Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound Chapter 424

Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound Chapter 424

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

Chapter 424: How to Live as a Wandering Knight (3)

…Thud!

A hard skull cracked open, spilling its warm contents onto the ground.

Poison Gnoll’s brains splattered across the floor as its body convulsed and finally lay still, cold and lifeless.

Following Poison Gnoll, the gnoll horde that had invaded human territory also soon became corpses.

Initially, the bodies of the gnolls had clean holes in their heads or hearts. However, as the battle wore on, their intestines and brains burst, leaving them in a gruesome state, reflecting the fierceness of the fight.

The Knight of the Night. Tudor, a wandering knight clad in black plate armor, sat atop the gnolls’ corpses, breathing heavily.

“…Fighting with one arm is really hard to get used to.”

With minimal sleep, constant traveling, and perpetual exhaustion, his facial expressions had gradually worn away.

Muttering in a dry voice, Tudor suddenly realized that his tone and speech resembled someone he remembered vividly, causing him to smile faintly.

“Is this it? Did that guy always live like this? Perhaps that’s why he was so cold and unemotional…”

Vikir. Night hound.

Even though quite some time had passed, Vikir’s face and voice were still vividly etched in his memory.

Tudor reminisced about his old comrade, who was expelled from the academy long ago and now likely imprisoned in Nouvellebag.

Ouch—

And every time he thought of him, the pain in his severed left arm flared up.

Tudor, the eldest son of the Donquixote Clan and the next head of the family, had abandoned his name and lineage.

He left his severed left arm at his family’s house.

“……”

Tudor recalled the stories he heard at a tavern before fighting the gnoll horde.

“I’ve heard rumors that both the Donquixote Clan and Usher families are in turmoil. It seems the current head of the family is bedridden with a serious illness. They say it’s severe, and he might not make it.”

“They are superhumans! In the realm of masters! They wouldn’t succumb to mere illness!”

“It’s been several years since those two have been active. I heard that Donquixote Clan’s younger brother and Usher’s younger sister are acting as leaders now.”

“Hmm, I’ve heard that too. Well, the main families of Donquixote Clan and Usher House don’t have many members, so I heard even the collateral branches hold significant power. Is that why?”

The sound of teeth grinding escaped Tudor’s mouth as he recalled those conversations.

Grit—

Anger surged within him. The phantom pain in his missing left arm intensified.

Tudor vividly remembered the night he left his family.

…Uncle Pasamonte, who was involved in transporting Vikir to Nouvellebag.

He was also the one who vehemently argued for Vikir’s death sentence at the court in the Imperial City.

After the trial, Tudor visited Pasamonte several times to discuss the demon controversy and Vikir’s punishment.

Even then, Tudor was in two minds.

Could his kind uncle, who had always been so gentle since his childhood, really be involved with demons?

The uncle who taught him about knighthood, romance, grand aspirations, and ambition?

(Es la misión del verdadero caballero. Su deber. ¡No! Su deber no. Su privilegio).

– It is the mission of the true knight. His duty. No! Not his duty, his privilege.

(Soñar lo imposible soñar.)

– To dream the impossible dream.

(Vencer al invicto rival,)

– To defeat the unbeatable foe,

(Sufrir el dolor insufrible,)

– To endure unbearable pain,

(Morir por un noble ideal.)

– To die for a noble ideal.

(Saber enmendar el error,)

– To correct one’s mistakes,

(Amar con pureza y bondad.)

– To love with purity and kindness.

(Querer, en un sueño imposible,)

– To fall in love with an impossible dream,

(Con fe, una estrella alcanzar.)

– To reach for a star with faith.

When Tudor closed my eyes, he could still vividly hear his uncle’s voice reciting lines of this epic poetry.

…But that didn’t mean he doubted Vikir.

The Vikir that Tudor knew had never once spoken nonsense.

He was that kind of person.

Though they were the same age, Vikir was like an older brother, sometimes like a much older, dependable, and trustworthy friend.

Tudor could never believe that such a Vikir would make baseless claims.

And hadn’t Professor Morg Banshee of the Colosseo Academy said the same thing?

He was an unpleasant, stubborn old man, but he was a thorough and principled person who never spoke without certainty.

Tudor, having studied at the academy for a long time, knew this well.

That’s why he intended to meet Pasamonte directly to investigate the truth.

…However, Tudor hadn’t been able to see Pasamonte’s face properly for several years.

After his father suddenly fell ill, Pasamonte, who started acting as the acting patriarch, completely excluded Tudor from his position.

A power struggle, quite common in complicated high-ranking families.

A clichéd and overused theme often seen in fairy tales and legends.

But the story changes if it’s about your own family.

During the vacation right before Tudor’s graduation from the academy, a covert civil war broke out within the Donquixote Clan.

A rebellion by his uncle to seize control over the family head.

Tudor had to flee outside the family, escaping countless assassins.

Only after a blade was at his throat did Tudor realize for sure.

The Donquixote Clan had already been devoured by Pasamonte.

There was a terrifying plot behind his father, once called the Lion King, suddenly falling ill.

…And in the end, Vikir, his old friend, was right.

Tudor fled with tears of agony, suffering the pain and humiliation of losing an arm along the way.

He clearly remembered Pasamonte’s mocking words as he led the pursuers when Tudor tried to escape by boat.

‘Are you planning to abandon your father and run away? Can you still call yourself the Lion King’s son?’

Enraged, Tudor threw himself into a final battle, disregarding his life.

…He would have, if not for Bianca’s timely appearance.

When Tudor insisted he couldn’t leave his father, Bianca responded coldly.

‘Retreating is not the same as fleeing, and it is not wise to simply wait when danger overshadows hope. The wise know to save today for tomorrow and not to risk everything in a single day.’

How could he forget these words? They were the last words Vikir had left at the Tribunal Court in the capital.

Tudor left the family, following Bianca, who had also abandoned her own family under similar circumstances.

After that, the heads of the Donquixote Clan and Usher house, who had intended to declare neutrality in the face of civil war signs, never appeared in the world again.

The actual heads of the Donquixote Clan became Pasamonte and Madeleine.

Under the pretext of searching for the missing young heads of the family, they scoured the entire continent, forcing Tudor and Bianca into a harsh escape.

It was a perilous and treacherous journey, requiring them to break through multiple layers of vast encirclements and countless surveillance posts.

The ones who helped and sheltered Tudor and Bianca were the followers and vigilante group known as the ‘Night walkers,’ who upheld the legacy of the ‘Night Hound.’

“……”

And now.

Tudor, who had become the Knight of the Night, was looking down at the village from atop the bodies of gnolls.

The world had changed significantly.

The great famine, prolonged drought, massive wildfires spreading across the empire, and the monster hordes.

These events made human lives much harsher than what textbooks had ever taught.

A large man shoves a frail girl aside to take a piece of meat from a gnoll’s corpse.

The strong plundered and exploited the weak, treating them as less than human.

“The true strong are strong against the strong and weak against the weak.”

“The strong, being confident, do not oppress others, but the weak, hiding their weakness, bully others.”

These were words from the autobiography of an ancient figure of the Donquixote clan.

However, the reality was the complete opposite of the romantic ideals taught in chivalric literature.

The stronger a person was, the more they oppressed others, and the weaker a person was, the more injustices they faced.

Yet, this did not mean the weak were always good and kind.

Reality was very different from what Tudor had learned at the academy or within his family.

It was not the strong who survived but the survivors who were strong.

Such was the world now.

Tudor had encountered countless such human landscapes on the fierce battlefield, and the more he did, the more he felt his character becoming dry and cold.

It was the series of processes by which a once-dreaming hero aspirant became a battlefield veteran.

And why was it?

The more this happened, the more Tudor’s demeanor, speech, and voice resembled Vikir’s.

“Haha— I shouldn’t be imitating his way of speaking. It’s too stiff.”

Tudor forced a mischievous smile and stood up.

Just then.

“…Um, excuse me.”

Someone approached hesitantly.

When Tudor turned his head, there stood a little girl.

She was one of those who had barely survived the recent gnoll attack.

“Please, take this!”

The girl offered a large cup of clear water and bread sprinkled with herbs.

Water and herbs in these times? Tudor felt a lump in his throat.

“Is it alright for me to accept such precious things?”

“…Of course!”

Worried that her gift might be rejected, the girl answered with a bright smile.

Tudor drank the water and ate the bread.

It was a long journey back to the hideout where the Night Walkers gathered.

After Tudor finished his meal and stood up, he noticed quite a few people had gathered around.

“Sir Knight of the Night! Please take us with you!”

“We heard that if we follow the Night Walkers, there is water, food, and the blessings of the gods!”

“Please, have mercy on us…”

The gathered people were those who had no more homes to return to due to gnoll attacks, famine, and wildfires.

At a glance, the crowd seemed to comprise about 10% of the village’s population.

And Tudor nodded readily.

“Follow me.”

This was the very reason why the Knight of the Night had come so far.

A secret yet not-so-secret place where the Night Walkers gathered.

‘Only this place shall escape fire and water, and only here shall true salvation be achieved.’

It was the land of salvation described in the new revelations.

The mission was to relocate as many people as possible to the ark built by the ‘Saint of the Night.’

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]