Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

All sound, all movement, froze at that single shout. A deathly silence descended.

In the suffocating silence, Angers slowly, word by word, delivered his final verdict:

"In 1946, you were a complete 'chuunibyou' teenager."

"More than sixty years have passed, I never expected..."

"You've been repeating the second year of middle school."

As soon as he finished speaking, he slowly and unhurriedly began to roll up the sleeves of his white shirt.

The first thing to be revealed was the left wrist. There, the indigo and vermilion of the tattoo outlined a lifelike, ferocious, roaring tiger's head, its eyes wide open and fangs bared, as if it were about to break free from the skin's restraints and pounce to devour its prey.

Next, on the right wrist. The tattoo, in the same style, depicts a monstrous demon with a blue face, fangs, and wide-open, angry eyes, exuding both evil and majesty, inspiring awe.

This was clearly a tiger and yaksha tattoo, a symbol of extremely high status and power in the Japanese underworld. Its level of detail and imposing presence far surpassed the five-headed Naga tattoo that had been glimpsed on Yoshitaka Hasegawa's hand at the airport, a difference akin to that between a simple sketch and a masterpiece of ukiyo-e.

Who would have thought that the headmaster of Kassel College, a graduate of Trinity College, Cambridge, who has always presented himself as an old-fashioned English gentleman, would have a tattoo beneath his impeccably tailored suit and shirt, a tattoo of the most advanced Japanese yakuza style, symbolizing violence and power?

Angers cracked his wrists slightly, the joints making a soft "click" sound. He looked up at Inuyama He, who was trembling with extreme humiliation and anger, his eyes almost bursting with golden light. His gaze was cold and devoid of any warmth.

"It seems so."

"It's time to give you, the repeat student, a proper make-up course."

...

Genji Heavy Industries, Awakening Temple.

Yuan Zhisheng sat alone on the cold stone bench, the night wind carrying a dampness that constantly brushed against his slightly disheveled hair. The thick, brick-like "Hilbert Jean Angers Top Secret Files" lay open on his lap, the pages fluttering slightly in the wind.

He held a lit Seven Stars cigarette between his fingers, but forgot to inhale, letting the bluish-white ash accumulate and sway precariously in the night breeze. His gaze lingered on the photographs and texts in the files, his thoughts seemingly drawn into the long and lonely river of time of the man named Angers.

This man ages much more slowly than most people, even defying the laws of nature. Just like the mysterious and unpredictable power of time he possesses, "Time Zero," the effects of time itself on him are greatly weakened and slowed down by some force.

From the late 19th century to the first half of the 20th century, spanning nearly half a century, his youth was completely covered. The earliest photograph in the archives was taken in 1896 when he left Harrogate to study in London.

The boy in the photo was short and thin, with soft bangs that partially covered his forehead. His eyes looked like those of a kitten that had just left its nest, wary and uneasy about the unfamiliar world. He seemed somewhat lost as the sturdy bishop in a black robe put his arm around his shoulder.

Just a few years later, in photos from his Cambridge days, he had transformed completely. Dressed in a well-tailored academic gown, his shoes gleaming, the white socks contrasting sharply with the black uppers, he was impeccably dressed. Standing before the ancient Bridge of Sighs, posing for a photo with several young female students in elegant sun hats and flowing skirts, a confident and charming smile on his face, he was now a sophisticated gentleman at ease in social settings.

Later, in photos of him wearing a crisp white U.S. Navy officer's uniform, he stood tall and handsome, with his white military cap and riding crop, a symbol of command, casually tucked under his arm. His sharp eyes gazed into the distance, the posture of a conqueror.

In post-World War II footage, he transformed into a refined, elegant, and sophisticated old-fashioned European aristocrat. Dressed in bespoke pinstripe suits, with a white silk handkerchief folded into a triangle or a vibrant red rose tucked into his pocket, he moved among politicians, artists, and philanthropists, raising a champagne glass and engaging in lively conversation.

He was like a silent ghost, quietly traversing the torrent of time for over a century, playing countless roles and adapting to countless eras of change. He watched as those who had fought alongside him, shared drinks with him, and perhaps even admired him, grew old, died, and turned into dust in history. And he, without any attachments, walked alone towards an unknown end.

Yuan Zhisheng could hardly imagine how resilient a person must be to endure such a profound and deep-seated loneliness over such a long period of time. So lonely that even death itself loses its deterrent power, and might even become a kind of relief or anticipation.

Perhaps, the doctor was right after the Summer of Mourning incident. What kept Hilbert Jean Angers alive was never a fondness for life, a thirst for power, or a yearning for the future.

There is only one thing that can make a person choose to walk in the boundless darkness after witnessing the destruction of all that is beautiful.

revenge.

Chapter 591 Divine Speed ​​Sword Drawing

"Tap." A soft, almost inaudible sound came from somewhere.

The next moment—

Snapped!

At the same time, without warning, all the lights in the corridor went out completely. Absolute darkness, like the thickest ink, instantly swallowed everything!

It was in this brief interval between light and darkness, less than a single frame, that the moment occurred.

A blood-red, chilling rainbow, like the setting sun, suddenly burst forth from the darkness! It tore through the inky blackness, carrying a piercing shriek and unparalleled killing intent, heading straight for Angers' location!

Inuyama He's Iaijutsu is "Divine Speed ​​Draw"!

The sword is named "Onimaru." The moment it is drawn, its speed surpasses the limits of what the naked eye can perceive! There are no fancy moves, no variations in technique, only an ultimate, lightning-fast slash that concentrates all the strength, will, and even life itself into a single point! Before the blade even arrives, the incomparably sharp sword aura is already pressing in, as if even the air itself will be cleaved apart by this single strike!

The darkness did not affect this long-planned attack, which was at its peak. The remnant of the ten-meter-long table that had separated Inuyama He from Angers was now shrunken by the blade's light, as if even space itself had shrunk!

The Secret Technique of Iaido: Horizontal One-Character Form! Slow, Break, Quick!

There wasn't a breath of wind, but the delicate pink cherry blossom placed in the corner of the corridor, in a porcelain vase, silently withered and scattered its petals.

A flash of light.

"Swoosh, splash!!"

A ten-meter-long cypress wooden table was neatly cut in two. The white porcelain vase, the white wooden boat holding sashimi, the remaining cups, saucers, and chopsticks on the table… everything was mercilessly cleaved in two by that single stroke. Wood chips, porcelain shards, food scraps, and flower petals splattered everywhere.

With that strike, Inuyama He's figure leaped onto the table like a ghost. The blade mark extended rapidly beneath his feet, as if he were walking on the light of the blade.

The clear, ringing sound of the twin swords being drawn rang out almost simultaneously! Not one, but two. One from the left and one from the right, like the roar of dragons and the howl of tigers.

Angers did not choose to take the blow head-on, a blow powerful enough to split mountains and shatter rocks. Just before the blade reached his body, he kicked hard, slamming his foot into the overturned table in front of him.

"boom!"

The heavy cypress tabletop was sent flying by his kick, crashing into the onrushing Inuyama He. Angers, using the recoil from the kick, staggered backward as if weightless.

Inuyama He, who was standing on the tabletop, suddenly lost his footing. But his reaction was astonishingly fast; without hesitation, he leaped into the air. In mid-air, with nowhere to grab onto, he used his incredible core strength and masterful control of his swordsmanship to twist his body and swing his sword.

The second strike! A vertical slash descended, the blade flashing like a blood-red waterfall, aimed straight for Angers' vital point on the head.

This strike, taking advantage of the downward momentum and the full weight of Inuyama He's body, was even more powerful than the first strike.

As Angers retreated swiftly, his twin swords were already in his hands. Facing the unavoidable, thunderous vertical slash, he suddenly crossed his twin swords above his head to parry.

"clang!"

The deafening clang of metal against metal shook the entire corridor, sending dust swirling down. Sparks flew between the blades of the twin swords and Onimaru Kunitsuna's.

A tremendous force surged from the blade; although Angers blocked the blow, his body was thrown backward. Behind him was the open wooden lattice door of the Japanese-style room.

The paper door shattered from the impact of his back, and Angers' figure tumbled into the corridor outside.

Onimaru Kunitsuna's blood-red blade flashed like a shadow, never pausing. Inuyama He's toes had barely touched the ground before he charged forward again, the blade always less than half a foot away from Angers' throat! The two retreated and advanced, their speed so fast that they left blurry afterimages in the darkness.

To the average person, their movements completely defied the laws of physics. Angers, like an intangible ghost, retreated while constantly wielding his twin swords. The tips of the blades, at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye, repeatedly touched the spine or side edge of Onimaru Kunitsuna's sword, producing a series of rapid, crisp "clanging" sounds. Each light touch subtly altered Onimaru Kunitsuna's trajectory, deflecting the deadly intent. His movements were unpredictable and erratic, as if he were dancing a death dance.

Inuyama He was like a ferocious bear pouncing on its prey; with each step, the heavy wooden floor groaned under its strain, and the entire floor seemed to tremble slightly. The sword Onimaru Kunitsuna in his hand transformed into a blood-red curtain of light, mercilessly shattering everything in its path.

The slender bamboo groves lining the corridor, meant for decoration, were reduced to a shower of bamboo branches and leaves in the flash of the blades. Hanging scrolls were torn apart. Potted plants were chopped to pieces... The signs of destruction spread rapidly backward as the two figures moved.

"Swoosh!" The dull sound of a sharp blade piercing wood.

Inuyama Hezen's figure abruptly stopped. The blood-red blade of Onimaru Kunitsuna was completely embedded in the hard wooden floor at the end of the corridor, right down to the hilt. He remained in the downward slashing posture, kneeling on one knee, slightly panting.

Scattered bamboo leaves gently landed on his shoulders and hair.

He gripped the knife handle with his other hand and flicked it gently to the upper right, a smooth and elegant movement, like shaking water off an umbrella.

The finishing move of the Iaido sword technique – Blood Shake. It means shaking off the blood stained on the blade after slaying a powerful enemy.

A drop of bright red, scalding blood flew off the smooth, mirror-like blade of Onimaru Kunitsuna's sword, tracing a brief arc before landing precisely on Kotono's snow-white calf, who had just chased after him from the tatami room and was kneeling not far away.

Dazzlingly white, blindingly red. Like a poignant red plum blossom blooming on the snow.

Kotono trembled slightly, but she bit her lower lip tightly and made no sound.

"Crack."

Onimaru Kunitsuna slowly returned to his sheath, emitting a soft hum. This Iaijutsu, which had been accumulating power for a long time and was now being used to its fullest potential, had been practiced by Inuyama He countless times in his mind and in the deserted dojo. But never before had he pushed the speed, power, timing, and will to their peak as he had tonight, making it flow smoothly and exhilaratingly.

When someone is so eager to defeat another person or prove themselves, they often unleash potential beyond their limits.

But there was little smugness on his face. He knew that although the strike was sharp, it might not be fatal to Angers. That man... could not possibly be defeated so easily.

The goddaughters, having recovered from their extreme shock and fear, rushed out of the shattered Japanese-style room and crowded around Inuyama He, their faces filled with worry and awe.

Inuyama He, gripping the hilt of his sword, slowly straightened up, his gaze sharp as lightning as he swept forward. Angers must have taken advantage of the moment when the bamboo leaves were fluttering and his vision was obstructed to leap over the railing and jump down to the ground.

Want to escape? Not so easy! Tonight, Tamamo-no-Mae will be your battleground!

Inuyama He strode forward, walked to the edge of the railing, and looked down.

In the center of the dance floor, the crystal glass floor reflected faint, hazy colored light filtering in from other floors. Angers was indeed standing there. He had put his suit jacket back on and even retied his tie. Apart from a few strands of silver hair on his forehead that were slightly disheveled from the vigorous activity, he looked quite relaxed.

Around him, the golden dancers who had been dancing downstairs but had retreated to the wall slowly moved, forming a circle. They reached under their ornate kimono skirts, where there was nothing. When they raised their hands again, each held a gleaming short blade.

“Women really can only hide their knives in that place,” Angers remarked with interest, seemingly unconcerned about the tightening encirclement around him. His gaze swept admiringly over the dancers’ skin, which was smeared with gold powder and shimmered with an eerie glow in the dim light.

Meanwhile, on the second-floor stage, the courtesans dressed in elegant kimonos drew long swords hidden behind the high collars of their garments. These were long swords modeled after the famous sword Kikuichimonji, with slender blades and edges that gleamed with a cold, autumn-water-like light.

These long swords were concealed close to their backs, with the hilts at their necks and the tips extending below their hips, which explained their previously dignified and upright posture. They descended slowly along the vermilion staircases on either side, spreading out silently to form a three-dimensional, even more tightly packed encirclement with the dancers on the first floor.

The blades flashed like a forest, a chilling aura filled the air. The sensual paradise of moments before had instantly transformed into a deadly wasteland teeming with murderous intent.

Chapter 592 Ah He, you're not up to par.

Looking down at Angers, who was being pointed at by numerous sharp blades, Inuyama He felt a complex mix of pleasure and rage welling up inside him. He shouted loudly, in a deliberately drawn-out, mocking tone, "Headmaster! Do you need a band-aid? Or some of the strongest liquor to relieve the pain? Like back then?!"

This statement has a source.

Many years ago, after a similar scene, Angers said something similar to the young and disheveled Inuyama He: "He, do you need some ointment? Or some liquor to relieve the pain? You look really ugly when you cry, like a prostitute being bullied by a customer. Oh, I almost forgot, you were a pimp, no wonder you're crying like this."

This is one of the most humiliating marks deep in Inuyama He's memory. Tonight, he finally has the chance to return this humiliation intact!

He had never felt so exhilarated! But along with it, his face was contorted even more violently by hatred and anger, and the deep "川" character line between his brows looked as if it had been carved by a knife and axe, becoming increasingly heavy and ferocious.

However, the instant he finished speaking, a very subtle pain, as if pierced by the sharpest ice needle, suddenly came from the center of his brow.

Inuyama He's voice stopped abruptly. He raised his hand, wanting to touch the source of the pain.

A full, warm drop of blood, still warm from his body, fell straight down from the almost invisible fine line between his eyebrows.

Downstairs, in the center of the dance floor, Angers casually waved his right hand. The white-sheathed longsword in his hand, named "Nagasomi Kotetsu," traced an unpredictable arc in the air, like the horns of a gazelle.

"despair."

A drop of blood fell precisely to the gleaming tip of the "Nagasone Kotetsu" blade, resting steadily on it like a ruby ​​set in silver.

Angers slowly raised the tip of the knife to his lips and gently blew on it. The blood droplet burst open, turning into a finer mist that dissipated into the air.

Only then did Inuyama He's fingers touch his brow. A wet, warm, sticky sensation came from his fingertips.

He lowered his hand and looked down. At his fingertips, a glaring crimson hue shone. In the center of his brow, a thin, straight knife wound had silently split open, and a drop of blood was slowly, meandering down his nose.

The excruciating pain finally and clearly reached his nerves.