Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

Sakurai Kogure smiled and turned to walk towards the top floor.

She walked slowly, the hem of her twelve-layered robe dragging across the fuel-stained ground, but she didn't care. After all, these magnificent garments would soon turn to ashes.

Flames were rising from the stairwell, not lit by the people on the mountaintop, but by Qinglan in the basement. The loyal servants were carrying out their final orders: to burn down all the secrets, all the evidence, and all the memories of the Paradise Pavilion.

Sakurai Kogure could picture the scene: Aoyama striding down the basement corridor, tossing matches into the small rooms. These rooms had once been places where dreams were realized, where politicians destroyed evidence, where businessmen conducted illegal transactions, and where priests indulged their desires. Some rooms, too, had floors forever stained with blood.

Paradise is located deep within Hell.

This was a satire designed by Genji. He never believed in true bliss; only death was eternal. So-called bliss was nothing more than desperately indulging in pleasure before death.

At this moment, Qinglan is using flames to completely purify these hellish places.

Sakurai Kogure went up to the top floor, her private residence and the best spot in Gokurakukan. From here, she had once overlooked the entire Tokyo Bay, watching cruise ships dot the sea like stars.

But now, all that can be seen outside the window is thick smoke and firelight.

She sat down by the window and took out a slender pipe from her sleeve—not a cigarette, but a traditional pipe filled with special tobacco. She lit it and took a deep drag.

The smoke swirled in his mouth, carrying a faint herbal flavor. This was the flavor that Genji liked; he said the tobacco had a calming effect.

calm.

Sakurai Kogure closed her eyes.

Five days ago, when the Demon Clan's stronghold in Osaka was uprooted overnight, she knew that the end of the world was near.

That was a textbook example of a blitzkrieg.

The gates of Genji Heavy Industries swung open, and black vans filed out, as the top executives of the Hebi-Hachi family mobilized in full force. At the same time they arrived in Osaka, seven yakuza gangs loyal to the Hebi-Hachi family launched a full-scale attack on eleven gangs under the banner of the Oni Clan.

Never before in history has there been such an efficient gang warfare.

Before the Demon Clan could even mount a resistance, their gangs were crushed one after another. Of the eleven gangs, seven defected on the spot, pledging allegiance to the Snake-Headed Eight Families. Three young leaders were brutally beaten to death with metal baseball bats; in full view of everyone, the Enforcement Bureau's agents smashed their skulls one by one with the bats in front of all the gang members. The last gang disbanded, and its members scattered like birds.

Overnight, Osaka changed hands.

It wasn't just Osaka. From Fukuoka in the south to Hokkaido in the north, gangs loyal to the Snake-Headed Eight Families mobilized and swept away the forces of the Demon Clan with overwhelming force.

Those demons who once thought they could rival the Snake Clan proved to be as fragile as paper castles in the face of true clan power.

Sakurai Kogure was at Gokurakukan entertaining an important guest, the president of a major bank, who wanted to launder a sum of illicit funds through the Oni Clan's channels. Midway through the conversation, Qinglan rushed in and whispered a report on the situation in Osaka in her ear.

The bank manager's expression froze instantly.

"Miss Sakura," he said, his voice trembling, "this...this won't affect our deal, will it?"

Sakurai Kogure smiled and poured him a full glass of wine: "Please rest assured, Mr. President. Although the Oni Clan has encountered some minor troubles, the Paradise Pavilion will always keep its doors open to distinguished guests like you."

Her smile was flawless, but she knew in her heart that the gates of the Paradise Pavilion would soon be closed forever.

After seeing the bank manager off, Sakurai Kogure stood alone at the window on the top floor, looking at the night view of Tokyo Bay.

Qinglan stood behind her and whispered, "Miss, should we arrange for an evacuation?"

"Evacuate?" Sakurai Kogure laughed. "Evacuate to where? Is there anywhere in all of Japan that the Demon Clan can hide?"

“We can go overseas. We also have bases in Europe and South America.”

"And then?" Sakurai Kogure interrupted him, "Live like a stray dog ​​for the rest of your life? Waiting for the Snake-Headed Eight Clan to hunt you down to the ends of the earth?"

Qinglan fell silent.

“Qinglan,” Sakurai Kogure turned around and looked at the servant who had been with her for many years, “Do you regret following someone like me who was destined to fail?”

Qinglan knelt on one knee, her pale golden right eye gleaming in the darkness: "Qinglan's life was saved by Miss. Wherever Miss goes, Qinglan will go. Even if it's hell, I will go with Miss."

Sakurai Kogure helped him up and said softly, "Then, accompany me on the last leg of my journey."

...

The vermilion window frame began to warp, and flames leaped up from downstairs, licking at the windowpanes.

Sakurai Kogure didn't move, she just continued smoking her pipe.

She remembered the story that Genji had told her many years ago, about the war of the dragons.

"The wars of the Dragon Clan are always lightning-fast and devastating." At that time, they were sitting by a hot spring in the mountains, and Genji looked at the starry sky with a distant gaze. "A battle spans three thousand miles, and a hundred thousand are killed in a fit of rage. They are not fighting for territory, not fighting for resources, not even fighting for hatred. They are just trying to prove that they are the strongest."

"And then what?" Sakurai Kogure asked.

“After proving himself, he sits alone on the throne, waiting for the next challenger.” Genji smiled, a smile containing a sorrow she couldn’t understand at the time. “The cycle continues, forever.”

Now Sakurai Kogure understands.

The Sheki-Hachi family's purge of the Oni Clan was a dragon-style war. It wasn't about territory or profit; it was about proving who truly ruled the world of Japanese hybrids, whose bloodline was purer, and whose will was stronger.

Therefore, they did not hesitate and left no room for maneuver.

Members of parliament were shocked by this covert war. Within days, hundreds had died and thousands were wounded—it was already on the scale of a small-scale conflict. They used various channels to order the Hebi-hachi family to cease hostilities and threatened to deploy the Self-Defense Forces to intervene.

However, the Snake Clan closed all communication channels and went their own way.

Because they knew that as long as the Ghost Clan was completely wiped out before Congress passed new anti-gang legislation, the war would be over. At that time, all the evidence would disappear with the Ghost Clan's destruction, all the dead would be defined as "gang warfare," and all the truth would be buried under the ruins.

This is blitzkrieg, the dragons' way of fighting.

Sakurai Kogure stubbed out her cigarette.

The flames outside the window grew even stronger, and the heat wave rushed in through the window, making the sleeves of my twelve-layered blouse feel hot.

She stood up and walked to a corner of the room. There was a clothes rack there, with a blood-red kimono hanging on it. It wasn't a twelve-layered kimono, but a simple yukata style, but the color was as red as blood, like a burning fire.

This was the first gift that Genji gave her.

That day he said, "Kogure, you look best in red, like a burning butterfly."

She blushed then, her heart pounding like a deer's. Looking back now, it was perhaps one of the happiest moments of her life.

Unfortunately, happy times are always short-lived.

Just like the lifespan of a butterfly.

Sakurai Kogure reached out and gently stroked the kimono.

The fabric has become fragile under high temperatures; a light touch with a fingertip will cause fine ash to fall.

She smiled and withdrew her hand.

"This is all I can accompany you on your journey. Please take good care of yourself on the road ahead," she whispered to the kimono, as if bidding farewell to someone she couldn't see.

The kimono fluttered in the hot wind, and the hem was licked by the rising flames, quickly catching fire.

It fluttered and twirled, like a real, burning butterfly.

Before turning to ashes, it completed the most beautiful dance of its life.

Sakurai Kogure watched quietly until the last ashes fell.

Then she turned and faced the window.

At the top of the mountain, Genji stood up.

He stubbed out his cigarette and tossed it aside. The tiny spark traced an arc across the night sky before plummeting into the sea of ​​fuel below.

Sakurai Kogure closed her eyes.

Waiting for the flames to embrace.

Waiting for final liberation.

Perhaps she will meet again in that world, the boy who carved the peach wood hairpin for her.

"My lady," Sakurai Kogure said softly, "Kogure will go ahead first."

Chapter 577 The Man Smoking on the Mountain Top

Genji sat on a rock soaked by the night wind, the cigarette between his fingers about to burn out, the embers flickering in the wind like a dying ember.

Below, the Elysium Palace was a burning ruin. The vermilion pavilion twisted and collapsed in the flames, and thick smoke and sparks shot into the night sky like a reverse meteor shower.

He suddenly remembered that night a few days ago.

He was sitting in a helicopter, looking down at the Sumeru pedestal, the massive offshore platform slowly sinking into the dark sea. White waves surged in from all directions, like the last breath of a dying whale, leaving huge whirlpools on the surface of the sea, which were then swallowed up by the night in an instant.

At that moment, Genji felt an immense sorrow filling the world.

It's not for myself, nor for anyone on the platform. It's for the things that have vanished, for the creations that once existed, carried life and dreams, and ultimately returned to nothingness.

Just like the Elysium Palace burning right now.

"Young Master," came the sound of footsteps behind him.

It was Sakura. She was wearing a black suit with a long trench coat and a pure white tie. Tonight, all the executive bureau officers wore white ties as a sign of mourning for the dead. Genji knew that the mourning was genuine, but his determination to carry out the mission was equally firm. Mourning and killing, in the Snake Clan, were two sides of the same coin.

"Report now," Genji said without turning around.

"The Pleasure Palace is now completely under our control. As per your orders, all unauthorized personnel have been released, and only the targets on the list have been detained," Sakura reported. "To date, seventeen high-ranking targets have been captured, three of whom resisted and were killed on the spot, and fourteen are in custody. The whereabouts of three others remain unknown."

She paused for a moment, then continued, “According to the patriarch’s prediction, once the Elysium is conquered, the Ghost Clan’s power will be completely eradicated. All the vassal gangs have already pledged allegiance to the main family. The Elysium is the Ghost Clan’s biggest source of cash; burning it down will leave the remaining forces with no chance to struggle.”

Yuan Zhisheng nodded.

Tachibana Masamune's plans were always terrifyingly precise. This adoptive father had spent ten years weaving the net, and now he was closing it in so fast that no one could react. It was like a daimyo from the Warring States period who, on his deathbed, entrusted his army, which he had trained for ten years, to his son, even writing the marching route in his pillow. The son only needed to follow the map to win praise for his wisdom and prowess.

However, Genjiro did not want this wisdom.

What he wanted was never to rule the Japanese underworld or to be above all violence.

What he wanted was actually very simple, so simple that it was almost impossible to achieve.

"What is the effect of a waiver of imprisonment?" he asked.

“Very good,” Sakura replied. “After the pardon was circulated among the yakuza yesterday, small gangs in various places have sprung up and declared their allegiance to the main family. From now on, there will only be one ruler in the Japanese yakuza.”

End all violence, with absolute violence.

How ironic, yet how effective.

Tachibana Masamune's prophecy is about to come true, and it will be fulfilled in the hands of Genjiro. A few days ago, when Tachibana Masamune announced his abdication and that Genjiro would succeed him as patriarch, the elders of the family felt it was too hasty. But in just a few days, as the Enforcement Bureau swept through the Oni Clan from south to north, Genjiro's prestige has become unshakeable.

Tachibana Masamune spent ten years sharpening his sword, and finally handed it to Genjiro, asking him to make the final cut.

They also handed him all the honors, all the sins, and all the weight.

...