The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 101: Nostalgia (2)

Chapter 101: Nostalgia (2)

Vikir opened his eyes.

He had slept soundly, without a single nightmare.

He usually slept half-awake, bracing himself for an attack or some other miscellaneous disaster, but this time he slept soundly and defenselessly, as if he were truly dead.

Of course, when I woke up, the wounds on my body had healed nicely.

This was partly due to the regenerative powers of the bog salamander, but also because all sorts of good medicines had healed my body from the inside out.

"...?"

Vikir scrambled to his feet.

He was covered in fluffy fur pelts on a bed of dry straw and a clean cotton quilt.

Herbs and various splints wrapped around his body.

Inside, the layout of the room was vaguely familiar, like something from one of Balak's barracks.

He glanced down and saw that the room's owner was asleep at Vikir's feet.

It was Aiyen.

Vikir opened his mouth to speak in Moorish.

"...Are you awake?"

A voice came from the barracks entrance.

Aquila. The night fox stared down at Vikir.

She had aged quite a bit in the few days he hadn't seen her.

Her cheeks were sunken and shadows under her eyes.

The years she had been suppressing by force all this time were flowing again.

Aquila sat down beside Vikir's bed and glanced over at Aiyen, who slept beside her.

"Aiyen, this one carried you when you fainted. He ran for three days and three nights."

And that's why Aiyen, who hadn't eaten or slept for days and had run with all his might, now slept at Vikir's feet.

"...."

Vikir was silent for a moment, looking down at Aiyen as he slept, curled up between his toes.

Then Aquila turned to Vikir.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Vikir hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

" I tried to kill Madame...."

Madame's complete death. Vikir hadn't seen it through to the end. That's why he only spoke of what came before.

"I didn't think I would be able to overcome it with my own strength, so I dropped it to the bottom of the peak and barely won. Of course, it was quite difficult to drag him out of the deep hole and push him down the cliff... ... It's just that I was lucky. It's just a pity that I couldn't definitely cut off Madame's breath."

Vikir spoke casually, but this was actually quite remarkable.

After all these years of tormenting the natives of Depht, the Madame had finally been defeated by a young hero.

Now the natives no longer had to make sacrifices.

They could use the light at their disposal in the dark of night, and they no longer had to tremble with fear during stormy nights.

This was enough for him to be hailed as the savior of all the tribes on the depht.

As Aquila listened to Vikir's tale, he remained silent in amazement.

Then she told him what he had been wondering.

"After you fainted, Madame managed to flee the scene. Balak's warriors followed you, but the poison in the air was too much for them to approach, and it was all they could do to rescue you."

Whether she intended to or not, Madame had sprayed deadly poison everywhere as she fled.

The fog of poison they created as they volatilized made it impossible for the warriors and wolves to finally cut off her breath.

But.

Aquila said with a determined look.

"But Madame would be dead by now."

When Vikir turned his head away, Aquila insisted.

"She can never last long with that wound."

He was right. Madame's entire body was crushed, and she had lost many vital organs.

Her vital internal organs, such as her heart, spleen, lungs, and intestines, all protruded out of her body and sagged to the ground, and her exoskeleton was shattered.

Her skull had even split open, tearing her brain into several pieces, making it extremely unlikely that Madame would survive.

There was a reason Aquila was so certain.

"Moreover. The place Madame fled to is known for being the coldest place in the world, even under the dephts. It's icy there, even in July, and a body that's so emaciated can't survive the harsh climate there."

In other words. Madame will either die from her injuries, starve from immobility, or freeze to death in the icy cold.

No matter how you look at it, there is no other fate for Madame than death.

Thus, Bikir became the hero of the entire region for killing Madame.

"Hero, you speak too highly of me."

Vikir shook his head in humility, and Aquila smiled dryly.

"Is this still too much praise?"

As she spoke, Aquila swept aside the curtain at the barracks entrance.

And then.

"...!"

Vikir couldn't help but open his eyes wide.

Outside the barracks, an enormous crowd had gathered, at first glance, four figures in size.

They were all kneeling, eyes closed, hands clasped together in prayer.

"We want Vikir, the hero of the depht, to get well. Please send our prayers to...."

Balak, Rococo, Renaissance, all the big tribes of Depht, as well as smaller tribes with appearances and attire you've never seen before.

They prayed in different ways, but their requests were the same.

With one heart and one mind, they surrounded Vikir's barracks and offered sacrifices.

And then.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

At the sight of the awakened Vikir, they stamped their feet, raised their voices, and let out a roar of joy.

The entire tribe was united under Vikir's accomplishment.

* * *

That night.

The whole series of processes and events came to a sobering end.

The all-night feast of eating, drinking, and merriment, and the memorial service for the dead, ended simultaneously.

Survivors drink and get drunk in a sense of mission, sadness, relief or joy, and make new resolutions.

And when it was all over, the night fell silent.

"...."

Vikir closed his eyes and checked his body.

'I have it back. Back to my prime before the regression.'

Deep inside him, he could feel his aura bubbling and boiling.

It's so dense that it's now more like a solid than a liquid.

It is the peak of the Graduator, a state that Vikir had reached before his regression.

Added to that was a higher level of Baskerville-style swordsmanship.

The sixth tooth he'd drawn against Madame.

And before he knew it, another, smaller tooth had sprouted behind it.

The Baskerville Seventh.

The seventh tooth, beyond carnivorous.

Vikir's struggle with the Madame resulted in the production of a seventh tooth, albeit a small one.

He doesn't know why, but it's a natural consequence of his deepening understanding of martial arts in times of crisis.

He has fully regained the combat prowess he had before his regression, and has even acquired the 7th Baskerville.

Considering that Vikir's swordsmanship before his regression was only 4 tooth, and the current patriarch of the Baskerville family, Hugo le Baskerville, was 7 dan, this was quite an achievement.

"But Hugo is a Swordmaster."

Even if they had the same level of swordsmanship, Hugo is a master.

Vikir was a top Graduator, but he hadn't yet broken through the Master's barrier.

'... Still, I've achieved at seventeen what I didn't reach until I was forty, so I've got a long way to go.'

If anyone else knew this, they would faint.

Not even the greatest swordmasters of House Baskerville, who were said to have the best equipment in history, could accomplish this.

Moreover, Vikir was confident that even if he were to go one-on-one with the Swordmaster, he would not be easily overpowered.

"If it's not a duel, but a life-or-death fight, then it's not like we don't have a chance....

Vikir's eyes shone as he pictured Hugo's face in his mind.

At the same time, the sword Beelzebub, much longer than before, drew its blade from the artery in his wrist.

...Puddle!

The red pattern engraved on the hilt was even more ominous than before.

The reason is...

<Binge Fly 'Beelzebub'> / Awl

-1 slot: Venomous -Madame Eight-Legged (S)

-Slot 2: Silent Hill – Monsieur Hushu (A+)

Slot -3: Super Regeneration – Swamp Salamander (A+)

The newest addition to the group is a giant wraith.

Madame Eightlegs.

Since a portion of her soul became a wraith and possessed Beelzebub, this already dangerous weapon has become even more deadly.

Extremely poisonous.

It was imbued with Madame's fearsome malice, capable of killing in the smallest doses.

For a moment, Vikir studied this product of Madame's killing.

Then. Suddenly, Vikir's mind wandered elsewhere.

"Come to think of it, what about...?

Vikir's gaze fell to the bosom of the black cloak he was wearing.

He slipped his hand into the pocket and felt what he expected.

One soft little ball.

This large black ball bobbed gently in Vikir's hand.

It was the egg that Madame Eight-Legged had laid.

During the battle, Madame Eight-Legged had regained her health by eating her eggs, one by one, and this was the last one she had left.

Vikir scrambled to pick it up.

"I saw it fall and picked it up, but I didn't think it would survive the impact of the fall....

The egg was quite durable after all.

No matter how many times I hit it with my fist, it bounces back without breaking because it is so elastic.

The others didn't know what this black egg was, so they left it alone for now....

"Hmm, do you think it will hatch?"

Now that it had left its mother's arms, there was a good chance that even if it was a healthy egg, it wouldn't hatch properly.

It could have been a fertile egg in the first place, or it could have been damaged inside.

For now, Vikir kept the egg in his arms.

Maybe one day it could be used for research.

'...I must leave now.'

Vikir lay down in a heap of straw.

He'd seen, heard, and done a lot in the last two years here in Depht.

He had gained experiences that he would never forget.

I've regained my pre-Regression combat strength, and I've learned many important things.

But we can't live here forever.

I still had a lot of work to do before I could return.

'...Someday, when I'm done with all my plans, I'll be able to come back here.'

Just as Vikir was thinking about his future plans.

Thump-thump-thump.

Someone knocked on the barracks' insignia.

The next moment, someone entered the barracks where Vikir was lying.

Whirring.

A dewy night breeze enters and blows out the candles in the barracks.

"...?"

Vikir stared at the shadowy figure beyond the darkness.

Aiyen.

She was staring down at Vikir, her back to the black night sky, a galaxy of countless stars.

...?

"Vikir."

Aiyen's voice is more serious than ever as she calls out to Vikir.

She was always reticent and serious, but... today, for some reason, she was wearing an unusually reserved expression.

And then.

Aiyen stepped closer to Vikir.

And said in a low voice

"Will you ... help me?"