Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

He glanced into the water tank. Just once.

The bottom of the tank was covered with bones and rotting organic matter, piled up in layers, more than half a meter thick. Some bones were still fresh, with bits of meat still clinging to them; others had turned black and softened from being soaked in water. The entire tank resembled a giant food trough, overflowing with food—their own kind.

The crow was standing on the edge of the tank looking down when the stench hit him so badly he almost vomited up his entire dinner of spaghetti. Even now, as he recounts it, his face is still pale and his lips are trembling slightly.

“Okay, I understand,” Yuan Zhisheng nodded.

When he first encountered the group of Deadpools, he had already guessed the story behind it. Although dragon blood could cause rapid mutations, with cell division far exceeding that of ordinary people, transforming a frail individual into a muscular monster in a short time, height and weight would not easily change—this was determined by the laws of physics, and dragon blood could not create something out of thin air. Those Deadpools, in life, were only a little over a meter tall and weighed no more than fifty or sixty kilograms, but after they died, the corpses he saw were each three to five meters long and weighed at least two hundred kilograms.

To grow to this size, they must have consumed a large amount of food to replenish their weight.

Where does all that food come from?

Such a large herd of them lying around in Tokyo wouldn't be able to find food easily. Tokyo has a population of 20 million, and food is everywhere, but if they hunted indiscriminately, they would have been discovered long ago. News of giant monsters eating people on the streets would spread all over the world the next day. The only conclusion is that someone is raising them, someone is feeding them regularly, someone is raising them like pigs in this dark underground depth, throwing whole cows and sheep into water tanks every day to feed them, to let them grow, and to let them reproduce.

They are like cattle that have been fattened up in captivity.

Yuan Zhisheng simply hadn't expected that the farm would be so close to him.

Right beneath his feet. Right under the chair he sits in every day at his office. Perhaps while he's reviewing documents, receiving guests, or sipping his cherry-infused tea, dozens of meters below, these things are writhing in the darkness, devouring their own kind, waiting for something.

The crow waved.

Two executives carried a round metal can, about the height of a person and over a meter in diameter, resembling an industrial oil drum. However, it was larger and heavier than an oil drum, and even the two strong men struggled to lift it. The metal can was covered in rust, but its original silver-white color was still visible. It bore some numbers and markings, as well as a warning sign in Japanese that read "Biohazard."

The can had been cut open with an acetylene flame, splitting it in two and revealing the contents inside.

It is a human body that is half deformed.

It was curled up in the jar, immersed in dry ice, shrouded in a white, cold mist. Its color was as pale as a wax figure, its skin having a translucent quality, through which the veins and muscle textures were faintly visible. It still retained its legs, which were still human-shaped, with toes and ankles, but the skin on its legs had begun to grow tiny scales, spreading upwards from the ankles all the way to the knees.

Its upper body had begun to mutate. Its spine curved, its shoulders broadened, its arms lengthened, and the rudiments of claws began to grow from its fingers. Its face twisted into a half-human, half-snake shape, its eyes closed, its lips slightly parted, revealing sharp fangs that were growing inside.

It is still alive.

Although injected with some kind of anesthetic and deeply asleep in the low temperature created by dry ice, its chest was still rising and falling slightly, and every few seconds a wisp of white mist would exhale from its nostrils. It was asleep, dreaming, waiting to wake up.

Genji fired several shots at the back of its head. This time, he took a large-caliber revolver from Yasha, using .44 Magnum bullets; each shot could rip open half a head. Black blood flowed into the dry ice, hissing and steaming. Deadpool's body twitched a few times, then remained completely still, dead in its sleep.

“A few hours ago, we intercepted the goods smuggled here,” Sakura’s voice sounded behind us, as calm as ever, but a slight tremor could be detected if you listened carefully. “The guys in charge of the shipyard didn’t know what was inside either, they only knew it was something the higher-ups wanted. They said it was special cargo, to be handled carefully, not to be bumped, and to be delivered to the designated location as soon as possible. They did as instructed, until our people went to inspect it and discovered that it was this kind of thing inside.”

She paused, then opened the notebook in her hand, which was filled with the information she had gathered.

"According to their statements, a metal can like this was delivered to the building every few days. Sometimes it was once a week, sometimes two or three times a week. The timing was not fixed, but the frequency was quite stable. The food was also delivered via that small submarine. It's the one we know, the one that's usually used to transport supplies to the underground dock. All told, dozens of tons of cargo were delivered by the small submarine every day."

Tens of tons.

Dozens of tons per day.

A number flashed through Yuan Zhisheng's mind: assuming each cow weighs 500 kilograms, tens of tons a day would mean dozens of cows. These cows were brought in, thrown into water tanks, and eaten by those things. Day after day, year after year.

"The buildings constructed by Maruyama Construction?" Genji asked.

Chapter 708 Maruyama Construction Works

“Yes,” Sakura nodded. “They are in charge of the entire design and construction. Because it is the family’s own construction company, their reputation has always been very good, so we have never sent anyone to supervise it. This is the usual practice; all of the family’s construction projects are like this, and no one would doubt their own people.”

She handed the prepared materials to Yuan Zhisheng; it was a thick stack of blue blueprints covered with dense lines and annotations.

“Judging from the design drawings, this aquaculture pond doesn’t exist,” she said, pointing to a spot on the drawing. “This should be a solid concrete structure, part of the foundation. But it was definitely built by Maruyama Construction, without a doubt. Because its water source is the underground water filtration system in the Iron Dome. That system requires drilling through the aquifer to extract and filter groundwater to supply the entire underground facility. And the Iron Dome is also a work of Maruyama Construction. In this world, only they can achieve this level of precision in underground engineering. No other construction company could possibly excavate such a large space without being detected.”

"Boss," Crow leaned closer, lowered his voice, and cautiously suggested, "Should we bring in a few of the people in charge of Maruyama Construction for questioning? You don't need to show up; Yaksha and I will handle the interrogation. You just stay outside and have some tea. Don't stand around watching; that kind of scene isn't suitable for you. I guarantee you, I'll extract the secrets from you within a few hours. Those construction guys are spineless; they won't last more than a few rounds."

His eyes gleamed when he spoke. He would show this expression whenever he was about to do something shady. He had used this method to deal with countless people who refused to pay their debts, men and women, young and old. He had a complete process, knowing how to get people to talk, how to get them to beg for mercy, and how to get them to reveal everything they knew, even things they didn't know.

“No need,” Genjiro shook his head.

He walked to the collapsed glass brick wall and looked at the shattered glass. Through the fragments, he could see the inside of the tank, a vast space that had once been filled with water and monsters. The bottom of the tank was covered with bones, which gleamed eerily in the pale light.

“Maruyama Construction could indeed build this breeding pond,” he said, his voice low, as if talking to himself. “But they don’t have management rights over this building. Once it’s completed and handed over, they’ll leave, and this place will belong to the Snake-Headed Eight Families. If they secretly built such a large space, it would be discovered after completion—the people on routine patrols would hear the water, smell the odors, and find those hidden doors and elevators. So, they couldn’t have done this behind our backs.”

He turned around and looked at Crow, Yaksha, and Sakura. The three of them stood still, waiting for him to continue.

“There is only one person who can build this breeding pond and run it quietly for so many years,” Genji said softly. “He can order the Maruyama Construction Company to add this space to the design and then keep it a secret. He also has management authority over this building, can distract the people on daily patrols, can arrange for submarines to transport supplies, and can handle any accidents that might expose him.”

He paused for a moment and took a deep breath.

"Go find Mr. Masamune and tell him I want to see him."

The yaksha and the crow exchanged a glance, then bowed deeply.

The bows were deeper and longer than usual. When they straightened up, their faces were expressionless. Not because they didn't care, but because they cared too much, so much that they dared not show any expression.

Before entering, Crow had rambled on, revealing his suspicions about the person behind the breeding pond. Within the Snake Clan, the two most powerful figures were Tachibana Masamune and Genjiro. Tachibana Masamune was the former patriarch, and Genjiro was the current one. Crow and his companions naturally trusted Genjiro completely, having followed him since their teens, weathering countless storms together; they were willing to die for him. However, they dared not doubt Tachibana Masamune.

Even though Tachibana Masamune is no longer the patriarch, he is a meritorious member of the Hebi-Hachi family, a hero who led the family out of its predicament. It can be said that without Tachibana Masamune, the Hebi-Hachi family would not be where it is today. Twenty years ago, the family was in its darkest period, plagued by rampant demons and undead, internally divided, and surrounded by powerful external enemies. It was Tachibana Masamune who stepped forward, united the various forces, rebuilt the Execution Bureau, established a strategy for fighting the demons, and step by step brought the family to its current position.

In the battles against the demons, Tachibana Masamune was the most resolute samurai. It is said that he personally killed no fewer than a hundred demons, always charging to the front in every battle without ever retreating. His swordsmanship was fierce, his will unwavering, and he was the pillar of his entire family.

Why would he secretly keep these dead servants who were corrupted from demons?

There is no answer to this question.

At least not now.

"Meet here?" The crow was still covering its nose; the stench was so strong that it made people dizzy and nauseous after smelling it for a while.

“No,” Genji shook his head. “Not here. This place disgusts me.”

He looked around at the blood-stained operating table, the beams with iron hooks, the shattered glass bricks, and the dead fetus floating in the stagnant water.

“Go to the mural hall,” he said. “Get us some strong liquor. The strongest, the kind that burns through your throat. Get some white cloths for our dead brothers, don’t just leave them lying there. Everyone must cover their face with a white cloth, that’s the rule.”

"Yes!" Sakura said softly.

She turned to leave, but was stopped by Yuan Zhisheng.

"cherry."

She stopped and looked back at him.

"Thank you," said Yuan Zhisheng.

Sakura was stunned for a moment. This was the first time she had heard Genjiro say thank you to her. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but in the end, she said nothing, only nodded, and then quickly left.

The crow and the yaksha followed. When they reached the door, the crow turned back and looked at Genjiro standing in the ruins.

Yuan Zhisheng stood there alone, his back to them, facing the collapsed glass brick wall. The pale light shone on him, casting a long shadow. His shoulders slumped slightly, his head bowed, like a person carrying a heavy burden.

The crow suddenly recalled the first time it met Genjiro many years ago. At that time, Genjiro was still a boy, just coming out of the mountains, wearing a tattered kimono and straw sandals, his eyes as clear as mountain spring water. He stood in front of the crow, bowed slightly, and said, "My name is Genjiro. From today onwards, please take care of me."

At that time, the crow thought that this boy probably wouldn't live more than a year.

More than a decade has passed, and that boy has become the patriarch. He has killed more people than the crows have ever seen, and the responsibilities he bears are heavier than the crows could imagine. He stands amidst the ruins, facing things that should not exist, preparing to confront the person he once trusted most.

The crow suddenly felt a lump in his throat. He rubbed his nose, mumbled something, and then quickly walked into the darkness.

Chapter 709 The Ramen Master (Part 1)

Late at night, on a small street behind the National University of Tokyo, a wooden van was parked on the side of the road.

The rain has been falling for a full six hours. Since four o'clock in the afternoon, the central area of ​​Tokyo has been shrouded in this cold early winter rain, and there is no sign of it stopping. The old apartment buildings on both sides of the narrow street stand silently in the rain, the white tiles on the exterior walls shining brightly after being washed by the rain, and dark green moss has grown in some of the cracks. The halo of the streetlights spreads in the rain, and the orange light falls on the wet asphalt.

This rickshaw, known as a "ramen yataisha" in Japan, was a common sight on the streets during the Showa era. Today, there are fewer than fifty such yataisha in Tokyo, with most concentrated in older neighborhoods like Asakusa and Ueno. It is truly remarkable that such a rickshaw can still be preserved in a university residential area like Kunitachi City.

The carriage was made of solid wood, and although the paint was peeling, it was very clean, showing the owner's care. The windows opened to reveal a rain shelter, and the dark blue cotton canopy drooped slightly from the rain. Under the canopy were two wooden stools, their surfaces worn smooth and shiny by countless diners.

Customers sit on wooden stools to eat noodles, while the noodle maker prepares the noodles from inside the vehicle.

Though small, the restaurant is fully equipped. A stainless steel soup pot, 60 centimeters in diameter, bubbles and steams. On the cutting board are sliced ​​char siu, dried bamboo shoots, scallions, and seaweed. The condiments are neatly arranged in four rows—soy sauce, salt, miso, chili oil, minced garlic, and sesame seeds—each in a uniform small white porcelain jar. After the guests sit down, the dark blue cloth curtain just covers their upper bodies, creating a private and warm little space, as if in this rainy world, only they, the noodle bowl, and the silhouette of the ramen chef remain.

Compared to the famous ramen shops in Ginza, the ambiance and taste of this food stall are naturally inferior. The broth isn't as rich, the char siu isn't as thick, and the noodles aren't as carefully selected from their origin. But the price is significantly cheaper—a bowl of char siu ramen costs only 550 yen, and it even comes with half a soft-boiled egg.

Most of the people who come here to eat noodles are poor students from the University of Tokyo. Occasionally, there are also office workers who work overtime until late at night, or drinkers who have just come from an izakaya and want to have a bite to eat.

The owner, Keiji Echimoto, has been operating here for seventeen years. The neighbors all call him "Master Echimoto." While his reputation isn't exactly amazing, it's still decent. At least, no one has ever been told that he gets sick from eating here. The broth is made fresh daily with pork bones and chicken frames, and he never cuts corners.

"Master Yue, aren't you packing up your stall in this earthquake and rain?" The speaker was Kiritani Kazuto, a third-year physics student at the Institute of Science and Technology. He lifted the cloth banner, poked half his head out to look at the torrential rain outside, raindrops dripping down his black hair and onto his glasses. He quickly pulled back, took off his glasses, wiped them with the corner of his clothes, put them back on, and then sat down steadily on the stool.

"If there are no other customers, we'll close up shop now," Master Yue said, tidying up the noodle bowl left behind by the office worker. He threw the chopsticks into the waste bin, put the bowl in the sink, and chatted with the customer casually. "Speaking of which, I haven't seen that girl who came to eat noodles with you last time. She hasn't come back."

Master Yue is sixty-three years old this year. His hair is already gray, but it is neatly parted and fixed with hair wax. He wears the white linen uniform that is unique to ramen chefs, with the collar tied tightly. A black towel is tied around his forehead. The towel has been washed until it is white and the edges are fuzzy, but it is still clean. There are many burn scars on his hands, his knuckles are thick, and his nails are trimmed very short. It is obvious that he has been working with ramen all his life.

Some say he was an apprentice at a famous ramen shop in Yokohama Chinatown when he was young; others say he owned a shop in Shinjuku that later went out of business; still others say he was just an ordinary street vendor, and all those rumors are fabricated by him. But in any case, Chef Yue rarely talks about his past, and his customers tactfully refrain from asking.

"Master Yue, are you talking about Yui or Asuna?" Kiritani broke apart the disposable chopsticks, scraping off the rough edges. "I've brought both of them here to eat ramen. Yui is the one with short hair, wears glasses, and is a classmate in physics; Asuna is..."

“Oh, I can’t remember her name,” Master Yue interrupted him, putting the cleaned cutting board back under the counter. “She looked like a rich girl, with brown hair, braids at the temples, and white knee-high socks.”

He didn't turn around when he spoke, focusing intently on stirring the soup pot, but his tone carried an undeniable certainty.

"Master Yue, you remember so clearly," Kirigaya said with a smile, scratching his head. His hair was still dripping wet. He then realized that he hadn't brought an umbrella and was soaked from running all the way from the station. "That's Asuna. She only ate noodles here once and you still remember her. Master Yue, you're quite the womanizer."

"How could I not remember?" Master Yue turned around, his eyes narrowed to slits, his wrinkles crinkling together, revealing a lecherous expression. "She was a top-tier beauty with breasts so full they were practically on the table while eating noodles! When that girl sat down, I saw her place her breasts on the table with her own eyes, so perfectly positioned, it was like she had a built-in shelf! And those beautiful legs, the absolute territory created by the white stockings, tsk tsk, so tempting! What? Didn't you manage to hook up with her?"

He blinked, his eyes carrying the shrewdness of someone with experience, yet without appearing sleazy.

Kiritani blushed slightly at his words, and lowered his head to stir the noodles in his bowl. The steam hit his face, causing his glasses to fog up again. He simply took off his glasses and placed them aside, squinting at the bowl of noodles.

“Oh dear, she’s just a girl I’ve met a few times in the astronomy club,” he sighed, his voice lowering. “She’s a goddess with a lot of admirers at school. Even that Sawamura-senpai from the engineering department, who’s known as the ‘Prince Charming of Tokyo,’ pursued her. I heard he sent her roses for three months, but she didn’t accept a single one. And her family is so wealthy; she lives in a detached villa in Kichijoji. Her father is apparently the president of a medical device company. The fact that she came here for a bowl of ramen is already a huge favor to me. I don’t want anything else.”

He picked up a mouthful of noodles, slurped it down, chewed, and stared into the rain outside the shed. The light from the streetlights fell into the puddles, shattered by the raindrops.

Master Yue didn't say anything, but simply placed a small white porcelain cup in front of Tong Gu. The cup had the word "happiness" printed on it; it was a cheap one bought from a convenience store, but it was very clean. Master Yue drank the sake himself, but occasionally he would share a cup with regular customers, without charging them.

"Judging from what you're saying, Kiritani-kun, you still have a good impression of Asuna."

Chapter 710 Ramen Master (Part 2)

Kiritani picked up his glass and took a sip. The spicy taste of the shochu exploded on his tongue, followed by a warm sensation that flowed down his throat and into his stomach. He was silent for a moment before saying, "But I don't have the ability."

He's been eating at this ramen cart for over two years, ever since he stumbled upon this unassuming little stall when he first entered university and became a regular. Back then, he was still living in the school dormitory, and he would always pass by here on his way back from the library in the evenings. A bowl of hot ramen would wash away all the fatigue of the day. Even after moving out of the dormitory and renting an apartment, he would still make a detour to come here. Over the past two years, his relationship with Master Yue has long since become more than just that of owner and customer; it's more like a close friendship despite the age gap, or even a mentor-apprentice relationship in some sense.

"To be honest, I hesitated for a long time, but I haven't even pursued her yet. I'm already thinking of giving up," he continued, his voice not loud, but exceptionally clear in the rainy night. "If I fail to win over my goddess, my classmates will laugh at me, right? 'That Kiritani doesn't even know his own worth, daring to pursue Shindo-senpai'—I can imagine what they'll say. There are already few girls in the science and engineering department, and any little thing goes viral. If I get rejected, it will be awkward to see her in the future, and I won't even be able to participate in the astronomy club's observation activities normally."

He took another sip of wine, this time a bit more, choked, and coughed twice.

Master Yue listened without interrupting him. He put the lid on the soup pot, turning the heat down a bit, then reached under the cutting board for a small aluminum bowl and began peeling garlic. The garlic skins falling into the bowl made a soft rustling sound, which, mixed with the sound of the rain, was surprisingly harmonious.

“What’s there to be afraid of losing face?” After a long while, Master Yue finally spoke up. “People grow up by losing face. I’ve lost more face when I was young than you’ve eaten ramen.”

After peeling a clove of garlic, he placed it on the cutting board and tapped it with the back of a knife, causing the clove to split open and releasing its aroma. He collected the minced garlic into a small bowl, covered it with plastic wrap, and then continued speaking.