Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

He is the Emperor. Born above all beings, the sole being at the very top of the bloodline hierarchy. In his eyes, the vast majority of hybrids in this world are merely human, with only a very few worthy of being called rivals. Even a demon like Sakurai Akira, who has completely transformed into a dragon and descended into madness and rampage, is nothing more than dangerous prey to him.

No matter how sharp the prey's fangs are, they can never pierce the hunter's throat.

But Chu Zihang and Caesar were not prey; they were hunters, hunters just like him.

The clash that had lasted less than ten seconds, yet felt like it spanned countless cycles of life and death, left a mark on Genji's heart far deeper than any sword wound. On the surface, he had a slight advantage. After all, he had wounded Caesar, while his own wound was merely a tear in his sleeve. But he knew perfectly well that under that storm of combined attacks, he could only defend the entire time.

It can only defend.

His reverse-flowing blade technique, with each strike accumulating more than twice the usual power, yet the two blades, so different in style and unpredictable in trajectory, clung to his edge like leeches. Chu Zihang's continuous slashes landed on the same spot with each Spider Cut, that monotonous, stubborn, and unreasonable violence pushing his sword to the limit of metal fatigue. Caesar's Inch-Hand Cavalry Slash, on the other hand, was a gamble with his life each time, the blade of the hunting knife almost grazing his wrist, bringing wave after wave of chill.

The three swords clashed, and the sparks that flew turned his vision orange-red.

Genji knew that to break the two's combined attack, he had to use forbidden sword techniques known as forbidden moves, like the "Tenpyō Ichimonji" that had wounded Caesar.

However, the price of forbidding one's actions is often more than just the blood of the enemy.

How much time does he have left?

He glanced at his watch.

three minutes.

In three minutes, Tachibana Masamune will lift the building's lockdown. At that moment, thousands of ordinary employees will surge towards the exits, and Caesar and Chu Zihang will blend into the crowd like two drops of water joining the ocean. Capturing them then will be virtually impossible.

We must...faster.

We must be even more ruthless.

We must... leave no room for maneuver.

Genji spoke.

"I'm glad to see you all still alive." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the bloodstains on Caesar's chest, over the gash on Chu Zihang's hand where he had gripped the knife, and over the dark red stains spreading across his own sleeve. "This is my honest opinion. The Serpent Clan owes you all a great deal. If we hadn't met under these circumstances, perhaps we could have become friends."

He didn't continue.

Perhaps, even if we can't be friends, it's better than being at each other's throats like this.

Chapter 673 Apology

“Even if we can’t become friends, it’s better than becoming enemies now,” Genji said, rephrasing his statement. Then, he lowered his head and said softly, as if sighing, “I’m sorry.”

"You Japanese people always say 'sorry' too often and too late."

Caesar's voice contained neither anger nor sarcasm.

"If it's useless, say less in the future."

He took a deep breath and gripped the knife even tighter.

"In this war you started, many people who know nothing, have done nothing wrong, and just happen to have a trace of this bloodline will die. As the emperor high above, you won't even hear their screams."

Caesar paused.

"Damn it. I thought there was only one scoundrel family in the world, the Gattuso family. I never imagined that there were eight scoundrel families in Japan. And each one of them is more deserving of death than my old stubborn family members."

Yuan Zhisheng was stunned.

For the first time, a tiny, almost imperceptible crack appeared on his icy, indifferent face.

It wasn't anger, humiliation, or murderous intent after being offended.

It's exhaustion.

“Yes,” he said softly, as if murmuring to himself, “It’s always too late to say sorry. So why say it at all?”

Yuan Zhisheng did not wait for an answer.

He slowly raised the Spider Cutter overhead, blade pointing upwards, while simultaneously lowering himself into a horse stance, shifting his weight into his hips. This was the first time tonight he had truly assumed a complete sword stance. Not a defense, but an attack.

He finally got serious.

Caesar and Chu Zihang exchanged a quick glance.

Chu Zihang shook his head slightly. He wasn't joking. His swordsmanship did indeed come from the Kendo class at the Children's Palace, 36 lessons, 3600 yuan tuition. His graduation souvenir was a Star Wars Jedi lightsaber, with two AA batteries in the plastic hilt. Pressing a red button would light up the blade and play John Williams' famous theme song. He had never studied any of the intricacies of Japanese swordsmanship, and he couldn't understand at all which school or what kind of killing intent Genji's current starting stance came from.

In fact, even if he had studied at the most authentic traditional kendo dojo for ten years, he might not have been able to understand it.

Because the education that Genji received was something that the vast majority of people in this era, including the vast majority of kendo practitioners, could never reach.

He has learned all the sword techniques that exist in Japan.

This is not a casual bamboo sword sparring match in a physical education class, nor is it a mere practice of the "form" during a ranking assessment. Rather, it is the true, ingrained memory of blood and bone—the ancient killing sword.

After the Meiji Restoration, swordsmanship, like tea ceremony and flower arrangement, was incorporated into the category of "traditional culture," polished, and displayed in glass cases for people to admire. Bamboo swords were invented, and students at kendo dojos would practice on each other while wearing protective gear, celebrating when they won and bowing when they lost. For many trainees, the only time they ever held a real sword until graduation was as a prop for a group photo in front of the dojo while wearing kendo uniforms.

However, before the Meiji Restoration, the sword was a samurai's life.

It's not a rhetorical device; it's "life" in its literal sense.

In that bloody era, the samurai raised by noble families were always ready to step onto the battlefield and offer their heads to their lords; swordsmen who set up schools were always waiting for some unknown challenger to come and challenge them, and the outcome of a single battle determined their lifelong honor and disgrace; ronin, with the hungry and cold eyes of wolves, roamed the streets, ready to draw their swords at the slightest provocation. It was an age of killers.

A samurai's sword is not merely an ornament, but a symbol of power—the power to kill, unbound by law or moral condemnation. Human life is as cheap as toilet paper, as fleeting as cherry blossoms falling in a day.

It was in those times that the most sinister, tragic, and ruthless sword techniques were honed. They were nothing like the elegant and refined Japanese swordsmanship of today. Things like "Zanshin" and "Ki-ken-tai unification" were merely leisurely pursuits for those who had enough to eat in a peaceful and prosperous era when faced with the ancient style of killing swords.

The sole purpose of a killing sword is to kill its opponent. To achieve this, a samurai can be as ferocious as a wolf, as cowardly as a rat, and even as inhuman as a demon.

This is the so-called Ancient Stream Killing Sword.

At this moment, Genjiro's hunched posture as he walked around the two of them, the slight trembling of his blade like a viper flicking its tongue, the subtle whistling of his breath—

Isn't it just like a demon about to pounce on and devour people?

Chu Zihang and Caesar both felt an unusual chill.

It wasn't a change in external temperature, but a physiological fear rising from the depths of their bones. Before Yuan Zhisheng's blade was even drawn, the condensed killing intent on it had already pierced through their chests, creating countless invisible, transparent holes in their hearts.

They were "frozen".

It wasn't the kind of freezing that made you unable to move, but rather a forced slowing down of thought, a slower physical reaction, and a need for many times more willpower than usual to take each breath.

This is the suppression of murderous intent.

It is the absolute, genetically-based pressure exerted by the predator on its prey.

"Step back!"

Chu Zihang's roar was like a thunderclap.

Even he himself didn't know where the roar came from. He couldn't understand Genji's sword stance, didn't know which school or style the slow, meandering footwork came from, and couldn't guess from which angle the next strike would come. But he had used Japanese swords for so many years, even the "knock-off" ones from the children's kendo class, that his body had memorized things that couldn't be expressed in words.

That was an intuition about danger.

He "smelled" it.

I could smell the bloody stench that spanned hundreds of years, contained in every gesture of Genjiro's.

If the stench of blood permeating the mural hall was as strong as that of a slaughterhouse, then the aura emanating from Genjiro's sword was that of the deepest hell.

This roar was like the first ray of light tearing through the darkness.

It awakened Caesar's stiff body, awakened Chu Zihang's almost stopped breathing, and also awakened Yuan Zhisheng's murderous intent.

Chu Zihang's loud shout was a sign of his morale collapsing.

This was the opportunity that Genji had been waiting for all night.

Heart-Shaped Blade Style: Four Chapters and Eight Phases!

As he exhaled, the wooden floor beneath Yuan Zhisheng's feet shattered with a deafening crash!

His body transformed into a blurry, imperceptible shadow, not advancing in a straight line, but rather following a strange zigzag path. The Spider Cutter was held at his chest, the tip slightly raised, the blade at a thirty-degree angle to the ground. This single preparatory movement concealed four entirely different offensive variations—thrust, slash, parry, and sweep. Each variation would instantly switch according to the opponent's reaction, like a venomous snake adjusting the angle of its fangs to follow the prey's movement.

The so-called "Eight Aspects" refer to the eight most terrifying phenomena in the world: Crimson Flame, Asura, Rakshasa, Netherworld, Hungry Ghost, Animal, Hell, and Heaven.

Students learning this forbidden hand technique must, during practice, visualize these eight scenes in sequence, immersing their minds completely within them, feeling the excruciating pain of being burned by flames, the madness of Asuras killing each other, the stench of Rakshasa devouring flesh, and the boundless loneliness of the Netherworld…

Meanwhile, his swordsmanship instructor will assist him in completing this rigorous training. When he fantasizes about crimson flames, a red-hot iron ruler will silently approach his back, scorching his skin and making him experience the excruciating pain of being "immersed in a furnace." When he fantasizes about Asuras, a real blade will press against his throat, making him feel the chilling imminent approach of death.

Students must pass these illusions one by one.

Only by personally experiencing these eight hellish experiences can one master this sword.

When this strike is unleashed, the killing intent will be completely concentrated on the blade, enough to shield one from all external perception. At that moment, even if there is a raging furnace in front of him, the wielder will step into it without hesitation; even if there are sharp iron nails pointing upwards under his feet, he will walk as if on a flat road, without taking a single step.

This is the Ancient Flow Killing Sword.

This is called "forbidden hand".

This requires the awareness to give up everything.

Yuan Zhisheng was prepared. He was ready to take the blow from Caesar's flank head-on, sacrificing his shoulder or ribs to first take down the greater threat in this combined attack—Chu Zihang.

Chu Zihang's continuous strikes were too heavy; the nameless longsword was like a tireless pile driver, shattering Spider Cutter's lifespan inch by inch. If he wasn't suppressed first, Genji didn't know how many more strikes he could withstand.

Once he unleashed that strike, he couldn't control the outcome.

Chu Zihang may die, may be seriously injured, or may be crippled.

But that's what makes a killer sword.

When you wield a sword, you are in hell.

—He is already in hell.

Caesar and Chu Zihang moved at the same time.

They are not retreating.

They were at the forefront.

This is a completely contrary behavior to all common sense in combat – rushing in at the moment when the opponent is fully charged and about to unleash a devastating attack is tantamount to deliberately crashing into a blade that has already been swung.

But they were already in a desperate situation with no way to escape.

If we don't retreat, there's still a slim chance of survival. If we retreat, we'll be waiting to be picked off one by one and slaughtered at will.

attack!

Caesar's Dictator and Chu Zihang's nameless longsword slashed out simultaneously!

The three figures are about to clash again—

Then, the world tilted.