Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

No choice!

Lu Mingfei gritted his teeth, grabbed Frillian's hand, and the two quietly slipped out of the surging crowd, turning into the side street indicated by the navigation. Once they were sure no one was watching, they began running wildly through the maze-like building, guided by the red dotted lines.

The route was unusually winding, sometimes going upstairs, sometimes downstairs, through empty corridors, through storage rooms piled with clutter, and even requiring him to climb a narrow maintenance ladder. Finally, at the end of a hidden passage without any signs, he saw a door.

This is a door unlike any other. It is entirely silver-white, made of what appears to be some kind of special alloy, thick and smooth. There are no floor markings, emergency exit signs, or company logos on the door, only a similarly silver-white, simply designed electronic card reader on the side, with an indicator light emitting a faint blue glow.

This is it, the entrance to the "ξ" layer.

Lu Mingfei's heart pounded, a mixture of fear of the unknown and excitement at finding a glimmer of hope in a desperate situation. He took out his iPhone 5 again and held the screen up to the card reader.

"drop--!"

A notification sound indicating successful verification was heard.

"Authentication successful. Access to Level ξ granted. Welcome back, Commissioner Lu Mingfei and Miss Frilian from the Executive Bureau."

As the hydraulic system was activated, the heavy, silver-white alloy door slid silently open from the center seam to both sides, revealing the deep, unknown darkness behind it.

Lu Mingfei stood at the door, hesitated for less than half a second, glanced back at the executive bureau cadres who might chase after him at any moment, and then looked at Frilian beside him.

"Stay close to me," he whispered, whether to Frillie or to encourage himself, it was unclear.

Frillie nodded.

The two took a deep breath and stepped into the unknown darkness together.

Chapter 671 Blade Dance

Caesar held the Desert Eagle steadily with both hands, its long, heavy barrel resembling a tamed beast in his palms. His breathing became extremely even, his pupils contracted to pinpoints, and the entire world faded in his vision, leaving only the still figure of Genjiro.

The trigger was pulled.

The first bullet left the barrel, its muzzle flash resembling a blooming orange petal. The second, the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth—six bullets fired in quick succession at precise 0.2-second intervals, tearing through the air and leaving six visible, scorching trails!

The left-hand bullet trajectory cut diagonally from the upper left to the lower right, while the right-hand bullet trajectory cut diagonally from the upper right to the lower left. The two fan-shaped patterns overlapped in the air, forming an impenetrable crossfire net! The six muzzle flashes lingering in the air had not yet dissipated, layer upon layer, as if two folding fans woven from flames and death had suddenly unfolded before Caesar.

Magnificent, fiery, and deadly.

however--

Just as the bullet was about to hit him, Genjiro's body collapsed without warning!

It wasn't dodging, it wasn't crouching, but a near-fluid descent that defied human kinetics. His spine seemed to lose all skeletal support in an instant, and his entire body, like a kimono with its frame removed, flowed downwards softly and swiftly, gliding through the narrow triangular gap beneath the two overlapping barrages!

Caesar's pupils contracted.

The Spider Slash's clear light, like moonlight rising from the deepest part of hell, rose sharply from below, aiming directly at Caesar's unprotected chin!

At the critical moment—

"clang!"

Chu Zihang's longsword slashed through the air, narrowly colliding head-on with the upward-sweeping blade! Sparks flew, illuminating the three equally cold and stern faces of the three men.

Caesar dropped his two pistols, letting the two precious Desert Eagles fall to the ground, while his right hand flashed towards his lower back. Dick's weapon was drawn! Without a second's hesitation, he plunged into the battle!

Inch-hand cavalry kill.

This was Caesar's most secret and rarely revealed sword technique. Its origins can be traced back to the ancient Kushan dynasty, where the Assassins learned it from a lost war map. It was a deadly sword technique specifically designed to counter heavily armored cavalry, where the assassins, wielding short daggers no more than a foot long, faced a torrent of steel wielding spears and greatswords.

The secret is just one word: close. Sidestep, and in the instant the warhorse brushes past your body, precisely sever the finger-thick blood vessel on the side of the horse's neck with a blade no more than an inch long.

The Assassins, relying on this frenzied close-quarters swordsmanship, charged wave after wave into the cavalry ranks, severing the carotid arteries of horse after horse with astonishing speed. They transformed themselves into arrows tearing through the cavalry tide, slaying their commanders amidst the chaos of battle. That was the most magnificent and heroic chapter in the history of assassins.

At this moment, Caesar used the hunting knife inherited from the Gattuso family as the Assassins' dagger.

Chu Zihang also unleashed the move he had honed countless times.

Thirteen consecutive flashes of the broken blade.

The name carries a tragic sense of destiny. It doesn't rely on any talent or bloodline advantage; it's purely forged by sweat and muscle memory. With the exact same trajectory and the exact same angle, it strikes the same point on the opponent's weapon repeatedly—one, two, three… until thirteen strikes of force stacked upon each other, shattering the enemy's weapon in two.

This was originally the last stand of an ordinary martial artist challenging those with superior bloodlines. But in Chu Zihang's hands, the thirteen-hit combo was no longer the limit. He had once unleashed a two-hundred-and-thirty-four-hit combo in an underground training ground unknown to anyone. The blade light was as continuous as a raging wave, and the specially made steel target in front of him was cleanly cut as if by a laser.

Yuan Zhisheng——

Mirror Heart Awakening Style: Reverse Roll Blade Style.

This school of swordsmanship, renowned for its graceful movements and elegant techniques, was considered by most to be merely the most visually appealing of the three major sword dojos of Edo. Yet, it was precisely this school that gave birth to Okada Izo, known as the "Man-Slayer."

In that turbulent era of the late Edo period, the name "Izo" was synonymous with death, a cold scythe hanging over countless heads. His sword never pursued beauty, only precision and efficiency.

At this moment, Genjiro was unleashing the secret technique of the Reverse Blade Style.

The ordinary rolled blade style is like a taut ribbon, the blade's momentum increasing rapidly until it transforms into a storm that tears everything apart. The reverse rolled blade style, however, does the opposite. Genji's wrist rotates with an extremely smooth, even graceful rhythm, the Spider Cutter's blade as if wrapped in an invisible, fine silk. He is slowly and firmly wrapping this silk around the blade, layer after layer.

The blade's speed may seem to slow, but with each turn, the force attached to its edge multiplies. The invisible silk wraps around it thicker and tighter, until, when stretched to its limit, it unleashes a devastating blow!

Three people, three weapons, three completely different philosophies of killing.

In the blink of an eye of an average person, in less than 0.3 seconds—

The sound of swords clashing was like a sudden downpour!

"Clang clang clang clang clang clang!"

Sparks exploded one after another in the darkness, blooming in succession in the narrow space between the three people—orange-red, fiery, and fleeting flowers. Each spark was a witness to a life-or-death confrontation.

The three figures darted and shifted positions at breakneck speed, so fast that their outlines were almost impossible to discern with the naked eye. The blades blurred into afterimages as they swung at incredible speed, leaving only crisscrossing, cold light trails in the air, as if a giant silver net woven from blades was tightening around them.

Caesar's Inch-Hand Cavalry Slash, each strike grazed the flesh, daringly cutting into the innermost part of Genji's defense. Dick Tudor slid almost along the edge of the Spider Slash's blade toward his opponent's wrist.

Chu Zihang's continuous slashes were heavier and heavier than the last, like the heaviest iron hammer repeatedly forging the same anvil. The Spider Cutter's middle section was already left with fine, almost invisible continuous slash marks.

Meanwhile, Genjiro's reverse-rolling blade style was building up with an incredibly gentle rhythm. With each strike, the angle of his wrist rotation deepened, and the power accumulated on the spider cut became even more terrifying.

This is a ballet of death measured in milliseconds.

The three men's movements shifted from extreme stillness to extreme motion, as if someone had pressed an invisible switch. The exchange of blows might last ten seconds, or it might last an eternity. Then, just as abruptly, they returned from extreme motion to extreme stillness.

There is no transition in between.

The three figures darted past each other, regaining their distance, maintaining their offensive or defensive stances like three statues frozen in time. If any bystander were present, seeing them standing motionless and expressionless, they might have a terrifying illusion. Perhaps the breathtaking clash just moments before had never happened. It was merely a mirage created by light in the darkness.

However, a drop of blood slowly slid down the spider-slicer's bewitching, venomous blade.

It starts near the hilt, meanders down along the reverse edge pattern, flows through three fine cuts, and finally condenses, trembles, and falls at the tip of the blade.

"despair."

It fell to the floor.

Caesar looked down at his chest. On his snow-white shirt, a thin red mark was slowly spreading at a visible pace, like cinnabar seeping onto rice paper. The red seeped from the gaps in the fabric fibers, little by little, unhurriedly, yet unstoppable.

He was wounded by the final strike of the "Reverse Blade Style," a strike known as "Tenpyo Ichimonji."

When Genjiro unleashed that strike, the blade swept out with a swift, sweeping force, like an invisible wall crashing down, the overwhelming killing intent suffocating. It wasn't a slash; it was a pronouncement. It was a giant blade hanging above the execution platform, a death warrant thrown down by the executioner on the execution ground.

Chapter 672 Schools

Caesar had never seen a knife like that before.

Yuan Zhisheng was not holding back either; under the combined attack of him, Chu Zihang, and Caesar, any leeway would be a fatal luxury. He had to tear open a gap with the most ferocious counterattack. Similarly, Caesar and Chu Zihang were also holding nothing back.

On the cuffs of Genjiro's impeccably tailored, high-quality suit, a dark, damp ring slowly seeped inward from the edges. Blood. Caesar's blade had nearly severed the artery in his wrist. Had it gone half an inch deeper, the emperor's right hand might never have been able to hold a knife again.

A fight to the death. There are no winners, only survivors.

“You use a Japanese sword, and he uses a Japanese sword,” Caesar said in a low, breathy voice, “but his swordsmanship is completely different from yours. I can’t predict it. With your sword, I can read where the next strike will come from, how much force it will use, and what arc it will take. With his sword…”

He paused for a moment, then said, "There were no words on his knife."

“One of the three major schools of Edo swordsmanship, the Kyōshin-Michi-ryū.” Chu Zihang calmed his breathing, speaking more slowly than usual, each word seeming to be squeezed out from the depths of his throat. “He is the ‘Emperor’ painstakingly cultivated by the Snake-Headed Eight Families, who studied the purest ancient style of killing swordsmanship under the guidance of a true swordsmanship master since childhood. I don’t have a swordsmanship teacher of that level.”

"So what school of martial arts are you from?" Caesar asked without looking at him, his gaze still fixed on the tip of Yuan Zhisheng's knife several meters away.

"There is no school of thought," Chu Zihang replied unusually briefly.

Caesar turned his head, his eyes filled with disbelief.

“I learned from the kendo class teacher at the Children’s Palace,” Chu Zihang said calmly. “The tuition was 3600 yuan for a total of 36 lessons. I only formally studied those 36 lessons of swordsmanship; the rest of the time I practiced and figured things out on my own.”

He slowly raised his sword overhead, assuming the most basic and representative stance in Japanese Kendo—a straight-eyed stance. The tip of the sword pointed directly at his opponent's brow, his body aligned with the center line, standing like a mountain.

Caesar's eyes widened, and he even paused for a moment.

"Damn it!" His voice was filled with almost indignant grief. "I always thought your Japanese swordsmanship was authentic! I thought that by studying you thoroughly, I had grasped the essence of the Japanese sword! I—"

He couldn't continue.

“I’m sorry, you misunderstood. But I never said that I studied ‘Japanese swordsmanship.’ I just happen to use a Japanese sword as a weapon.”

“You apologized a little too late.” Caesar’s lips twitched, his expression a mix of bitter smile and impending tears, but his gaze remained fixed on Genjiro’s sword. “I always thought I was dueling with a master of Japanese swordsmanship. I was even quite proud of my ‘sword appreciation skills.’ But now I’m being told that my sparring partner is a knock-off from a crash course at the Children’s Palace.”

Genji ignored their conversation.

He stood silently before the ancient Buddhist shrine, the lotus pedestal tilted behind him, and two blades pointing at him before him. The Spider Cutter, gleaming with an eerie blue light, lay across his chest, its blade parallel to the ground, like a still horizontal line. His right hand released the hilt, his fingers slowly, almost reverently, tracing the back of the blade, from the hilt to the tip, the touch as delicate as caressing silk. Then, he gently gripped the almost invisible, razor-sharp edge.

This is not the orthodox starting stance for any swordsmanship style.

His entire body was exposed—his chest, throat, and abdomen were all vulnerable, laid bare to his opponent's blade. Anyone with basic combat training could see that if a surprise attack were launched now, there was at least a 30% chance of a successful strike.

But neither Chu Zihang nor Caesar dared to move.

Because that movement didn't look like preparation for battle.

It is like a priest washing his hands before a ceremony. Like a priest gently stroking the body of a deity before the god. Like the moment of devout, absolute silence that all those who have wielded the knife throughout history have felt before beheading their sacrifices.

That was the posture of preparing for a sacrifice.

Caesar and Chu Zihang were the two sacrificial animals that were brought to the altar.

A chilling killing intent emanated from Genjiro, not an outward, aggressive kind, but a restrained, concentrated chill, like a cold aura rising from the abyss. It silently permeated the entire mural hall, making the air thick and breathing difficult.

It's not an aura that humans should emit.

It's the aura of an emperor.

But at this moment, deep within Genjiro's heart, a trace of emotion that even he himself rarely experienced surged.

Shock.

This was the first time someone had posed a real, lethal threat to him.