Nobita's Time Heist

Although he could grip the Crimson Blade, his upper arm was completely powerless, and the slashes he delivered were inevitably weak and feeble.

Gritting his teeth, Hideyori switched the sword to his left hand.

“It’s impossible to lose… impossible… Before today, all sword duels ended in my victory. There’s no reason for me to lose!” He shook his head, wiping away the blood seeping from his brow, and muttered, “Watch closely, I’ll show you soon… the turning point of a battle often happens in an instant…”

"call out----"

There was a sound like a sharp object cutting through the air.

Hideyori looked up and saw two miniature planes fly overhead. Their tails spewed inverted cone-shaped flames, their maneuverability even more exaggerated than that of real fighter jets. Turns, climbs, and curves—their tactical maneuvers were flawless.

Hideyori, living in the Warring States period, naturally couldn't recognize what it was, simply attributing it to a part of ninjutsu. Looking further, he saw that Gian had stopped attacking and was instead standing with his arms crossed. From a distance, all the signs made him understand.

"A trap?"

More than fear, Hideyori was incredulous. "I actually... fell into a ninja's trap?"

The micro-fighter jet made a turn in the air and dropped two missiles at him. Hideyori had almost no means of defense against this and could only raise his Scarlet Blade to barely block his face.

"boom----!!!"

The missile exploded above his head, but the expected pain didn't come. Just as he was wondering what was happening, a flash of gold appeared in Hideyori's eyes. He looked up in surprise and found that it felt like a golden rain was falling on his head. These tiny particles touched his skin, and in an instant, the scales covering his body disappeared. The damage that the dragon scales had previously protected him from was now showing its true nature.

"Ugh..." Hideki suddenly felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, his veins bulged instantly, and his eyes almost turned bloodshot. "How could this be... What did you give me? Poison?"

"It's just ordinary gold dust. Although I don't know the mechanism, the symptoms of dragon disease will subside as soon as they come into contact with gold—you saw that scene, right? That iron thing threw in a gold coin, and the half-dragon in the iron cage hugged it and licked it nonstop, then turned back into a human." Fat Tiger was completely in a spectator's mood now. "Anyway, we need to remove your scales first. Those things are too much of a hindrance and will interfere with the injection."

"injection?"

Hideyori instinctively realized that this was not a good word.

"Yeah, an injection. You think I'm planning to kill you? If I were, you'd probably be dead already." Fat Tiger gave him a frank smile and said from a distance, "No matter how your body changes, what drives it is still muscle, right?"

"In other words, to eliminate your threat, all you need to do is stop all the muscles from moving."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The piercing sound of air being torn apart rang out again, and three large doses of muscle relaxant, specially prepared for him from the medical kit, were inserted into Hideyori's body through the side of his neck. Without the obstruction of dragon scales, the needles easily pierced the skin, injecting the entire dose at once.

"Woo..."

Just as Gian said, it didn't hurt at all.

Because... he can't feel anything anymore.

Hideyori quickly lost control of his legs, and under the watchful eyes of the people he ruled, his legs buckled and he knelt down at the crossroads.

Chapter 64: Take Revenge, Towards a New Era Where There Is Nowhere to Hide

Is this the human world or hell?

The most tragic thing in life is knowing that the ending will not be as you wish, but having no power to reverse it. It's like being tied to a derailed train and having to watch it fall off a cliff.

Rain poured down his back, sending a chill through him. He mustered all his strength, using his crimson blade for support, and desperately tried to stand up, but his legs trembled like a newborn fawn. He fell to the ground after only a few seconds, splashing mud all over himself.

Stripped of all fame, honor, and glory, Toyotomi Hideyori knelt in the pouring rain, for the first time so close to the masses.

He finally understood the desolation of being in the eye of the storm, where every step was a mistake. And history, at the cost of their sacrifice, will continue in the right way.

"Ah... I understand now, I finally understand..."

Hideyori lowered his head slightly, and rainwater streamed down his face, falling to the ground and turning a pure black, oil-like color.

"Throughout my life, I have been a self-proclaimed successful failure."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

“Dutch? Put that thing down.” Arthur extended his right hand warily, as if the person standing at the door was not his familiar companion, but a giant bear standing upright, at least two people tall, ready to pounce and tear him apart at any moment. “That gun is a menace, don’t let it bewitch you!”

"...a scourge..."

Dutch stared blankly, looking somewhat confused. His gaze swept over everyone, and then he gave a disdainful smile.

“Arthur, my child, I have always regarded you as my son, until halfway through the journey, I realized that your place in my heart is far more than that.”

"But... in the end you chose to leave me, without looking back..."

His voice was sometimes low and sometimes high-pitched, much like someone who was drunk. But what he was intoxicated by at this moment was clearly more addictive than alcohol.

dream.

The crimson familiar vessel materialized his dream, filling his mind in one fell swoop.

“Now I understand, Arthur, I really understand… You were right, we are just a bunch of lost souls, wandering in a world that doesn’t need us. Those days, those principles, are gone forever. We… are just a pathetic bunch of lowlifes, nothing more.”

With a "bang," he leaned against the door frame and the wooden wall, slowly sitting down, as if he had simultaneously released all the drive he had carried in his life.

"My whole life... has been that of a self-perceived failure..."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

“From childhood, everyone around me told me that I would succeed my father and become the next ruler of the land. The name of Toyotomi would be carried forward in my hands, and I have always believed that. But... I don’t remember which day it was, but I suddenly realized that I had been abandoned by the times.”

"Everything outside Osaka Castle is now under the control of Tokugawa Ieyasu. In some remote areas, the name of Toyotomi has become a distant history."

The effects of the muscle suppressant continued to intensify, and Hideyori's throat became numb, almost rendering him unable to speak. Even his final confession could only be whispered, dissipating into the patter of raindrops.

"Tokugawa Ieyasu... that bastard, that old tortoise... he won't even give us our last hope. He promised my father he would be my advisor, but as soon as my father died, he turned his back on me and began to devour the Toyotomi family's territory. Now, he's even going to uproot our last foothold!"

"Is it wrong for me to just want to take back what's mine?"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

“We are all people abandoned by the times, Arthur.” Dutch sighed, looked up, and gazed at the gloomy sky that seemed to never clear. “Years ago, I also sincerely wanted to make a name for myself. The West in my memory was a passionate and unrestrained place full of dreams. We formed a team to fight evil with evil, rob the rich to help the poor, and make all the bad guys tremble at the mere mention of our name.”

"Roaming across the Stinga plains, leaving all the chaos behind, all that remains is endless exploration, adventure, and chivalrous tales. This world is always a place where a minority possesses far too many resources—this is unreasonable… Someone must set things right! It should be a noble ideal, but…"

He raised the scarlet revolver high above his head, staring at something through the translucent barrel, and said, "One morning, when I woke up, I suddenly had a feeling."

"We've boarded a train with no destination, Arthur. There will be no more virgin lands waiting for us to explore. The era of the Gunslinger will soon be a thing of the past."

Dutch always encouraged everyone in the gang with his extraordinary optimism. So much so that Arthur forgot that he was actually a normal person just like himself.

Anyone with a sound mind can see the current situation clearly; it's just a matter of whether they are willing to accept it.

“You’re right, but…” Arthur didn’t know how to persuade him, his tongue seemed to be tied in knots, “Put down the gun, Dutch, there’s no need to go this far.”

Dutch looked at him with utter sorrow. “You still don’t understand what’s going on, my child… Perhaps you can all find your own place, your own life, but I can’t. Peaceful days in the city, wearing decent clothes, walking on the street, even riding a horse requires careful not to bump into others. Just thinking about that kind of life makes me feel suffocated.”

At this stage, every word he spoke was stripped of pretense and came from the bottom of his heart. At least, at this moment, Arthur could not detect any hypocrisy in his tone.

“Arthur, I am the ghost of the West. All my struggles are nothing more than a fight to reclaim the way of life I’ve grown accustomed to from the big cities…”

"Am I wrong even for that?"

……

“You know perfectly well that’s not how it is, old friend,” Hosea said in a hoarse voice, his voice strained despite the excruciating pain from his fracture. “Stop obsessing over it. We should all retire, it’s that simple! Do you want us to live our whole lives in fear of being hanged?!”

"Oh, Hosea...we're really getting old, really old. Sometimes I can't help but wonder, which is more terrifying, death or emptiness? Is accepting the fact that we are powerless, living like zombies in a metropolis made of steel, really that suffocating?"

He gave a dejected smile, his tone conveying a sense of resignation that since things had already come to this point, he might as well give up and do whatever he wanted.

"Sorry, everyone."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"I'm sorry, everyone." With the last of his strength, Hideyori gripped the hilt of the Crimson Blade and said to everyone watching him, "In that 'new era,' I couldn't survive. So, just pretend I'm already dead..."

Dutch suddenly pressed the gun to his temple. Even in his drunken state, he displayed the basic skills of a sharpshooter—so fast that no one could react. This resolute and dignified posture didn't seem like he was about to commit suicide, but rather like he had an appointment with death and was rushing to keep it.

At this moment, the losers from two eras seemed to be of one mind, separated by the vast expanse of time, their voices overlapping, uttering the exact same words.

"Anyway, I have nothing left to lose."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The wandering gunman drank the bullet.

The dejected samurai drew his sword and committed suicide.

The instant blood splattered from their bodies, a crimson glow bloomed in their pupils. Enormous claws tore through flesh, and filled with hatred for the new era, they impatiently descended upon this world.

Chapter 65: This time, please say goodbye properly before you leave, okay?

"Dutch? Dutch??!"

It's difficult to fathom Arthur's feelings at this moment; his relationship with Dutch is truly a complex mix of love and hate. Although his recent behavior has been quite critical, seeing this man who is both a father and a friend so abruptly take his own life fills him with an indescribable sorrow.

The next moment, the dragon's claws tore through the flesh.

This was on a completely different level from the black dragon that Nobita had encountered in the Atlantic Ocean. Its size alone was several times larger. Its wingspan was tens of meters, enough to temporarily cover the summit of this snow-capped mountain.

Claws more ferocious than any raptor on land, a body as solid as a fortress, broad wings capable of stirring up a storm, and a perfectly streamlined physique. A head as sturdy as a battering ram, two rows of sharp teeth capable of grinding iron into fragments, and those crimson vertical pupils that gleamed brightly in the darkness!

All the elements combined together constitute the astonishing and terrifying creature before our eyes.

Once upon a time, his legend resounded in every corner of the world, even becoming a popular subject for bards. Any hero's story seems incomplete without the dragon-slaying element. People were used to the dragon abducting the princess, and to how the hero tirelessly launched repeated attacks, eventually reciting the story by heart.

But no one has ever seriously considered what would happen if a real dragon appeared before them, and if its imposing presence far surpassed the combined power of all the ferocious beasts on Earth…

Are there still any brave souls who dare to draw their swords against it?

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"boom----!!"

The compressed air projectile struck the dragon's head, leaving it motionless, but merely causing its vertical pupils to close. Having fully transformed into a dragon, its eyes now possessed a nictitating membrane unique to cold-blooded animals. After blinking once, its massive head slowly lowered, casting a glance at Da Xiong.

"Don't just stand there! He's not the person you know anymore!" After all, there was a difference in weight, and Da Xiong had anticipated the outcome of this shot, but he still yelled at the top of his lungs, "Run! Run as far as you can! Don't..."

"roar--------!!!"

Finally, the long-awaited roar erupted from its mouth. The sound formed a wall, crashing down upon the group, causing their internal organs to tremble. Those with weaker constitutions had their internal organs ruptured, instantly vomiting blood and dying. A glint of pleasure flashed in the dragon's eyes as it unleashed its fury upon the world. A powerful roar blew away all the snow on the mountaintop, even shattering the cold, shadowy rocks at the summit into fragments.

"Stop! Stop, Dutch—!!" Arthur forced himself to speak through the dragon's roar, two streams of blood gushing from his nose. He felt a sweet taste in his throat, and, suppressing the urge to cough from his lung disease, shouted, "Stop yelling! Hosea's going to die! Dutch!"

"..."

Upon hearing the familiar name, the dragon seemed to pause for a moment, actually stopping. Its crimson vertical pupils narrowed slightly as it surveyed the scene before it—most people had fallen unconscious after its roar, and even the few who remained conscious looked at it with fear in their eyes. This look gave him a strange sense of fulfillment; at least, no one would ever again treat him as an outdated, wandering gunslinger.

Its gaze shifted again, and it saw a familiar figure lying face down on the hard ground.

Having been knocked off his horse by Arthur, Hosea had several broken bones and couldn't withstand such torment. Almost the instant he heard the dragon's roar, his internal organs shattered from the strain, and he lay flat on the ground, his eyes rolled back, his consciousness fading. Blood flowed from his mouth and nose, and lying in that position, it looked as if he had been shot in the back.

A moment of clarity suddenly appeared in his turbid vertical pupils.

"Ho...Hosea..."

A slightly confused voice, as soft as a dream. The next second, Dutch van der Linde's consciousness vanished. Primal and chaotic rage once again filled his crimson pupils, revealing the ferocity and cruelty befitting a dragon.

"boom----!!!"

With a flap of its wings, it created a hurricane that uprooted some loosely rooted saplings. The powerful airflow generated by the dragon's wings made it impossible for ordinary people to even stand.

"Boom-!!"

Its takeoff was as abrupt as a spring rising from the ground; with a single flap of its wings, it soared into the sky. This enormous body, however, nimbly circled several times, much like a falcon. After surveying its surroundings from above and confirming its approximate direction, it flapped its wings again and flew south.

……

"It flew away... phew..." Asul, who had been hiding behind Nobita the whole time, breathed a sigh of relief and couldn't help but complain, "Last time it was a Hydra, and this time it's a real fire dragon. Smaug from The Hobbit is about this size, right? Seriously, why do I always run into these weird things whenever I'm with you?"

“I don’t know either, maybe I’m just unlucky,” Nobita said, covering Hosea, who was on the verge of death, with the [Time Capsule]. “Even if the air cannon didn’t work on it, there are other ways. The key is, it disappeared in the blink of an eye, faster than we thought. I don’t know where it is now…”

“…Saint…Saint Denis…”

"Hosea!" Arthur's voice rose eight octaves instantly, his face practically overflowing with joy. Whether it was witchcraft or magic, it didn't matter. As long as he could bring Hosea back alive, he would change his name to whatever Nobita wanted him to tomorrow, without hesitation.

“I know Dutch. He has always been a terrible person. He has suffered too much humiliation in this modern city, which is what he hates most.”

"Being treated like a country bumpkin and easily fooled, being hunted by the entire city's police, and even the city's mafia, that unfortunate Italian... In short, given his vengeful nature, he'll definitely go back for revenge!"

“I had heard before that Cornwall had also been briefly stationed there, and for Dutch, there couldn’t be a better opportunity.”

He reached out his withered hand and grabbed Nobita's sleeve, saying in a deep voice, "Nobita... I might really be getting old. Everything that has happened these past few days feels like a dream to me. To be honest, even now, I still can't figure out what's going on."

“But… even so, I can see one thing clearly… if anyone can stop Dutch, it’s definitely you!”

He squeezed Da Xiong's hand tightly and pleaded, "Our group has done far too many heinous things. So, please, stop Dutch van der Linde."

"Don't let more innocent people be sacrificed for his stupidity and confusion!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

“Don’t worry, Hosea, I’ll handle it. I’ve dealt with things far more dangerous than this, it’s nothing serious.” Nobita handed the Time Cloth to Beth and instructed, “Miss Beth, until I get back, cover them with the cloth just like I did. It works on both the living and the dead, just remember not to cover them for too long!”

"This this……"