Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

The pebbles fell into the deep well, and it took a long time before the sound of water hitting the well could be heard.

Very high.

Frillie took a deep breath and continued upwards.

She climbed fifteen meters before stopping to catch her breath. Her wounds began to bleed again, and the muscles in her arms trembled. Her magic had only recovered to twenty percent, insufficient to support flight magic.

They could only rely on their physical strength to keep climbing.

Twenty-five meters. Thirty meters. Thirty-five meters...

Faint sounds came from above. Was it the wind, or the flow of traffic? And faint music.

We're getting close to the surface.

Just as Frillie reached for the next horizontal bar, the entire ladder suddenly loosened. The fixing bolts had rusted to their limit and could no longer bear the weight.

"Crack—", a loud sound of metal tearing apart.

Frillie instinctively gripped the rope tighter, but the generator base that secured the rope was also loosening. The machine itself wasn't fixed to the ground; it was only held in place by its weight.

come down.

The feeling of freefall lasted only two seconds before the rope suddenly tightened.

The generator was dragged by Frilian's weight, sliding a meter across the ground before getting stuck in a dent.

Stop falling.

Frillie was suspended in the well, about 20 meters above the water below and 15 meters from the well opening.

The rope made an ominous sound of fibers snapping; it wouldn't last much longer.

Frillie gritted her teeth and began to climb the well wall with her bare hands—not a ladder, but by bracing herself against the concrete walls on either side with her hands and feet, using friction to incline upwards little by little. This was the most primitive and physically demanding way to climb. Every centimeter felt like squeezing the last bit of strength from her very marrow.

The wound reopened completely, blood flowing down her thigh and dripping into the deep well. Her vision began to darken. But Frillie didn't stop.

Five meters. Three meters. One meter...

Finally, her fingers touched the edge of the well. With her last bit of strength, Frillie climbed up and collapsed to the ground.

Before her lay the Tokyo night sky, not a complete sky, but a sky fragmented by skyscrapers and tinged with neon lights. She was in an alley, with a ventilation shaft cover disguised as an electrical box behind her.

She had succeeded; she had crawled back from hell to earth. Frillie lay on the ground, panting, each breath reeking of blood. She needed to tend to her wounds, she needed food and water, she needed so much.

"Tap tap tap," footsteps. More than one person was approaching. Frillie sat up abruptly, trying to hide, but her body wouldn't obey her.

Two figures appeared at the alley entrance. They weren't shadow warriors or members of the Enforcement Bureau; they were two raggedly dressed homeless men pushing a shopping cart full of junk.

They saw Frillie. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Then one of the older homeless men gestured for his companion to be quiet. He took a plastic bottle containing water and half a bag of biscuits from his shopping cart.

He placed it on the ground and pushed it over. He didn't say anything, just nodded, then pulled his companion and turned to leave, as if he hadn't seen anything.

Frillie stared at the water and food on the ground, remaining silent for a long time. Finally, she whispered, "Thank you."

Then she unscrewed the cap and took small sips of water. The biscuits were dry, but they provided energy. As she ate, she sensed the magical markings on Lu Mingfei and the others.

It's still there, and it seems to be moving?

After finishing the last cookie, Frillie re-bandaged her wound and carefully hid Schneider's notebook close to her body. She stood up and looked towards Tokyo Bay.

On the sea, the moon sets in the west. Dawn is approaching, and the rituals of the deep sea continue.

"Wait for me, don't get hurt, Lu Mingfei," she whispered, then turned and disappeared into the shadows of Tokyo's intricate streets.

The game between hunter and prey has only just begun. This time, she is no longer the hunted. She will become the variable that tears the chessboard apart.

Chapter 454 Blackstone Mansion

Tonight the weather is fine and sunny; it's the perfect day for murder and arson.

The moonlight, like silver foil, spread across the sea, and the shimmering waves rose and fell gently with the tide. On this windless night, even the sound of the waves lapping against the shore became gentle, one after another, like the rhythm of a mother gently rocking a cradle.

Atami lies nestled beside this peaceful bay.

This seaside town is located at the end of the Izu Peninsula, surrounded by mountains on three sides and facing the sea on the other. Since the Edo period, it has been a famous hot spring town in Japan. The hot springs that gush from the ground maintain a temperature of over 60 degrees Celsius all year round, and the white steam rises year-round, enveloping the entire town in a dreamlike mist.

Legend has it that Tokugawa Ieyasu, the founder of the Edo Shogunate, had a particular fondness for the hot springs here. After each fierce battle, he would bathe in Atami, his body weary and his heart wounded. The hot springs washed away the blood and dust of war, and soothed the wrinkles in his heart. Ieyasu often said, "The hot springs of Atami can heal the soul of a warrior." Because of this legendary shogun's patronage, Atami's fame spread far and wide, gradually becoming one of Japan's most renowned healing sanctuaries.

As night fell, most of the lights in Atami had been extinguished, with only a few hot spring inns that stayed open all night still casting a dim yellow glow through their paper windows. Ascending along the coastline, the mountains became steep and precipitous, and at the most dangerous point, a towering black wall pierced the night sky like the silhouette of a giant.

That's the outer wall of the Kuroishi Mansion. The Kuroishi Mansion was built in the mid-Edo period and is over two hundred years old.

A legend still circulates in Atami about its birth. A certain shogun was inspecting the Izu Peninsula by ship when a thick fog rolled in, and the ship lost its way.

Just as everyone was in a panic, a sea breeze dispersed the thick fog, and in the instant the clouds parted and the sun shone, a black cliff pierced the view like a sharp sword. It plunged straight into Sagami Bay, its cliff face as if carved by a knife and axe, reflecting a cold, hard luster in the sunlight. The entire cliff was like an incomparably domineering rock katana, descending from the sky and cleaving the sea in two.

The general was awestruck by this solitary and awe-inspiring beauty. He ordered the fleet to dock and personally ascended the then-unnamed cliff. Standing atop the cliff, he gazed into the distance, the azure waters of Sagami Bay stretching out below him, the Izu Islands like scattered emeralds dotting the distant horizon. At that moment, the general felt as if he were standing on the edge of the world, holding power in his hands, looking down upon all living beings.

“Build a residence here,” he ordered, “so that I may watch the sea and listen to the waves, and contemplate the affairs of the world.”

Thus, Blackrock Mansion was born.

The official residence has been the highest point in Atami since its construction. It is cleverly integrated with the cliff, with sheer cliffs on three sides and only a winding mountain road connecting it to the mainland. The building materials are all local black basalt, each stone is carefully polished, and the joints are perfectly fitted without using a single piece of mortar.

The building presents a cold and hard aesthetic, which is completely different from the gentle and graceful beauty of traditional Japanese architecture.

The general gazed at the sea from the mountaintop, while messengers rode swiftly along the mountain paths, relaying his orders in all directions. In those days, the Black Stone Mansion was not only a place of rest for the general, but also a military fortress and a symbol of power. Standing on the observation deck at the highest point of the mansion, one could monitor every passing ship in Sagami Bay and control this vital sea route.

After the Meiji Restoration and the fall of the shogunate, the Kuroishi Mansion was sold by the government to a wealthy businessman and became a private villa.

Although it is no longer the general's forbidden area, its location and layout still make it the undisputed throne among all the hot spring villas in Atami. The residents of Atami believe that this building has its own soul, a proud, solitary soul that refuses to yield to time.

Every morning, the first rays of sunlight in Atami shine on the outer walls of the Black Stone Mansion. The black rocks, weathered by more than two hundred years of wind and rain, reflect shimmering golden light in the morning glow. The entire building stands like a black warrior clad in iron scales, towering over the shimmering sea, guarding this small town.

As evening fell, the afterglow of the setting sun bathed it in a warm orange-red hue, softening its previous austere appearance, like a warrior removing his armor.

...

Kimura Hiroshi, supporting himself against the wall, slowly walked along the inner corridor of the Black Stone Mansion.

He carried a white paper lantern in his hand, the candlelight flickering gently within, casting his hunched shadow on the wall. He was sixty-seven years old, and had served in this official residence for over thirty years, witnessing its rise and fall.

Hiroshi Kimura still remembers the first time he walked into the Kuroishi Mansion.

It was springtime thirty-two years ago, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom, and he had just received the Golden Key certification from the International Golden Key Association—the highest honor for hotel butlers, with only a few thousand holders worldwide. At that time, Hiroshi Kimura was full of vigor, impeccably dressed in a suit, his hair perfectly styled, and his eyes sparkling with boundless anticipation for his career.

The owner of the Black Stone Mansion at the time was a famous film director known for making epic period dramas. The director was impressed by Kimura Hiroshi's resume and hired him as the mansion's butler with a salary 30% higher than the market rate. During the interview, the director took Kimura Hiroshi on a tour of the mansion, finally stopping by the hot spring pool facing the sea.

"Kimura-kun, look at this view," the director said, pointing to the distant Sagami Bay where the sea meets the sky. "Every morning and evening, I want to soak in the hot springs here and watch the sunrise and sunset. You need to make sure the water temperature is just right, and have chilled sake and seasonal fruit prepared by the pool. Can you do that?"

"Please rest assured," the young Kimura Hiroshi bowed slightly, "I will make you feel that every bath is the ultimate enjoyment."

The director smiled with satisfaction: "Very good. From today onwards, you will be the butler of Blackstone Mansion."

For the next few years, the Blackstone mansion hosted lavish parties almost every weekend. Director Kimura invited movie stars, writers, artists, and political and business elites, keeping the mansion brightly lit and operating all night. Kimura Hiroshi directed over twenty servants to ensure everything ran smoothly.

Wagyu beef flown in from Kobe must be grilled to perfection on a teppanyaki grill. Juyondai sake must be chilled to a precise temperature; the fireworks display in the courtyard must be synchronized with the indoor band's performance. On one occasion, the director even requested that a French chef be flown in from Tokyo by helicopter just to prepare a truffle foie gras dish that required seventy-two hours of preparation.

Hiroshi Kimura enjoyed the busyness. He loved seeing the guests' amazed expressions and hearing their praise for the service. Within that circle, Hiroshi Kimura's name gradually spread: "The butler at the Black Stone Mansion is simply omnipotent."

But beneath the surface of prosperity, undercurrents are surging.

The Kuroishi Mansion is an important cultural property protected by the government, and every renovation must strictly adhere to traditional techniques and materials. The cypress tiles on the roof must come from century-old trees in Hokkaido. The rush grass for the tatami mats must be sourced from specific farms in Kumamoto Prefecture. The black basalt that has crumbled off the walls must be transported from quarries in Kobe and hand-polished and installed by craftsmen skilled in the restoration of ancient buildings.

The director initially didn't care about the costs, but over time, the maintenance expenses snowballed. Hiroshi Kimura once subtly reminded the owner, "Sir, last month's repair costs have already exceeded the expenses of hosting three parties."

The director waved his hand: "Art is priceless, Kimura-kun. This official residence itself is a work of art, and it's worth investing in."

However, art ultimately cannot withstand reality. A few years later, the director's investment failed, the film flopped at the box office, and the funding chain broke. The parties grew smaller and less frequent, until they finally stopped completely. The mansion returned to its former silence, but this time, the silence was permeated with an air of decay.

Finally, one day, the director called Hiroshi Kimura into his study. The once spirited man now looked exhausted, with heavy bags under his eyes.

"Kimura-kun, I'm selling the Black Stone Mansion," the director said. "I can't afford it anymore."

Hiroshi Kimura fell silent. He had long anticipated this day, but hearing it with his own ears still stung his heart. Not because he might lose his job—with his resume, finding a new job would be easy—but because of this official residence.

He could almost see the exquisite beams and pillars, the centuries-old stone, and the hot spring pool facing the sea, all destined for an unknown new owner. Would that person cherish them? Or would they use them as tools to flaunt their wealth?

“I will assist you with the sale,” Hiroshi Kimura finally said, “until the new owner takes over.”

The director nodded, a hint of gratitude flashing in his eyes: "Thank you, Kimura-kun. You are the best butler I have ever met."

Chapter 455 Two Cats

The sale of Blackstone Mansion was far from smooth. The real estate company set an exorbitant price, not only because it was a historical landmark, but also because of its staggering maintenance costs. Every potential buyer turned away after learning about the ongoing upkeep expenses. Three months passed, and even the real estate company lost patience.

“In this day and age, who would buy an expensive building that looks like an emperor’s palace?” the real estate manager complained to the director. “Unless they are super-rich people who have so much money they don’t know what to do with it, or weirdos.”

When all else failed, the director made a crazy decision: to put the Blackstone mansion up for auction on eBay.

In 2001, online auctions were still a novelty. eBay had indeed sold all sorts of strange and unusual items, from decommissioned fighter jets and Soviet-era tanks to underwear worn by celebrities, but never a historical building.

With nothing to lose, the director uploaded photos and a description of the Black Stone Mansion, set a starting bid, and added at the end of the description: "This is a building with a soul, waiting only for an owner who knows how to appreciate it."

Fifteen minutes after the message was posted, the director received a text message from the bank: a deposit of 760 million yen had been deposited into his account.

The buyer's name was "ENXI". The director was stunned. He immediately logged onto eBay to check the information of this mysterious buyer.

ENXI's account was created two years ago, with very few transaction records, and the items purchased are puzzling: a life-size Rei Ayanami body pillow from *Neon Genesis Evangelion*; a Chun-Li figure from *Street Fighter* with movable arms and legs; a rare *Cowboy Bebop* DVD set; several English-language Japanese light novels...

In other words, ENXI is a shut-in, a shut-in with astonishing wealth.

The director tried to contact ENXI through eBay to inquire about more details, but the other party only replied with one sentence: "Pay the full amount in fifteen days. Please provide your Swiss bank account information."

Fifteen days later, a bank draft from a Swiss bank arrived on time for the director. Along with the draft was a short note on expensive parchment, written in fluent English penmanship: "Blackstone Mansion purchased. I will arrive on the 15th of one month from now. Please ensure the thermal baths are readily available. —ENXI"

There were no extra words, no identification, not even a formal signature. Only the mysterious code name: ENXI.

When the director handed the note to Hiroshi Kimura, he said with a wry smile, "Kimura-kun, the new owner might be a strange person."

Hiroshi Kimura took the note and carefully examined the handwriting. The penmanship was quite beautiful; the slant of each letter was consistent, and the strokes were smooth and confident. This did not seem to be the handwriting of a frivolous person.

“At least he understands the value of the Black Stone Mansion,” Hiroshi Kimura said. “And his request that the hot spring pool be available at all times shows that he understands the essence of the building.”

The director patted Hiroshi Kimura on the shoulder: "Good luck, Kimura-kun. I hope Mr. ENXI will treat this official residence well, and treat you well too."

Kimura Hiroshi got up very early on the day the new owner was scheduled to arrive.

He put on his best black kimono, a custom-made silk kimono with delicate family crests embroidered on the cuffs, and then summoned the only three remaining maids in the mansion, having them wear matching light blue work uniforms and stand respectfully in front of the main gate to greet him.

The courtyard had been swept spotless, the candles in the stone lanterns had been replaced, the hot spring pool was filled with just the right amount of hot water, and the air was filled with the fragrance of cypress wood.

Everyone was speculating about what their new master would look like. The chairman of a multinational corporation? A Middle Eastern oil tycoon? A reclusive IT genius? Hiroshi Kimura silently rehearsed his welcome speech, imagining all sorts of possible scenarios and corresponding responses. This was the professional skill of a butler: anticipating the master's needs and fulfilling them before the master even asked.