The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 103: Nostalgia (4)

Chapter 103: Nostalgia (4)

It has been two months since Madame Eight Legs disappeared.

Vakira had become a father.

Five wolf pups nurse in their mother's arms, a peaceful sight.

Meanwhile.

"...."

Vikir watched the female wolf nurse her pups.

A black ball was wedged between the squirming pups.

The egg of Madame Eightlegs. It looked like a large black pearl, but it was smooth and soft to the touch.

Vikir had been trying to get the wolves to hold this egg for the past two months, just in case.

But the wolves' warmth and care hadn't made any difference to the egg.

The only thing that has changed is that the newborn puppies keep nibbling on the soft, fluffy egg and smearing it with their saliva.

Vikir realized that further experiments with Madame's eggs were pointless, and he prepared to embark on his long journey once more.

Back to the Empire. And back to Baskerville.

The return of the Ironblooded Hound.

It was time to return to where he came from.

When Vikir announced his departure from Balak's village, not only did Balak's warriors send envoys, but so did all the nearby tribes.

Aquila did not stop Vikir when he declared his intention to leave. He was not a slave, so why stop him?

Once you're family, you're always family, and even if you're separated by great distances, your ties grow stronger, not weaker.

However, Aquila invited the envoys from each tribe who had gathered to bid Vikir farewell and held a grand banquet to decorate the celebration.

Everyone at the banquet loved and respected Vikir.

But no one said "see you" or "see you again" to him.

"There are no such words in the Balak language."

Aquila didn't even say anything to Vikir about looking forward to their next meeting.

"See you again" does not exist in the Balak language.

They believe that once a relationship is formed, it is never broken, and that it transcends time and place.

They were together even when they were apart.

That's why they don't expect to say goodbye.

Aquila spoke to Vikir in a warm voice.

"'Whenever and wherever you are. You are a Balak hunter. And you are part of our family. Do not forget that."

Vikir was silent for a moment.

For some reason, he felt something hot and ticklish stirring in the deepest recesses of his chest.

For the first time, a feeling of belonging settled in Vikir's heart that he hadn't felt in any other place since his return.

It was almost as if leaving Depht and returning to Baskerville was like leaving home and going to a strange place.

Aquila continued.

"You are a proud Balak warrior, and a hero to all of Dephts. If you are in trouble, we will help you to the best of our ability, no matter where you are or who you are up against."

It wasn't just the warriors of Balak who responded to Aquila's words.

All the native tribes of the Depht, from the shamanic Rococo to the berserker Renaissance, cheered Aquila's words and encouraged Vikir.

"Our hero, call us anytime, we'll come to your aid!"

"Think of us sometimes! We love you!"

"Awesome, Vikir! Go back and take over the empire!"

"May the path of a hero be filled with only blessings..."

Most of all, the young men of Balak, with whom I had cried, laughed, and slept for the past two years, were the most sad to see Vikir go.

Ahun was the worst of all. He was reduced to tears.

He thumped his chest like a gorilla and shouted.

"Vikir, you can come back anytime! We'll be here waiting for you! And if you have any problems, you can always call us!"

"Brother Vikir. You have to write to me often, you have to, or else I'm going to...."

Beside him, Ahul, who had grown much taller by now, looked at Vikir with a moist gaze.

She handed the departing Vikir a lunchbox wrapped in leaves, having grown so much in the past two years that she could hardly be considered 15 years old.

Inside was a skewer of creamy caterpillars, a precious food.

Vikir's dry smile curved the corners of his mouth.

He couldn't remember laughing much before or after his regression, but here in Depht, he laughed a lot.

He had laughed more in four months here than he had in forty years in his previous life.

"Farewell, Vikir, our hero!"

Without a 'see you later', the warriors of Balak wave to Vikir with a mixture of amusement and regret in their eyes.

And then.

Vikir left the depht he had been fond of in the midst of everyone's farewell.

....

...No.

Not all of them.

Vikir searched the crowd for a face, but never found it.

Aiyen.

For some reason, she hadn't shown up in town since she'd heard Vikir say he was leaving town.

She didn't even show up for Vikir's farewell ceremony.

Everyone was puzzled because she usually followed Vikir wherever he went.

"...It can't be right."

Vikir stood outside the village, glanced back at the empty Aiyen barracks, and stood there for a few seconds.

Then he turned on his heel and walked away from his beloved Balak village.

His steps in the direction of the border of the depht were weak for the first few steps, but then they began to pick up steam.

It's really time to go home now.

* * *

Vikir soon left the edge of the depht.

Standing on a high rocky peak, he could see a familiar citadel ahead.

The Crimson Castle.

It was a mining fortress built by the mages of Morg, to mine the rubies of Red Awl Mountain.

Massive earthen walls, wooden fences, and stone buildings rose crudely but majestically.

It had apparently been hardened over the past two years to keep the natives at bay.

A land of endless veins of crimson ruby, with dark clouds gathering in swirls above.

The landscape still bathed in the ominous colors of red and black.

"...still mining rubies?"

Vikir walked slowly toward Morg's citadel.

He was returning after two years.

Suddenly, he remembered the face of Morg Camus, the former head of the place. Was she still there?

If she had grown up well, she would be a mature woman now, seventeen years old and well within the marriageable age.

But that was the life of a cordinary noble families, and a Camus born into the noble society of Morg was quite different.

'So, when are you entering the academy? Let's keep up with me. I'm probably going to get early admission by a year or two. It would be so much fun if we could be first years together....'

Suddenly, I remembered how two years ago, she had followed me around and nagged me.

"Did I tell you that I was thinking of applying for early admission to the Academy?"

Two years ago, when she was 15, she had already said that she was thinking about early admission to the Academy, so maybe she was already there.

'You must have forgotten about me.'

At 17, you're a grown up.

An eight-year-old crush would be nothing more than a shy, fading memory.

Vikir smiled dryly and headed out into the wilderness. The wind blew through the cotton fields.

... Just then.

"Hey, slave!"

A voice called out to Vikir from behind.

Turning his head, Vikir saw a silver-black-haired, pointy-eared woman, just turned nineteen, staring at him.

Aiyen. She stood with her back to the cotton wind, her eyes red with tears.

"Are you going?"

"...."

"Really?"

Aiyen asked in a deep voice, and Vikir responded with silence.

Then Aiyen stepped in front of him.

" ... If you're going to go, take this with you."

Vikir's eyes widened as he saw Aiyen reach out a trembling hand and give it to him.

"!"

It was a large bow. It was a black bow with a dark light all over it.

A giant bow that Adonai had used in the past.

There was even a bowstring that had never existed.

Vikir realized that the white, tough string on the black bow was made from the tanned silk of Madame Eight-Legged Spider's web.

The same tough spring from which Madame had made and stored her webs had become the string, making the black bow a complete unit.

'Anubis', the strongest bow in Balak's history, has finally regained its perfect form.

'... I'm sorry I've been missing all this time making it.'

Vikir thought to himself as he looked down at the Black Bow.

... Thud!

Aiyen puts something around Vikir's neck.

A small black necklace.

It is a choker, an object made from the tough hide of an oxbear.

This oxbear was the first catch Aiyen and Vikir had made together.

Aiyen put the necklace around Vikir's neck and spoke in his native voice.

" ... Don't ever let go of this thing. Anywhere."

"Understood."

Vikir nodded, then looked down at Aiyen.

Aiyen looked back up at Vikir.

"...."

"...."

Their positions have changed a lot in the past two years.

When they first met, Aiyen looked down at Vikir and gave him orders.

Now, it's Aiyen who can barely make eye contact with Vikir.

She was a head taller than him then, but now she's a head shorter.

Vikir, who had grown much taller, turned to Aiyen and said.

"You've gotten a lot shorter."

It was her own joke, her own code for breaking the ice.

But Aiyen didn't respond to such lame jokes.

Just.

Mmm.

She walks in with a swift stride.

Pow!

A fist lands on Vikir's stomach.

Vikir, who was hit in the stomach out of nowhere, swallows a groan and bends over.

... Thud!

Aiyen immediately grabs the choker around Vikir's neck.

The next thing you know, Vikir is being dragged forward by the leash in Aiyen's grasp.

And then.

"...!"

The moment when Vikir, bent at the waist, and Aiyen, choker in hand, are exactly the same height.

Their lips met at the exact same height and pressed together.

....

A second, like an eternity.

How much time had passed.

Aiyen pushed hard against Vikir's chest.

She turned her back to Vikir, who had stopped breathing.

"... ... see you again."

It was still an imperfect imperial language.