Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound Chapter 386

Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound Chapter 386

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

Chapter 386: The Wretched Hound of Nouvellebag (2)

The name “Garam Nord”. Rank: Low level lieutenant. A junior officer of the suppression unit in Nouvellebag.

Due to his timid nature, he always hunched over, had a dark expression, and had a prominent burn mark on his face under his unkempt, shaggy hair, typical of a 21-year-old youth.

This was the information Vikir had observed about the “new identity” for the past two years.

Vikir hadn’t escaped.

To be precise, he had only pretended to escape, carrying the unconscious BDISSEM on his back, and returned to Nouvellebag.

After all, merely stealing a gulper eel and escaping wouldn’t evade the pursuit squad, and there were still things to be dealt with inside the prison.

“I must activate Poseidon.”

He had nothing to take.

Once he activated Poseidon by meeting certain conditions, then everything to be done here in Nouvellebag would be over.

‘…Honestly, if I can just finish this job well, even if I die here, it wouldn’t be too regrettable.’

Just by stopping the ‘Storm of calamity’ alone, more than half of humanity could be saved.

What followed would be the responsibility of the surviving humanity.

But Vikir wanted to finish the job perfectly if possible.

If he could ensure his own survival in the process, it would be a profitable deal beyond measure.

At that moment.

Boom—

The horn sound signaling the guards’ awakening echoed.

Three-thirty in the morning.

The guards woke up 30 minutes earlier than the prisoners who woke up at 4 a.m.

Garam, or rather Vikir, rose from his modest room.

The chamber which was barely enough to accommodate two people, was right next to the shower room.

Vikir turned on the rusty faucet and washed his face and body with the cold water dripping down.

Naturally, since the water was seawater, hardly any foam formed even when he lathered soap.

Even after washing, his skin still felt sticky.

Looking in the mirror, he saw the burn marks beneath his wet hair.

Vikir could erase and recreate scars with the power of the basilisk.

Even his voice could be distorted as if swallowing hot coals to burn his vocal cords.

Decarabia on Vikir’s chest seemed annoyed.

[Human. Aren’t you in pain? Why are you so stubborn!]

“Thrown into the Iron Maiden, thrown 10,000 meters below the sea, passing through a path of sharp blades, leeches, enduring sulfur showers, and working in a volcano… this shit is nothing compared to that.”

Anyway, the first escape attempt was successful.

Night hound was now dead, and the identity of a guard was acquired.

It was a good thing to have the status of a guard when investigating Poseidon’s movements.

While preparing for the roll call, Vikir glanced around.

On the desk and bed lay notebooks, each no bigger than a palm.

They were the diaries Garam wrote diligently every day during his lifetime.

With such cramped quarters, having hundreds of these diaries piled up felt even more claustrophobic.

But Vikir didn’t throw them away.

Instead, he treated them like treasures, reading and memorizing every word on the damp and smudged pages.

‘It’s a good thing to know how he lived.’

Garam’s diaries revealed the lives and struggles of him and other junior guards living together in a cramped room the size of one pyeong. (36 Square feet)

Since there was still some time before the morning roll call began despite the horn blowing, Vikir finished reading the diaries.

Even though he had spent the entire previous night reading through them, there were still plenty left.

Vikir decided to extract only the essential information, excluding the unnecessary chatter.

The structure and system of Nouvellebag, information about the characters appearing in Garam’s daily life, and other noteworthy details were all there. However, the majority of the content consisted of mundane and personal matters, such as Garam’s usual thoughts, beliefs, and humanity shining through.

Vikir deemed Garam’s personal records unnecessary but found himself unable to refrain from reading through the vast amount of them. Through this process, he gained some understanding of Garam’s humanity.

“…It’s fortunate for him that he doesn’t have many close friends.”

Garam had a very limited social circle. However, this allowed him to observe others neutrally and objectively, and these perspectives were fully incorporated into his diaries. Surprisingly, the Nouvellebag seen through the eyes of a prisoner and the Nouvellebag seen through the eyes of a guard had many similarities.

For instance, most entries in Garam’s diary ended with the phrase “I want to leave this place,” giving the feeling of reading the memoirs of a prisoner.

“…Come to think of it, whether a guard or a prisoner, the living conditions are quite similar.”

Vikir glanced around the cramped chamber. With no windows, it resembled a coffin. Apart from the absence of handcuffs and bars, there wasn’t much difference between the cells inhabited by prisoners and those of the guards.

…No, the guards had handcuffs and bars too.

“Morning roll call! Everyone out!”

It was a tightly packed schedule and roll call, as if controlling and manipulating the guards like invisible bars.

The guards who controlled and managed the prisoners were also controlled and manipulated by the system.

Vikir got up from his seat and closed Garam’s diary.

…No, he tried to.

“Hmm?”

Vikir suddenly glanced at the next page of the diary he was reading. There, he saw content that wasn’t there before.

Starting from that page, there were gradually different contents written.

It was about Kirko.

The writing was full of admiration for Kirko, with sketches showing her skillful drawing.

Stories about her ranking first in the end-of-month evaluation, swiftly suppressing riots among prisoners, being the first among her peers to be promoted, and winning first place in swordsmanship competitions.

…And there was a slight change in the usual last entry of the diary.

After the phrase “I want to leave this place,” a new phrase started to appear: “With her.”

– I want to show her the outside world.

– If only I could show her the blue sky and salt-free lakes of my birthplace, the animals frolicking in the fields…

At this point, Vikir closed the diary.

Suddenly, a phrase he had heard long ago came to mind.

“Was it about 20 years ago? There was an incident where a prisoner forced a guard to humiliate herself. Apparently, because of that, the guards in Nouvellebag are particularly sensitive and cautious.”

“KskSkSkSs – I heard that a byproduct-like child was born from that shameful process.”

“A girl raised in a well, never seeing the outside world even once? After all, what right does a girl born from such a shameful thing have to set foot on land? Useless humans like her should stay stuck in the abyss!”

Garam’s records also mentioned her. Kirko, a child born and raised in Nouvellebag. A girl who knew nothing of the surface world.

‘Hmm. Is it a one-sided love? Or admiration? I don’t quite understand the emotions of kids this age,’ Vikir murmured quietly to himself. Although he had spent quite some time at the Colosseo Academy, understanding the teenage sentiment was still challenging.

However, one thing was clear. Both Garam, who wrote this diary, and Kirko, the girl mentioned in it, were in their youthful twenties. If they had attended the Colosseo Academy instead of being here in Nouvellebag, how would things have been?

Kirko was a talented girl. Perhaps she could have been the head of the cold weapon division or even the student council president. Vikir glimpsed at her talent, potential, and determination, surpassing that of heros like Tudor, Bianca, Sinclaire, and matching Dolores.

‘…But reality is cruel. Not everyone can live as beautifully as flowers do. There’s always an upper and lower side. Even without going through an era of destruction, this was a fact one could understand.’

Vikir closed the diary completely and turned away. He left the cramped chamber and closed the soundproof door.

Click- Thud!

Soon, the narrow and musty corridor came into view. Damp moss proliferated everywhere, emitting a nauseating smell of sea mold, and the humid air stuck saltiness to the skin. Cheap tobacco smoke lingered heavily in the droplets hanging from the ceiling. The narrow icebox in the corner emitted a constant smell of decay.

Glancing at the slightly ajar door of the adjacent room, Vikir saw a fellow guard lying on the bed, flipping through an old ‘Corno’ magazine. (Considering the magazine had been published over 60 years ago, it was likely that the models on its pages were already deceased.)

Eventually, it was time for roll call. The junior guards all emerged with sullen eyes, forming two lines facing each other in the corridor. There was no distinction between genders among those who shared rooms. According to Nouvellebag’s guidelines, which categorized individuals into male, female, and guards, everyone here was treated as the same gender.

At that moment…

“….!”

Amidst the junior guards with their dreary stares, Vikir noticed one person with particularly radiant eyes. It was none other than Kirko.

Kirko resided in a room diagonally adjacent to Garam’s.

‘Seeing her in person after only reading about her feels strange,’ Vikir thought to himself, quietly observing Kirko.

…Thwack!

Someone forcefully hit Vikir on the back of his head.

“….?” Vikir turned his head in confusion, only to see the guards in the adjacent room chuckling.

“Hey, stupid Garam! Are you still peeking at Kirko today? You perverted freak. Learn your lesson.”

“Fix your clothes. Straighten your posture. You’re not wearing a tuxedo. Do you want to appear weak to the prisoners?”

“And why is your name tag from last year? Who peeled it off?”

“Still the same ‘Foolish Garam’. From morning onwards.”

Nicknamed ‘Foolish Garam’ or ‘Scabby Dog’, Garam always carried these labels.

Vikir, having read Garam’s diary, was well aware of this fact.

‘Human nature is the same everywhere,’ he thought. This phenomenon existed in the army before regression and even at the Colosseo Academy after. Humans always bullied those weaker than themselves, and when this harassment became widespread within an organization, it paradoxically strengthened the organization.

That’s why, even when colleagues harassed Garam, the seniors and superiors turned a blind eye. Sacrificing Garam was a lucrative deal if it helped to solidify the unity among other guards.

So, the junior guards were now teasing Garam nonchalantly, just like any other day.

“Today seems a bit calmer because of yesterday’s crazy shift.”

“Yeah, so let’s harass stupid Garam for fun?”

“Hey, you scabby dog! Why didn’t you show up for night duty yesterday? You had no shift. Were you really lost?”

“Not showing up for roll call is also a violation of the military law, you know? You might end up meeting ‘Black Tongue’ if you keep this up, got it?”

At that moment, one of the troublemakers who had been bothering Vikir locked eyes with Kirko, who was being teased by them.

Witnessing the pity and contempt mixed in her eyes, the troublemaker smirked and shouted out, “Hey! Kirko! Aren’t you coming to rescue your boyfriend? You guys are close, right?”

Instantly, all eyes turned to Kirko and Garam.

Kirko’s brows furrowed deeply.

“…Crazy bastards.”

Kirko swiftly turned away, leaving only the echoing laughter of mockery behind.

Just then…

Thunk-

The horn sounded again, unrelated to roll call, wiping the smiles off everyone’s faces.

Soon, a guard from the other end of the corridor rushed in, shouting, “Riot! There’s a riot in Level One! Emergency deployment of the suppression team!”

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]