The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 138: Men are Power (1)

Chapter 138: Men are Power (1)

"The Venompion is a dangerous B+ rank monster that can be easily caught as long as you pay attention to the first stinger on its tail and the second stinger on its stomach."

Professor Banshee furrowed her brow at Vikir's announcement.

"...Second Stinger', what is that?"

Venompion are large scorpions that live in the desert and carry a single large stinger near their tail.

A sting can kill you before you can take more than a few steps, which is why desert travelers are wary of the area around its tail when they encounter one.

But even Professor Banshee had never heard of a Venompion with two stingers before. ...

The Empire's danger rating for Venompion was A, not B+.

Vikir closed his mouth in disbelief.

'I see. It must have been at a time when research on Venompion was still in its early stages.'

What was so obvious to adventurers who lived through the Age of Destruction would be unfamiliar to those in the present day.

The same goes for the strategy around Venompion.

At this point, the Empire is still in the midst of a major demonic monster extermination campaign.

It's no wonder so little is known about them.

It would be years before the Empire would be able to properly study the Venompion, so it was still a new monster to them.

The second stinger, originally hidden beneath the Venompion's belly armor, was discovered by a researcher by accident.

After examining the hard exoskeleton piece by piece, down to the smallest unit that would no longer disintegrate, the researcher accidentally spilled the solution and melted a section of the Venomphion's belly armor, thus revealing the existence of the tiny stinger.

Since then, the Venomphion's playbook has been redefined, and the mysterious behaviors and unexplained attack patterns of the vile scorpion have been explained, leading to its downgrade in danger.

But all of this was information that no one in the modern world would know, so Vikir simply kept quiet.

" ... I think I've been researching the wrong material by mistake."

But Professor Banshee wouldn't let him off the hook.

"How dare you make a mistake in my class? You don't deserve to be in my class if you make a stupid mistake like that, and I'm deducting 10 points from your overall attitude score."

Professor Banshee glared at Vikir, and then at the entire Cold Class.

There were sighs and groans from around the room.

Some of the students were glaring at Vikir, not at Professor Banshee.

Vikir sighed, knowing he had no choice.

If he went on like this, the student's scores would be lowered, and he would make more enemies than he needed to.

Without further ado, Vikir recalled what he knew.

"However, before you deduct any marks, perhaps if you could examine the carapace of the scorpion carcass you have in your possession, things might become a little clearer."

"Does that mean that your findings are correct?"

"If not, feel free to make my attitude score zero. However, I would ask that you do not deduct any points from the group score."

Professor Banshee smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Very well. I'll give you a chance to examine my specimen for your petty sacrificial act."

With that, Professor Banshee turned over his prized scorpion carcass.

A hard spot can be seen in the center where the disgusting legs are curled up.

Professor Banshee picked up his scalpel, imbued it with mana, and sliced through the armor.

He cut through the armor to hard spots that normally would have been untouched.

And then. The students in the front row jumped back in surprise.

...Poof!

Suddenly, the poisonous stinger that was hidden near the stomach shot upward.

"Hmph!"

Prof. Banshee stumbled backward and landed on his ass, startled by the poisonous stinger that had just shot up past his nose.

Professor Banshee's bangs were severed, and her hair fell in tufts.

Vikir looked at it and thought to himself.

'The Venompion's deathbed flip is the final act of becoming one with its opponent. The reason the world has never seen that sting is because the witnesses are nearly all dead.'

With that, Professor Banshee picked himself up off the ground, panting, and turned to Vikir.

"Now, how did you know this?"

"I just made a guess."

"...guessing about what?"

"Well, the reason there are so few sightings of Venompion is that the eyewitnesses are all dead, and I wondered where this scorpion hid such lethal technology. I also wondered if the sting of its obvious tail would pose that much of a threat to adventurers, so I took note of its largest and most intricately constructed belly armor."

Hearing this, Professor Banshee looked dumbfounded.

You're doing this research for such a random reason, and it's turning out to be so significant?

But it's hard not to believe it when it comes from the undergraduate student who made the big discovery.

Professor Banshee muttered under his breath.

"I see. This explains why Venompion sometimes exhibits erratic attack patterns, such as leaving their pincers behind and attacking with their middle or end legs. The stingers near the belly are disposable, and it takes a long time for them to regenerate after use, so in the meantime, their attack patterns become simplistic and ignorant."

Professor Banshee's mutterings were met with a collective oooh from the students.

...except for one.

As they all looked back at Vikir in admiration, there was a white-haired girl in the front row with her head down.

"...."

It was Sinclair, the model student of the Hot Class.

What was she thinking now, having just categorized the Venomphion's three personalities, when Vikir's research analyzed the phenomenon so much more accurately and informative than her own?

Regardless of her feelings, however, all the students in both the Cold and Hot Class were gossiping about Vikir's presentation.

"Wow, this is amazing. How can someone do research like that?"

"I thought it was cool to be athletic, but... It's cool to study that well."

"But isn't he athletic, too? The last time I saw him, he was fighting Tudor and Sancho."

"Oh, that's because those games didn't use any mana. We'll have to use mana for the official tournament later."

"What's the point of studying well? He's a commoner and doesn't even have the basics of mana. He'll probably get screwed during the midterms."

"But he has a great attitude. Did you hear him say that he's willing to lower his score but not his team's score? That's loyal."

Public opinion was generally favorable.

Vikir didn't like the idea of having opinions formed about him, good or bad, in the first place.

Meanwhile.

A few of the freshman girls were sneaking glances at Vikir and whispering in his ear.

"I think I've gotten a better idea of my tastes this time around. I seem to like things that are a little nerdy. I guess I'm a nerd."

"Nerds have to be good-looking too...."

They laugh out loud about what's so great about Vikir, imagining the face hidden behind his bangs and glasses.

Suddenly, one of them looks up and glances at the girl behind him.

"Hey, Bianca, what about you? Isn't he okay?"

Bianca. The eldest daughter of the Usher and co-head of the Cold Class looked up.

Bianca replied in a deep tone.

"Being handsome or smart doesn't mean anything, unless you're pretty."

"Eh? Then what does it mean?"

Bianca's answer to her friends' questions was simple.

"A man is strength. He has to be strong."

Bianca's reasoning was loud and clear.

"I'm not interested in men who are weaker than me. Is it Vikir or Vakar?, What can you do with a child who isn't even an expert?"

"Eh, but didn't he do pretty well in the last Naphtali?"

"That was without using mana. The concentration and size of the aura are the true test of strength. He's probably going to bleed to death during the midterms, weaklings can't survive in the academy."

"Aww, you're being too hard on him. I just want him to be handsome and smart."

The girls turn away and gossip amongst themselves again.

But Bianca is still staring at Vikir with an unimpressed gaze.

'What's so good about that dirty little bastard?'

She clicked her tongue when she noticed how other female students her age looked at men.

Bianca's gaze then turned to Vikir.

The way he answered Professor Banshee's questions, step by step, did not inspire any emotion in Bianca.

"You can't even be an expert, can you, ...?

Bianca closed her eyes and yawned once.

Then she turned her attention away from Vikir completely.

* * *

A small, run-down nursery in a fairly remote location, even in a corner of the Imperial City.

"Master! Swordmaster!"

A panicked Terminus spits out.

"Say, save me! Please save me! "I'm not at fault!"

It's long past midnight. When everyone else is asleep.

A fat man is crawling across the floor, wiping away tears.

Behind him stood Vikir, the Night Hound, with a long sword and a red aura.

Vikir's brow furrowed.

'Swordmaster.'

Strictly speaking, Vikir is still the highest level of Graduator.

It's just that the aura he emanates from his magic sword, Beelzebub, is so thick and dense that it's almost solid, nearly liquid.

Perhaps this villain, who is about to be beheaded, saw the aura of Vikir, the highest grade graduator, and mistook him for a master.

Vikir spoke in a dry voice.

"... ... Doxeller. 52 years old. The mayor of the District and the director of an orphanage. They colluded with the demon and sold children. As the imperial capital is overflowing with illegitimate children of nobles, only high-class orphans would have been treated. yes?"

"High-class orphans, there's no such thing!"

"Fair, fair-faced, literate, cultured, with blood from a noble family. All of those things are a premium for you. Isn't that right?"

"No! There's nothing good or bad about orphans, they're all blood bags anyway, what... huck!?"

Without realizing it, Mr. Doxeller had unwittingly admitted his crime.

A broker in the guise of a nursery director.

It doesn't matter if he knew or didn't know he was dealing with a demon.

Vikir lifted Beelzebub.

Now, with a downward thrust of his arm, his head would fall off his body and roll across the floor.

Just then.

"...!"

Vikir felt a blast of cold night air behind him.

Boo-boo-boo.

It was too cold and heavy to be a natural breeze.

Boom!

Vikir jumped up and something big and heavy flew at him from behind.

It was meant to kill, instead, It smashed into the shoulder of the fat Doxeller and thudded into the stone pillar behind him.

"...?"

Vikir turned his head.

Through the glass panes of his plague mask, he saw something bizarre.

A man in a neatly styled black suit.

A black sack-like thing covered his face with stitch marks, and in his hand, he held a large hammer.

And worst of all.

'... this smell.'

An overwhelming odor emanated from him, the kind only a demon could emit.

"Is it the Ten Commandments?"

Vikir flicked Beelzebub once.

hudududug-

The sword's temporary bend was restored by the force of the blow, and the auras on its tip scattered like water droplets.

Amidst the rain of bullets, the man in the black sack raised his hammer.

...Quack!

He slammed the hammer down on the ground, sending dust and stone fragments flying, and with it, he blocked Vikir's aura shots.

[grunt... grunt...]

He let out an unpleasant sound beneath the black sack he wore on his head.

Vikir narrowed his eyes at the black aura on his hammer.

"A graduator. Intermediate, maybe even advanced.'

A strong fellow, but not a Ten Commandments demon.

Probably one of the minions working under the Ten Commandments.

"That's good, I'll be able to meet Ten Commandments when I'm done with you."

Behind the mask, Vikir's face flushed with excitement.

This was the first clue he'd gotten since coming to the Academy.

...?

[grunt...]

Vikir's complexion changed as the black sack man raised the hammer.

The way the monster held the hammer was very familiar to Vikir.

"...that."

The creature was exuding the smell of the demon.

What he was about to use was clearly the blunt technique of the Faithful Saint, the Quovadis.