Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

However, the praise in my heart had not yet been put into words—

"Bang!" A muffled sound.

Chu Zihang's figure flew backward as if he had been hit by the side of a speeding truck.

No, he wasn't sent flying backward; he was forcefully thrown back by an overwhelming and domineering force! He staggered, his feet stomping frantically on the ground, leaving two deep gashes, before he could barely regain his footing. The long sword in his hand vibrated violently, his hand was split open, and blood flowed down the hilt, making it almost impossible to hold.

The combo was abruptly interrupted!

Chapter 666 Imperial Majesty (Part 2)

In the almost negligible gap between Chu Zihang's two strikes, Yuan Zhisheng, who had been on the defensive, stopped retreating and instead took a step forward, shrinking his body and lowering his shoulders. Using his shoulder as a hammer, he slammed into Chu Zihang's chest, which was slightly leaning forward and with his center slightly open due to the full force of his strike.

Yagyu Shinkage-ryu - Mutodori - Second Style!

The essence of this move lies in close-quarters control. If the wrist holding the knife is grabbed, the weapon will be disarmed instantly, and the opponent will be at a disadvantage. Chu Zihang's reaction was incredibly fast. The moment he sensed the impact, he decisively abandoned part of the slashing force. Relying on the astonishing power enhanced by his Bloodlust, his free left hand, with its five fingers like hooks, swiftly grabbed at Yuan Zhisheng's charging wrist, using the deadly move of the grappling technique, Wrist Entanglement! Usually, this grab is enough to dislocate or even fracture the wrist bone on the spot.

However, what he grabbed was an arm capable of smashing a heavy bronze door with bare hands.

"Crack!"

A muffled thud came from Yuan Zhisheng's wrist. It wasn't the sound of bones cracking, but rather the strange sound of the wrist's bone structure becoming denser and harder under immense pressure. Chu Zihang felt as if he wasn't holding a human wrist, but a steel pillar reinforced with an alloy, completely unshakeable.

The Emperor's skeleton is completely different from that of humans. Like high-ranking dragons, Genjiro is born with a greater number of bones, which can fit together tightly in a way that defies common sense when needed, forming a whole with a strength that increases exponentially.

The second move of the sword-fighting technique was only half completed. Genji failed to disarm Chu Zihang, but he changed his move with lightning speed. The force of the blow to Chu Zihang's shoulder was not yet exhausted, and he swung his arm in a swift and powerful sweep, which landed solidly on Chu Zihang's chest.

"puff!"

Chu Zihang groaned, his face deathly pale, a mouthful of blood rising in his throat, which he forced down. Had he not been in a state of surging blood, greatly enhancing his physical strength, this attack would have been enough to cause extensive fractures in his chest and ruptured internal organs.

Even so, he clearly experienced the terrifying feeling that Caesar had just described as "his heart being directly hammered by a battering ram." In an instant, it felt as if his soul was about to be shaken out of his body, and his vision went black.

The last vestige of optimism was extinguished like a candle flickering in the wind.

Chu Zihang and Caesar stood back to back, forming the most basic defensive formation. Sweat poured out like a flood from every pore, soaking through their combat uniforms and flowing down the lining of their trench coats, dripping heavily onto the ground with a soft "plop" sound in the silence.

So this is what the Emperor is like. Even with top-tier bloodlines like Caesar and Chu Zihang, who were rated A-level at Kassel College, they had to keep every nerve taut to the limit when fighting him, like a fully drawn bowstring. Any slight relaxation, misjudgment, or lack of strength would lead to the same outcome—

dead!

In the suffocating silence, only the heavy breathing of the three people and the sound of sweat dripping down could be heard.

Then, with a soft "snap".

A tiny orange-red light shone in the darkness.

Genji retreated several meters away, leaning against the massive shrine. He slowly took out a box of Gentle Seven Stars cigarettes from his inner pocket, pulled one out, put it in his mouth, and lit it with a cheap plastic lighter. He took a deep drag, then slowly exhaled, the bluish-white smoke rising in the dim light, blurring his face.

He fought two opponents alone, engaging in a fierce battle, yet he appeared far more composed than Caesar and Chu Zihang, who were panting and drenched in sweat. His Spider Cutter hung by his side, the tip lightly touching the ground, as if he were merely taking a short rest after exercise, rather than being on the front lines of a life-or-death struggle.

As he seemingly casually rotated his wrist and moved his neck, a "crackling" sound, like popping beans, echoed from his wrist all the way through his shoulders, neck, spine, waist, hips, and finally to his ankles.

The body, more akin to that of dragons, with its more extensive skeleton and unique muscle and tendon structure, underwent a self-adjustment that defied human imagination amidst these subtle sounds. The gaps between the bones disappeared, and the inhumanly strong muscles flowed and redistributed beneath the skin like mercury.

He has completely and naturally surpassed ordinary humans and even the vast majority of hybrids. People like Akira Sakurai or Kogure Sakurai, who did not hesitate to damage their bodies and distort their minds, forcibly moved closer to dragons in order to seize greater power, but the goal they desperately reached could not even be compared with Genjiro in his normal state.

This is the emperor's talent and privilege; Yuan Zhisheng was born standing at the mountain peak!

On the other side, Chu Zihang quietly adjusted his state again. He forcefully raised the level of his Bloodlust from level two to level three without hesitation; this was the limit he could currently control relatively stably. He had once stepped into the level four Bloodlust realm, during a desperate battle against the Dragon King Fenrir deep inside the Beijing subway.

After his fourth episode of bloodlust, he was no different from Akira Sakurai, who had been injected with the Molotov cocktail and transformed into a monster. Both would become beasts driven solely by their bloodlust, devoid of any rationality.

Caesar's berserk level remained at level one. He closed his eyes tightly, veins bulging on his forehead, concentrating all his attention on the Kamaitachi, trying to catch even the slightest flaw in its near-perfect concealment. In this state, his hearing was more acute than his sight.

Just then, the few ever-burning candles in front of the shrine that had survived the tremors and were flickering were swayed by a gentle breeze.

The flickering, dim yellow light illuminated the faces of the three people.

It also illuminated the ridiculous disguises on Caesar and Chu Zihang's heads: black stocking hoods. This made them look exactly like two clumsy thieves preparing to rob a convenience store, or third-rate villains from a comic book who didn't even dare to show their faces.

But this rudimentary disguise was still necessary before his identity was fully exposed. Caesar thoughtfully wrapped the Desert Eagle's distinctive silver barrel with black matte stickers and carefully covered the Gattuso family's Death Angel emblem on the ivory grip with tape. The longsword in Chu Zihang's hand was specially provided by the equipment department; its most distinctive feature was that it had no distinguishing features whatsoever. Its shape was extremely ordinary, as if it were just a polished steel bar, its origin difficult to trace.

The group of eccentric lunatics in the Equipment Department often have aesthetic tastes that tend to go to two extremes: either extremely simple and practical, taking a cold and dangerous pure military approach, or extremely bizarre and exaggerated, full of anime-style morbid humor.

They had enthusiastically recommended a one-piece circular shield to Caesar, painted with classic red and blue stripes. The weapon designer praised its perfect performance and unique design, claiming that if Caesar held this shield in one hand and a Desert Eagle in the other, his chances of being hit would be reduced by 70%.

At that moment, Caesar refused with a twitching at the corner of his mouth: "Forget it, everyone, don't think I don't read comics. The person you're talking about is called Captain America."

Sweat streamed down the lining of the Caesar coat, forming small rivulets that dripped onto the ground.

Genjiro smoked a cigarette, coldly observing the two intruders before him—wearing ridiculous hoods and exuding an astonishing fighting spirit and dangerous aura—through the wisps of smoke. His gaze was calm and unwavering, yet held a condescending scrutiny, as if he were looking at two exceptionally strong antelopes who had strayed into a tiger's territory.

An oppressive silence lasted for several seconds.

Then, Genji spoke up: "You are still alive."

He paused, the glow of the cigarette flickering in his eyes.

"That's good."

Chapter 667 Your Disguise Is Terrible

Caesar and Chu Zihang exchanged a quick glance, concealed by their stockings and hoods. In that instant their eyes met, they both understood each other's meaning: remain silent, do not respond.

Did Genjiro have already identified them with undeniable certainty through the details, or was he bluffing and setting a verbal trap to test them? In the current extremely tense and uncertain standoff, any hasty response could become a fatal flaw, leading to his own demise.

The best course of action is to remain silent, observe, and wait for the other party's next move.

"Your disguise," Genjiro's voice flowed slowly through the dim light and cigarette smoke, "is laughably bad. Putting aside other details, what truly exposes you is the smell of that Cohiba Canoz cigar. It's a limited edition premium from the Cohiba brand, with strict requirements on aging time and tobacco origin, resulting in a unique and rich aroma."

He paused, his gaze piercing through the fabric of the stockings and landing directly on Caesar's face. "Even in a country where men generally smoke mild cigarettes, it's rather conspicuous to occasionally see a real man smoking such a strong cigar."

He exhaled a smoke ring and said the name: "We meet again, Caesar Gattuso."

A brief silence.

Then, with a soft "plop," the stockings were torn.

After tearing the stockings, Caesar revealed a bright, slightly self-deprecating smile.

“Got it.” He shrugged, maintaining his composure even in dire straits. “So that’s where the problem lies. In this place where masculinity is generally scarce and people prefer mild Seven Stars or menthol capsules, a tough guy like me who insists on cigars and whiskey stands out like a firefly in the night.”

He smiled, a hint of annoyance flashing deep in his eyes. He hadn't expected to stumble over such a seemingly insignificant detail. After settling his weekly accounts and receiving his share of the profits, Takamagahara, now flush with cash, immediately asked a familiar waiter to get him some top-quality Macallan whisky and his favorite Cohiba cigars.

When it comes to enjoying life, Cesare Gattuso never compromised himself, but he never imagined that this extravagant habit would become a symbol of his status at this moment.

“Chu Zihang.” Yuan Zhisheng looked to the other side. Although there was no direct evidence pointing to Chu Zihang, since Caesar was here, it was a perfectly reasonable inference that his inseparable rival was also present.

Chu Zihang didn't speak, but silently raised his hand and tore off the stocking hood covering his face, revealing a face with no expression.

No further explanation is needed; their identities have already been revealed.

“So,” Genjiro finished his cigarette, tossed the butt to the ground, and slowly extinguished it with the tip of his gleaming leather shoe. He gripped the Spider Cutter tightly again, the blade gleaming dangerously in the dim light. “Now, do you choose to surrender and come with me quietly, or wait for me to completely crush you and drag you out like dead dogs?”

He took a step forward, and an invisible sense of oppression spread like a tide. "Let me make it clear beforehand that if you choose the latter, I cannot guarantee your safety 100% during the operation."

"Guarantee our safety?" Caesar asked, as if he had heard an utterly absurd joke. "Gen-kun, you've never guaranteed anything like that, have you? Just last week, I swam like a drowning dog from the depths of the Japan Trench. If that desperate struggle in extreme cold, high pressure, and darkness counts as swimming, then you were supposed to be our underwater backup and last resort. But what happened? You threw the three of us, along with that piece of junk, into the abyss eight thousand meters below the surface to fend for ourselves."

His voice gradually hardened, filled with suppressed anger. "Now, we've 'accidentally' seen those murals that clearly shouldn't be seen by outsiders. Right now, you're probably not thinking about inviting us for tea, but rather how to quietly 'dispose' of us, aren't you? For example, by casting us into specially made cement pillars and then sinking us into the trench where you just abandoned us, ending it all?"

As he spoke, his left hand drew a second Desert Eagle, also disguised and jet black, from a holster inside his trench coat. With both guns in hand, the muzzles were steadily pointed at the closing in Genji.

“I don’t care if you’re an emperor or some other monster. In my creed, mistakes must always have consequences. Our Gattuso family’s ancient precepts say that if someone in this world can make mistakes at will without any punishment, then… who will believe in the existence of God, or in the existence of justice and order in the world? So—” He took a deep breath, his voice rising, “Hallelujah!”

As soon as the words were spoken, the tense atmosphere reached its peak, like a bowstring stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any moment.

Genji was silent for a few seconds. The dim candlelight cast flickering shadows on his face, obscuring his exact expression. Then, he spoke slowly, each word seeming to be squeezed from the depths of his chest: "Yes. I have made many mistakes. Some mistakes have even kept me awake countless nights. I have indeed thought that perhaps one day I will be punished for the sins I have committed."

He raised his head, his gaze meeting Caesar's gun barrel. "But, unfortunately, at least for now, at this moment, I have to continue making mistakes."

He paused, organized his thoughts, and made a final confirmation. "As for beliefs, stances, or the responsibilities we each bear, these things are no longer necessary or possible to persuade each other between us."

Genjiro slowly assumed an offensive stance, the tip of his Spider Cutter slightly drooping, pointing towards the ground—a sign that the ancient swordsmanship was about to unleash a fatal blow. "When language has completely failed and the foundation of trust has long since vanished, all that remains is the last and most primitive method."

Negotiations, or any form of communication, could have completely collapsed in those few brief words. The betrayal in the deep sea, the standoff before the mural, had already shattered the already meager trust between them. Neither would believe a single word or promise from the other.

Genji began to slowly approach. He flipped his wrist, the blade of the Spider Cutter shifting angles in the candlelight with each subtle movement, reflecting an unpredictable, icy glint, like a viper flicking its tongue, poised to strike. He silently compressed the safe distance between them. Once the critical point was crossed, the seemingly slow approach would instantly transform into a devastating attack.

Victory or defeat may truly be decided in the blink of an eye.

Chapter 668 Please Check Your Package

At the same time, on the 14th floor, in the call center.

The door of the freight elevator was painstakingly pried open with a piece of iron that had been pried off, and then forcefully torn open by a pair of trembling hands.

Like a fish out of water, Lu Mingfei staggered and swayed as he climbed out of the sedan chair, collapsing onto the cold floor with a thud, panting heavily, his face deathly pale. Immediately afterward, Frilian came out and stood beside Lu Mingfei.

"I'm...I'm still alive." Lu Mingfei gasped for breath, his heart still pounding. "Frilian, are you alright?"

"It's alright. The priority now is to find an exit and get out of here."

What he had just experienced was a stroke of luck amidst misfortune, or rather, a small act of mercy bestowed upon him by Lady Luck after she had cruelly tormented him. After the elevator completely lost control, it plummeted unimpeded towards the abyss. The extreme weightlessness and the whistling wind in his ears made Lu Mingfei truly believe that he was about to be taken to hell.

However, just as his soul was about to leave his body, the completely malfunctioning braking system mysteriously resumed functioning, perhaps due to the activation of the emergency mechanism.

The piercing metallic screeching almost punctured his eardrums, and the intense feeling of heaviness slammed him against the stack of file boxes behind him like a pancake, almost squeezing his internal organs out of his mouth.

When the elevator finally came to a rather uneven stop with a "clunk," Lu Mingfei, who had survived the ordeal, felt his first instinct was to praise the unknown creator, or perhaps the spirit beside him.

But he then gave up praising the Creator, having no religious faith whatsoever in his life, spouting nonsense, and committing countless verbal sins. It seems that neither God nor Buddha would bother to pity such a lazy fellow.

Frillie is still the most reliable.

After catching his breath, Lu Mingfei suppressed his nausea and dizziness, violently broke off a relatively sturdy L-shaped iron bar from a broken file box next to him, and used it as a lever to painstakingly pry open the severely deformed elevator door little by little.

Fortunately, the elevator happened to stop at a level floor, with the car floor almost flush with the outside floor. Lu Mingfei struggled to climb out and looked around. This was the 14th floor—the call center he had visited before!

He suggested infiltrating this place first because, in his memory, this floor didn't have those menacing, sharp-eyed executive bureau officers in black. Instead, it was full of young, beautiful female operators in uniform, wearing cute hair accessories and bows—a paradise made up of colored contact lenses, bows, uniforms, and high heels.

His idea at the time was quite despicable: to let the Snake Clan also taste the bitterness of their own beautiful girls being overthrown.

However, ideals are often grand, while reality is often harsh and unpleasant.

Where was the orderly paradise before them? It was clearly a chaotic hell of madwomen! The panic of the earthquake had completely shattered the girls' psychological defenses. They screamed in terror, running around like headless flies, their delicate high heels flying everywhere, some even broken underfoot.

Even more surprisingly, several girls who usually appeared quiet and gentle transformed into fierce women. They grabbed fire axes, their eyes red, and began hacking at the tightly closed metal doors of the fire escape, creating loud "bang! bang!" sounds and sending sparks flying.

“It’s because they lost control of their emotions,” Frillian observed and said in a low voice. “The exit was forcibly locked, and they were all panicked.”

Lu Mingfei then suddenly remembered that the earthquake was not over. Moreover, judging from the situation, the emergency exits on the floor were locked!