find a more secluded base.

Second, gather intelligence. We need to know Tachibana Masamune's complete plan, how to infiltrate Genji Heavy Industries, and Erii's condition—the girl's state is dire, and the abuse of judgment will backfire.

Third, contact the outside world. But conventional methods are not acceptable. Tokyo's communication networks are certainly being monitored, and the Japanese branch of Kassel College may have already been compromised or at least infiltrated.

She remembered the beacon Flamel had given her; should she activate it now?

It's too risky. We're not sure if the Snake Clan will try to track us back, and that would alert them.

If Tachibana Masamune discovers the academy's involvement, he might act quickly, killing Lu Mingfei and his group, or forcibly completing the ritual.

We must be more cautious.

Frillie re-bandaged the wound, this time using sterile gauze and waterproof tape. Her movements were so practiced it was heartbreaking; one of the benefits of living so long is that you learn a little bit of everything, including battlefield first aid.

After bandaging her wound, she put away the medical supplies and turned the brightness of the light ball down to the lowest setting, just enough to illuminate a meter in front of her feet.

Begin moving.

The underground labyrinth's routes are inhumanly complex. Official maps only mark the main thoroughfares, but in reality, maintenance tunnels, abandoned pipelines, naturally formed rock crevices... these are the true network. Moreover, many passages are flooded during the rainy season, and changes in water levels completely alter the terrain.

Frillie's magical perception had recovered to about 15%, barely enough to cover a radius of 100 meters. As she walked, she constructed a three-dimensional map in her mind, marking potential traps: deep pits, landslide areas, and places where toxic gases had accumulated.

There are also living organisms.

This is not a sterile environment. Rats, insects, blind fish adapted to the dark, and even rumored underground nomads—those abandoned by society—have established secret settlements here.

She walked for about half an hour and came to a fork in the road. From the left-hand passage came the faint sound of flowing water, probably leading to a surface river. The right-hand passage had drier air and a smell of stale engine oil, like it led to an abandoned equipment room.

Frillie chose the right side. Dryness meant it was more suitable for resting, and the smell of oil might indicate old machinery. Perhaps a pump station, perhaps tools, or even possibly still-functioning communication equipment, though the chances were slim.

The passageway gradually narrowed, from three meters high to less than two meters, forcing her to bend over to move forward. The walls changed from concrete to old bricks, with glowing moss growing in the cracks.

After walking for another ten minutes, a rusty iron gate appeared ahead.

The door was ajar, its hinges rusted shut, and it groaned shrilly when pushed open.

Behind the door is a circular space, about fifteen meters in diameter. In the center is an old-fashioned diesel generator, long since stopped operating. On the wall hang yellowed operating manuals, dated in Japanese as Showa 48 (1973).

Abandoned pumping station.

Frillie inspected the area. There were no signs of recent human activity, but there were mouse nests and spider webs. The air was dry, but too dusty to linger for long.

However, her gaze fell on the maintenance toolbox next to the generator.

The box was locked, but the lock was rusted. She found an iron bar and pried it open. Inside were a set of wrenches, screwdrivers, pliers... and a well-maintained vise. And, at the very bottom of the toolbox, a notebook wrapped in tarpaulin.

Frillie took out her notebook and opened it.

Chapter 453 Escape from Death

The paper has become brittle, but the writing is still relatively clear.

May 7, 1972

The third exploration has concluded. The location of the "gate" has been confirmed at a depth of 8600 meters in the trench, and its coordinates have been marked. However, the entrance is not in physical space; it requires a "key" and an "offering."

Frillie's heart raced.

Continue turning the page.

May 15, 1973

The Snake-Headed Eight Families provided translations of ancient fragments. The so-called "Divine Burial Ground" is not a tomb, but a prison. The White King's remains are sealed beneath a trench over 8,000 meters below the surface. Opening the main gate requires the simultaneous sacrifice of three high-purity hybrids as coordinate anchor points.

May 22, 1973

The head of the X family inquired whether a clone could be used instead of a living sacrifice. I told him no; Nibelungen only accepts complete life, and clones lack souls. He was very disappointed.

The author of the notes signed it with only one letter: S.

Frillie recognized the handwriting. Professor Schneider.

The head of the executive department at Kassel College had stayed in Japan as an exchange scholar thirty years ago. It turns out he was investigating burial grounds back then.

She quickly flipped through the pages. Most of them were technical records: sonar data, geological analysis, progress in deciphering the dragon script... until the last few pages.

May 30, 1973

I've decided to terminate the collaboration. The Snake Clan doesn't want research; they want revival. What a bunch of lunatics. They plan to force open the gate thirty years from now, when the stars reach a specific position. I warned them this would lead to disaster, but they wouldn't listen.

Tonight I will leave with all the copies of the documents. I hope these records will serve as a warning to future generations.

May God sleep forever.

That concludes my notes.

Thirty years later.

It is now 2003. Counting from 1973, it has been exactly thirty years.

Therefore, Tachibana Masamune's idea was not a spur-of-the-moment decision. This plan had been brewing for an entire generation. His grandfather was preparing, his father was pushing it forward, and in his generation, the opportune moment finally arrived when "the stars had moved to a specific position."

Offerings.

Lu Mingfei, Caesar, and Chu Zihang. Three hybrids with top-tier bloodlines, appearing in the "right place" at the "right time".

It was not a coincidence, but a carefully designed trap.

Frillie closed the notebook, her fingertips icy. She needed to warn the Institute. She needed to stop the ritual. She needed to rescue the three of them. But first, she needed to get out of here. Carefully putting the notebook away, she began to examine the rest of the pump station. Behind the generator, she found a ventilation shaft with rusty ladders extending upwards into the darkness.

There was a faint airflow at the wellhead, indicating that it led to the surface. However, the ladder was in poor condition, with many crossbars rusted and broken, making climbing extremely risky.

Frillie estimated the depth. Judging from the airflow, the well was probably around fifty meters deep. What if it fell halfway down...? She looked up and took out a roll of nylon rope from her toolbox. It was old, but better than nothing.

She secured one end of the rope to the generator base and tied the other end around her waist, then began to climb.

The first meter, the second meter...

The ladder was more fragile than she had anticipated. At the third meter, the crossbar her left foot was stepping on snapped, leaving Frillie suspended in mid-air, only able to stay afloat by the strength of her arms.