Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

The biker gang members gathered in the hall all turned around. The light wasn't enough to illuminate the entire space, but it was enough for them to see the struggling "girl" on Caesar's shoulder. Someone whistled, someone laughed, and someone shouted something in slangy Japanese.

Lu Mingfei took a deep breath and began to try to play his role. He imagined himself as a young girl about to be violated, filled with fear, shame, and helplessness. He twisted his body, pounding Caesar's back harder with his hands, letting out suppressed sobs. The fabric of his cheongsam stretched taut with his movements, outlining the lines of his body.

The biker gang erupted in laughter. They were shouting a name, probably one of the two teenagers Caesar had knocked unconscious earlier. Just as Caesar had predicted, these hormone-driven youths lacked basic vigilance.

In this lawless group, rules similar to those of the animal kingdom apply. Once a strong male declares his ownership of a female, only those who want to compete will step in to block his way; the others simply watch the spectacle.

A boy with dyed green hair and steel studs piercing his earlobes swaggered over, a malicious smile on his face. His gaze swept over Lu Mingfei, finally settling on his buttocks encased in a cheongsam. He mumbled something in a flippant tone, then slapped Lu Mingfei's buttocks.

Chapter 526 Chinese Swordsman VS Italian Swordsman (Part 1)

Lu Mingfei froze, a surge of genuine rage rising within him. But Caesar reacted even faster. He lowered his head, burying his face beside Lu Mingfei's body, and without a word, threw a punch at the unruly hand, the force perfectly controlled.

The green-haired boy yelled "Awooo!" and leaped away like a monkey, laughing as he ran back to his companions. He held up his reddened hand as if it were a medal of honor. The surrounding biker gang laughed even harder.

"Damn it!" Lu Mingfei gritted his teeth, his voice almost inaudible, "You monkey-man, I'll remember you! You touched my butt, you're dead! After this is all over..."

His words came to an abrupt end.

Because the bright lights suddenly pierced the darkness of the hall!

On one side of the hall, a heavy roller shutter door was slowly rising; this was the unloading passage, usually closed. At that moment, several biker gang members worked together to lift the shutter door, the metallic scraping producing a piercing noise.

Outside, a Chevrolet Camaro sports car was parked with its headlights on, casting a beam of white light that illuminated the hall as if it were daytime.

These teenagers came up with the most primitive yet effective way to overcome the power outage: they drove their car into the hall and used the headlights for illumination.

Damn it, it just so happened that they walked to the center of the hall.

Caesar's mind raced instantly. They were now completely exposed to the bright light. Although everyone's eyes needed time to adjust due to the sudden change in light, his and Lu Mingfei's disguise would be exposed in a few seconds at most. Someone had already shouted at them in a commanding tone, probably telling them to make way for the Chevrolet.

Worse still, some began to have doubts. Three boys approached them from different directions, calling out several names in succession. This indicated that they were unsure of Caesar's identity, especially since the two boys Caesar had knocked unconscious might have already woken up or been discovered.

time is limited.

Just then, a figure appeared in front of the Chevrolet sports car.

He stood in the very center of the headlights, his figure outlined by a dazzling silver edge. He wore a black suit, a crisp white shirt, and no tie. His left hand was casually in his pocket, while his right hand held a stick-like object, about three feet long, wrapped in a strip of gray cloth. He had initially stood in the shadows, out of the light's reach, until the headlights illuminated every corner of the hall, at which point he revealed himself.

From the moment he appeared, an invisible sense of oppression spread out.

This wasn't the bravado of the biker gang members; it was an almost chilling aura of danger. Like an ice cube thrown into boiling water, the noise in the hall instantly cooled down. The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees, and Lu Mingfei even felt goosebumps rise on his bare arms.

Caesar swiftly and decisively removed Lu Mingfei from his shoulder. His right hand slid down to his lower back, his fingers gripping the hilt of Dick Tudor's knife. The leather handle felt familiar and reliable.

This man was completely different from the biker gang members. He took only three steps and blocked the shortest path from Caesar to the women's changing room. The "stick" in his hand was slightly tilted, and the end of the cloth strip swayed gently in the air.

Caesar's eyes narrowed. The slightly curved shape and the way it was held clearly indicated it was a Japanese sword. The cloth strips wrapped around the blade weren't for concealment, but rather to prevent the scabbard from creating resistance when drawing the sword quickly. This was a practical habit.

The boys with hunting rifles cocked their guns, the clanging of metal echoing through the air. But Caesar's attention was almost entirely focused on them. Although those rifles were deadly weapons, the man before him was the real threat. Only someone with extreme confidence in their speed would choose a melee weapon when faced with firearms.

Could he be the mastermind behind this? The one who organized this group of bikers to attack the internet cafe?

The strips of cloth wrapped around the blade began to fall. The gray cloth, like startled snakes, twisted and unfurled in the air before finally drifting to the ground. Caesar knew the blade was drawn, but he couldn't see its shape.

Because it was too fast. The instant the cloth hit the ground, the blade had already sliced ​​through the air. It wasn't aimed at Caesar, but rather at the Chevrolet sports car behind him in a spinning attack!

The movements were as fluid as a choreographed dance. The figure in black pivoted on his left foot, spinning 360 degrees, his long sword tracing a perfect arc. The blade flashed like a crescent moon, almost simultaneously colliding with the headlights of the sports car.

"Pfft—Pfft—"

Two soft clicks, and the sports car's headlights went out, sending debris flying like rain. Then, another flash of light, this time targeting the front bumper. The heavy metal component was completely removed and slammed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

What incredibly sharp swordsmanship! But Caesar couldn't immediately understand his opponent's intentions. Why destroy the headlights first? If it was to create darkness, wouldn't he himself also lose his light source?

The cold wind cuts your face.

Caesar jerked backward, the cold blade almost grazing his nose! Only then did he realize that his opponent was extremely adept at fighting in the dark, and that the lights had been turned off first to prevent Caesar from seeing his movements by the light! This sneak attack should have succeeded, but Caesar's Word of Power was the Kamaitachi, and the wind spirits had already transmitted the vibrations of the air to him.

Even in absolute darkness, he could hear the trail of a blade cutting through the air.

Caesar drew his short-barreled shotgun from his waist with his left hand; it was a replica Remington he had taken from the biker gang youth. He had no time to aim, so he held the gun horizontally across his chest, using it as a shield.

"Clang!"

The gun barrel was severed cleanly, the cut as smooth as a mirror. The impact of the severed barrel slammed heavily into Caesar's chest, causing him to groan and take a half-step back, but his right hand, holding the knife, remained motionless.

The shotgun bought him a fraction of a second. That was enough.

Caesar's right hand, Dictator, slashed out silently. The blade was concealed behind his wrist, and Caesar used the twisting motion of his body to propel himself towards the armpit of the opponent's blade-wielding arm. The Assassins' assassination techniques specialized in attacking blind spots in the enemy's line of sight and defense.

Since the opponent is a skilled swordsman, he must have sensed that he has just defeated one of Caesar's weapons. Logically, this is the moment when his old strength is exhausted and new strength has not yet arisen, making his defenses most vulnerable. Taking advantage of this situation to launch an attack is the obvious choice.

Caesar was waiting for this sense of entitlement.

Darkness provides the best cover for an assassin's blade. Dick's blade tore through the air, yet made almost no sound—

"Clang!" Sparks flew in the darkness, briefly illuminating the two faces.

Caesar saw the other person, and the other person saw Caesar.

Dick's slash didn't strike flesh and blood, but rather the part of the katana near the guard. A long blade, the front half is sharpened, while the rear half is usually just honed and not sharpened, because this part is often used for parrying; without sharpening, there's no risk of chipping. His opponent had completely anticipated Caesar's attack, turning the blade in advance and using its strongest part to block the blow.

Without hesitation, Caesar flipped his wrist, withdrew his knife, and retreated at high speed. At the same time, he raised the shotgun in his left hand, which was now only half a barrel, and aimed it straight ahead.

"boom!"

A half-meter-long tongue of fire shot from the muzzle, and dozens of buckshot pellets were ejected in a fan shape. The bright gunfire illuminated the scene ahead for a moment, but the black figure had already vanished, as if melting into the darkness.

The lead bullets all hit the hood of the Chevrolet sports car. These hunting bullets were incredibly powerful; with one shot, the hood collapsed and deformed, the cylinders cracked, and fuel began to leak out.

A few seconds later, flames roared up and quickly engulfed the entire vehicle. The orange-red flames illuminated the hall and reflected the terrified face of the boy who had escaped from the driver's seat. He scrambled away from the burning vehicle, while the biker gang members around him, armed with shotguns, waited with a mixture of fear and excitement in their eyes.

It seems they have no intention of joining the fight before this knife battle ends, perhaps out of respect for the black-clad knife-wielder, or perhaps simply because they want to see a spectacular duel.

Chapter 527 Chinese Swordsman VS Italian Swordsman (Part 2)

This is good, as Caesar can now focus all his energy on this dangerous adversary.

My fingers brushed against the cut surface of the shotgun barrel. The touch was icy cold, the cut exceptionally smooth, as if it had been severed by a laser cutter. I could imagine how fast the blade had moved and how precise the force had been.

Caesar tossed aside the broken spear, adjusted his breathing, and focused his attention. The Kamaitachi's domain silently unfolded, and wind spirits converged from all directions, transmitting every sound in the hall to him.

The crackling of the flames, the heavy breathing of the biker gang members, Lu Mingfei's tense heartbeat, and the real footsteps in the distant corridor. And then, the sound of the knife-wielder almost completely disappearing.

The other person was nearby, maybe three meters away, maybe five meters away. He was moving, but his footsteps were as light as a cat's, his heartbeat was abnormally slow, and his breathing was almost inaudible. This was a top-notch infiltrator.

The Chevrolet sports car was still burning fiercely, but the light of the flames contrasted sharply with the surrounding darkness, making it even harder for the eyes to adjust. The presence of so many people also interfered with Caesar's hearing; the sounds of heartbeats, breathing, and the rustling of clothes intertwined into a noisy web, and he had to discern the movements of his specific prey from it all, like listening to a pin drop in a downpour.

coming.

A chilling black arc suddenly appeared behind Lu Mingfei; the knife-wielder had moved to this most unexpected position without him even noticing! The long blade swept horizontally, its target the back of Lu Mingfei's neck. The blade was matte black, reflecting no firelight, and the person was shrouded in black clothing; Lu Mingfei was completely unaware that the Grim Reaper's scythe was already at the back of his neck.

But in the Kamaitachi's domain, such visual concealment is meaningless. The shockwaves generated by the blade cutting through the air are as clear as a lighthouse in the night.

Caesar pounced like a cheetah, grabbing Lu Mingfei's collar with his left hand and yanking him backward. Lu Mingfei cried out in surprise, falling backward as the hem of his cheongsam billowed up, revealing more of his pale skin. In the same instant, Caesar's right hand, Dictator, met the blade of the black knife.

"clang!"

The two blades clashed, sparks flying like a waterfall, the metallic clang echoing through the hall. Both were forced back by the recoil; Caesar took two steps back, the swordsman three. But neither wasted time adjusting, and as soon as they regained their footing, they lunged again.

Caesar suddenly made a strange move. He quickly took off his leather jacket, draped it over his forearm, and then reversed his grip on the knife, concealing Dick Tudor's blade inside the jacket. The silver chain decorations rattled with the movement.

Polish light cavalry swordsmanship before World War II. They concealed their sabers within their military cloaks, striking with the cloak in the instant they passed the enemy, making it impossible to determine the true location of the sword.

Caesar moved. He moved at high speed close to the shadowy figure, his steps light as a dance, his leather jacket twirling in his hands, the silver chains jingling rhythmically to distract his opponent's hearing. The real killing move, however, was silent; Dick Tudor, hidden beneath the jacket, could strike from any angle at any moment.

The opponent was very familiar with this ancient swordsmanship. Instead of trying to keep up with Caesar's pace, he switched to a wide-ranging left-right slashing technique, using the length of his blade to create an impenetrable net of swords in front of him. Each swing created a sharp whistling sound, forcing Caesar to keep his distance.

Both fighters were evenly matched in speed and strength, and the current contest was a combination of continuous slashes, a test of their anticipation, reaction, and physical endurance. In the dim light, no one could see the trajectory of their swords; they could only hear the dense clang of metal clashing and see sparks constantly flying in the darkness.

Like ballet dancers who have worked together for ten years, performing a deadly pas de deux on razor blades. Every step is on the edge of life and death, every turn could decide the outcome.

Caesar awaited his moment. The final, most magnificent, and most powerful move of the Polish cavalry's swordsmanship.

He suddenly leaped into the air. Not forward, not backward, but straight upward. His astonishing jumping power propelled him nearly two meters into the air, where he swiftly unleashed three slashes. The blades flashed like silver lightning, tracing crisscrossing paths in the darkness.

But all three strikes were feints, with only one purpose: to leap over the opponent's head.

Caesar's body stretched out in the air like a hawk spreading its wings. He flew over the head of the black-clad swordsman, landing with his back to him.

Polish cavalry swordsmanship, the "over-saddle slash," was originally a flashy, mounted stunt where the rider would leap from the saddle onto the enemy rider's back and deliver a fatal blow. It was extremely difficult and risky. However, Caesar adapted it for ground combat; the three aerial slashes were feints, the real killing blow coming from a surprise attack from behind.

Since the opponent can't see Caesar now, he can't judge where the knife is coming from. Even if he turns around to swing the knife to defend, he will inevitably be in a disadvantageous backhand position, and the angle of his joints will severely limit his power.

A perfect killing move.

But the black-clad swordsman didn't turn around at all. His movements were chillingly simple: he flipped his long sword, slicing it across his shoulder and placing it diagonally behind his back, his left hand gripping the back of the blade. A standard, textbook defensive stance.

Chinese swordsmanship, "Su Qin carrying a sword".

The man, who had been using the fierce and ruthless Japanese swordsmanship, now used this ancient Chinese sword technique to counter the Polish cavalry's deadly attack. The two swords clashed again, sending up dazzling sparks, and the sharp friction sound almost pierced the eardrums.

"Su Qin carrying his sword" perfectly blocked "the saddle cut".

The split-second turn of events felt like a perfectly rehearsed sequence. The two men each circled the line between life and death, ultimately returning to their starting point, still evenly matched. The biker gang members watched in stunned silence, forgetting even to keep their guns level.

The knife-wielder was the first to withdraw his blade. Not by retreating, but by abruptly changing his target. He lunged at Lu Mingfei, who had just gotten up from the ground, like an arrow released from a bow. Before Lu Mingfei could react, he was grabbed by the collar and thrown like a sandbag towards the marble counter on the other side of the hall.

This time Caesar did not save him.

Because Caesar made an even more unexpected move, he kicked a heavy steel trash can towards the area where the biker gang was most concentrated. The trash can spun in the air, making a dull whistling sound, and the boys scattered in panic. Someone accidentally fired a shotgun, and the roar of the shotgun and the loud thud of the steel can hitting the ground erupted almost simultaneously.

In the chaos, Caesar and the swordsman moved at the same time.

They leaped from either side of the counter, one to the left and one to the right, like mirror images. Caesar's Dictator and the swordsman's black blade crossed in the air, but did not collide, for neither attacked the other.

The next second, the two landed on the counter simultaneously, trapping Lu Mingfei who had been thrown onto it. Caesar was on the left, the knife-wielder on the right, and the shadows of the three were elongated by the burning sports car behind them, projected onto the wall like eerie totems.

The hall suddenly fell silent, with only the crackling of the flames and the faint sound of police sirens in the distance.

Caesar's knife was three inches from Lu Mingfei's left carotid artery, while the other man's knife was two inches from Lu Mingfei's right temple. Neither of them posed a real threat to Lu Mingfei's life, but the chill of their blades made him stiff all over, and he even had to be careful when breathing.

“Chu Zihang,” Caesar suddenly spoke.

The black-clad swordsman remained silent for two seconds.

“Caesar,” he replied.

Both men sheathed their swords simultaneously. Their movements were fluid and natural, as if the life-or-death struggle they had just fought was merely a rehearsal.

Lu Mingfei slumped on the counter, panting heavily. His cheongsam was soaked with cold sweat and clung tightly to his body. He looked at Caesar on his left, then at Chu Zihang on his right, and finally managed to utter two words: "Brothers, I give up."