Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

Crow and Sakura exchanged a glance, both seeing shock in each other's eyes.

Highest priority? A silver-haired, green-eyed mage?

“Boss, this…” Sakura hesitated.

“Execute the order,” Yuan Zhisheng interrupted her, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Yes!"

Genjiro took one last look at the ruins of the Elysium, then turned and walked toward the Hummer.

The wound on my left shoulder is still throbbing.

But his doubts and vigilance were deeper than the wound itself.

Frilian...

Who exactly are you?

In this increasingly complex game of chess, what role do you play?

Yuan Zhisheng got into the car and closed his eyes.

The answer may be revealed soon.

Chapter 582 Frilian: Miss Sakurai, go to Kassel College

Pier 7 of Yokohama Port.

Rusty shipping containers are stacked into a steel maze, and massive gantry cranes silhouette silently against the night. This is not a tourist area where cruise ships dock, but a world of cargo ships and bulk carriers, a gray area where legal and illegal trade intertwine.

An inconspicuous black Toyota sedan silently slid into the depths of the dock and came to a stop in the shadow of a row of abandoned shipping containers.

The car door opened, and Frilian got out first, quickly scanning her surroundings. Her magical perception spread out like an invisible spider web; within a radius of 150 meters, apart from a few wild cats foraging for food and the faint snoring of the crew on watch on a cargo ship in the distance, there were no other signs of life.

Safety.

She opened the back door. Sakurai Kogure stepped out, dressed in simple dark blue overalls and a gray jacket. Her long hair was cut short and dyed chestnut brown, and her face was deliberately smeared with oil, making her look like an ordinary female dockworker.

"Put these on," Frillian said, handing her a pair of non-prescription glasses. The lenses were specially treated to alter the color and luster of her pupils to some extent.

Kogure Sakurai silently took the lenses and put them on. The eyes behind the lenses turned a slightly dull, dark brown.

"Where's the boat?" she asked in a low voice, her voice slightly hoarse. The fire at the Paradise Palace, the tension of the escape, and the exhaustion of the past two days of hiding had all left their mark on her.

“Up ahead, berth number three.” Frillie took a bulging canvas backpack from the car and handed it to Sakurai Kogure. “Inside are a change of clothes, compressed food, water, basic medicine, and your new identity documents.”

Sakurai Kogure took the backpack; it was quite heavy. She opened it and glanced at it. On top was a laminated ID card. The name was "Matsumoto Chinatsu," 24 years old, from Fukuoka Prefecture, and her occupation was "temporary worker at a seafood processing plant." The photo showed her now: short chestnut hair, wearing glasses, and with a blank expression.

The forgery was flawless.

"Thank you," Sakurai Kogure said, closing her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder.

"Let's go, we don't have much time."

The two walked quickly along the narrow passage between the containers, one after the other. Frillie walked ahead, her steps light and silent, like a gray shadow. Sakurai Kogure tried her best to keep up, her work boots making a soft pattering sound on the wet cement.

After walking for about five minutes, the faint roar of a diesel engine and the sound of seawater lapping against the hull could be heard ahead.

We've arrived at berth number three.

Anchored there was an old, medium-sized cargo ship, the "Pacific Pioneer." Its hull was heavily rusted, large patches of paint were peeling off, and most of the portholes were boarded up. It looked as if it might fall apart at any moment.

But Frillie knew that although the ship was old, its engine had been modified and it was quite fast, and that the captain and crew were professionals who specialized in transporting special cargo.

Beside the cargo ship, a short, stout man was smoking, glancing at his watch every now and then. He wore a dirty jacket, was bald, and had a scar on his face; he didn't look like a kind person.

Snakehead, nicknamed "Sea Rat".

Upon seeing Frillie and Sakurai Kogure appear, the sea rat's eyes lit up, and it stubbed out its cigarette and went to greet them.

"Her?" He looked Sakurai Kogure up and down, his gaze lingering on her face for a few seconds. She looked familiar, but he couldn't remember where he had seen her before.

“Her.” Frillian nodded, pulling a thick envelope from her jacket pocket. Instead of handing it over directly, she held it in her hand. “Money, ten times the amount. I need to make sure she gets to the West Coast of the United States safely, to the port of San Francisco. The contact will be waiting for her there.”

The sea shrew stared at the envelope, his Adam's apple bobbing. Ten times the price would be enough for him to make a fortune on this trip. But he also knew that paying such a high price meant equally huge risks.

"Who is this young lady?" he asked tentatively. "Could she be a police informant, or someone the underworld is looking for?"

Frillie looked into his eyes, and his emerald pupils gleamed faintly in the darkness.

"Who she is is not important," Frilian said calmly. "What's important is that you take the money and do the job. Deliver it safely, and you'll get double the final payment. If anything goes wrong along the way..."

She didn't continue speaking, but simply tossed the envelope up gently and caught it again.

The sea rat felt a chill run down its spine. The silver-haired woman before it looked slender, but for a moment, it felt as if it had been targeted by a dangerous wild beast.

"Understood, understood," Sea Rat nodded hurriedly, forcing a smile. "I, Sea Rat, have been in this business for twenty years, and I value my reputation above all else! Rest assured, this lady is absolutely safe on my ship! She'll be well taken care of, and handed over to the contact person untouched when we arrive!"

He reached for the envelope.

Frillie withdrew her hand.

“Actions speak louder than words,” she said, pulling a small GPS locator from another pocket. “Take this with you. It will transmit your location and vital signs data in real time. If the signal is interrupted for more than twelve hours…”

She didn't mention the consequences, but sweat was already dripping down the sea squirm's forehead.

"I understand, I understand! I absolutely won't take them off the ship! The signal will be clear!" he swore.

Frillie then handed him the envelope. The sea rat eagerly took it and quickly counted it under the dim lights of the dock. It was a thick stack of ten thousand yuan bills, all old bills with non-consecutive serial numbers, no markings, and no way to trace them.

His face lit up with a smile as he carefully put the money into his inner pocket.

“Well then, miss, please follow me.” The sea rat gestured to Sakurai Kogure. “There are special ‘guest rooms’ on the ship. They’re a bit simple, but they’re clean, have individual ventilation, and a small window with a view of the sea.”

“No need,” Sakurai Kogure interrupted his solicitousness. “I’ll just stay with the other ‘guests.’”

She pointed to an inconspicuous hatch in the middle of the cargo ship, where several huddled figures could be vaguely seen. They were all illegal immigrants from different countries, risking their lives for various reasons, stuffing themselves into this steel coffin, gambling on a bleak future.

The sea rat paused for a moment: "But the conditions there are poor, there are many people, and the smell is unpleasant."

"It's alright," Sakurai Kogure said calmly. "That's how it's arranged."

She turned to Frilian and bowed deeply.

"Thank you, Miss Frillian. I can never repay your life-saving kindness."

Frillie helped her up: "I'm just keeping my promise. Once you get to America, someone will meet you. Kassel College may not be perfect, but at least it will give you a new identity and a relatively stable life."

"And what about you?" Sakurai Kogure asked. "Aren't you going back to the academy?"

"I have other things to take care of," Frillie said, looking towards Tokyo Bay.

Sakurai Kogure remained silent for a few seconds.

"Please be careful," she whispered. "The Snake-Headed Eight Families won't let this go easily. Genjiro is a very persistent person."

“I know,” Frillian nodded. “Take care too. Remember, once you board the ship, forget the name Sakurai Kogure, forget Gokurakukan, forget everything about Japan. From today onward, you are Matsumoto Chinatsu, an ordinary factory worker who wants to make a living in America.”

"I see."

The sea slug was getting impatient, constantly checking his watch: "Um, it's almost time. If we don't leave soon, the patrol boat will be here."

Frillie glanced at Sakurai Kogure one last time and nodded.

"Go."

Sakurai Kogure bowed again, then turned and followed the sea rat toward the cargo ship. She walked quickly without looking back.

Frillie watched her slender figure disappear into the hatch, like a drop of water merging into the dark sea.

The cargo ship's diesel engines roared low as it began to untie its mooring lines. The thick ropes were retrieved by the sailors, and the ship slowly moved away from the dock.

Frillie stood in the shadows, watching the "Pacific Vanguard" sail into the harbor and disappear into the deeper night.

Chapter 583 Ronin of Kabukicho

Tokyo, Shinjuku District, Kabukicho.

The neon lights of the late night painted the streets with a hazy hue, while electronic music, the smell of alcohol, and the soft, seductive voices soliciting customers mingled together.

Amidst the hustle and bustle, a distinct rhythm emerged, a rhythmic clatter. It was the sound of wooden clogs striking the pavement, clear, steady, carrying an ancient melody, piercing through the noise of the modern street.

Pedestrians turned their heads to look.

In the middle of the street, a young man is strolling.

He wore a black kimono with red flowers, the front open to reveal his slender yet well-defined chest. He wore high-heeled paulownia wood clogs, and a long, red-scabbard sword was tucked diagonally at his waist. His long hair was casually tied back in a ponytail, with a few stray strands falling beside his cheeks. His face was delicately handsome, almost effeminate, and his skin was pale.

He walked very slowly, his gaze aimlessly sweeping over the signs, shop windows, and all sorts of passersby on the street, like a ronin who had traveled from the Edo period, stepping into this bizarre modern city for the first time, with a mixture of curiosity, detachment, and indifference hidden deep in his eyes.

"Wow! Is it cosplay? So cool!" A girl in a stylish short skirt grabbed her companion and exclaimed with shining eyes.

“Let me see. Is this look like Takasugi Shinsuke from Gintama? No, Shinsuke usually has bandages or an eye patch,” his companion said, scrutinizing him closely.

“I think he looks more like Kenshin Himura from Rurouni Kenshin! Look at that red sword!” another girl chimed in to join the discussion.

"Kenshin is less than 1.6 meters tall, and he has a cross-shaped scar, not a ponytail! If you ask me, he's like Hijikata Toshizo from the Shinsengumi series!" A bespectacled, student-looking boy next to him pushed up his glasses and offered his professional opinion.

“When did Hijikata-kun ever wear such a flashy kimono? And his demeanor is more like that of a nobleman who has fallen on hard times and become a ronin,” the girl in the short skirt retorted.

“All you young girls know is watching anime,” a middle-aged office worker wearing a trench coat, who looked like he had just finished get off work, said leisurely as he flicked the ash from his cigarette not far away. “This look, this aura, reminds me of Minamoto no Yoshitomo, played by Tamaki Hiroshi in the Taiga drama Taira no Kiyomori. That kind of elegant yet dangerous air about a fallen nobleman.”

"Uncle, there's a barrier between the two-dimensional and three-dimensional worlds! Don't barge in!" the girls joked, creating a relaxed atmosphere.

The young man overheard the comments, but his face showed no displeasure at being judged. He stopped beneath a cherry blossom tree in full bloom, a cultivated, out-of-season variety that burst into untimely splendor on a spring night. A night breeze blew, and pink and white petals fell like rain, a few clinging to his shoulders and the tips of his hair.

He stood there, looking up at the tree, so magnificent it was almost tragic, his eyes vacant, as if his soul had been ripped away, leaving only a delicate shell standing in this noisy world.

"Um, may I take a picture with you?" A girl with more courage finally mustered up her courage, ran forward, held the camera in both hands, bowed deeply, and her voice trembled slightly with nervousness.

The young man slowly lowered his head, his gaze falling on the girl's face, which was flushed with shyness. He did not answer immediately, but instead took a half step back, his right hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword at his waist, a standard, ancient samurai salute.

“Of course, it is my great honor,” he said, his voice clear and gentle, with a deliberately imitated classical tone. “I am the second son of the Minamoto family, who has been studying in Ueno and came to Edo. I happened to pass by this place tonight while admiring the cherry blossoms. It is my great honor to be favored by you, Miss. I hope you will take good care of me in the future.”

He bowed slightly in return, his movements fluid and natural, without the slightest affectation.

The onlookers were taken aback at first, then burst into good-natured applause and laughter. This was no longer a simple cosplay; it was an immersive performance! From clothing to demeanor, from tone of voice to word choice, it perfectly replicated the style of a young samurai from the Edo period.

The girl who asked for a photo was overjoyed, her cheeks flushing even more. She felt as if she had truly traveled back to the streets of Edo a hundred years ago and had unexpectedly encountered the dashing samurai who had captured her heart. She carefully stood next to the young man, maintaining a proper distance.

The young man obediently turned to the camera, a faint, polite smile on his face.

After the first successful photo opportunity, other girls followed suit, and even a few curious boys and the office worker uncle joined the group for photos. In no time, the area under the cherry blossom tree had transformed into a mini fan meeting.