The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 147: Volunteering for the Golden Week (5)

Chapter 147: Volunteering for the Golden Week (5)

The days are bright and sunny.

Vikir is pulling weeds that have sprouted in the yard.

But even while doing the dirty work, Vikir's eyes and ears are always open.

He wants to make sure he doesn't miss a single detail about Guilty, so he does his best to gather information.

It's almost impossible for a volunteer to meet Guilty in person, instead relying on information about his work and daily routine from a distance or from those around him.

This was made all the more annoying by the fact that he was often interrupted by Geronto, Fedo, Hebe, and Ephebo, who were always at his side.

"They're strong guys. Especially that Geronto girl....'

Vikir turned his attention to the smallest of Guilty's four shadows, a mage woman.

She exuded strong magic, probably at least fifth class.

Her body clearly belonged to a girl who appeared to be about Vikir's age, but the power she possessed was definitely unnatural.

The black sack she was wearing was also quite ominous, emitting an unpleasant odor.

It seemed to be a relic from a distant and ancient time.

In any case, unless we can somehow deal with those four sack people who are escorting Guilty, the purpose of the mission will not be fulfilled.

'Alright, let's just focus on what I can see for now.'

Vikir began to think with only the information he had at hand.

After analyzing the circumstances, Guilty's job was nothing special.

His primary job was to sell indulgences and plenaries to nobles and merchants visiting the church, and he occasionally mailed investment reports and indulgence sales ledgers to the Quovadis family.

The recipients of the mail were almost always Cardinal Humbert L Quovadis of the Old Order.

Vikir would sneak over the barrier at night and intercept the mail by shooting pigeons and owls flying away from Guilty's office with arrows.

The letters usually contained the following.

Viscount Beckin: Murdered parents who wanted to donate their inheritance instead of passing it on to their children, faked an accidental death, and stole the inheritance = all sins are forgiven by paying 1.5 billion gold in tribute.

Baron Lageso: Terrified and murdered his twin sisters, who were working as maids, and buried them in the sewers = All sins are forgiven with a 200 million gold tribute.

Lord Finnegieg: Murdered a business partner and stole his investments, while his family suffered and committed mass suicide = 800 million gold.

Count Eisel: Charged with massive tax evasion, nearly 100 billion gold in tax evasion alone = Pardoned by paying 300 million gold in tribute.

CEO Quarkar: Accused of stock price manipulation, driving over 10,000 ant investors to suicide = Pardoned by paying 5 billion gold.

.

.

For example, a rich man evaded taxes, a high-ranking noble intimidated a servant, a merchant murdered a business associate, or a trader bought and sold indulgences for... whatever.

Vikir read each and every one of these letters while pulling weeds in the yard.

He concluded.

"... I don't need to know about this."

These were bad guys, sure, but at least they weren't in league with the demons and betraying humanity.

At least they weren't being hunted by the Night Hounds.

Vikir was about to throw the letters away when he paused.

Confessions of the criminals the Old Order priests were dealing with, and their secret crimes against humanity.

"Maybe it would be a good gift for someone."

This "blacklist" would be a politically potent weapon.

Vikir set the letters aside for a moment. He'd tuck them away somewhere.

Then.

...Wiggle!

Something moved in the pocket of Vikir's arm.

"...?"

Vikir felt a rare moment of panic.

What had just wriggled out of his pocket was enough to make even the usually expressionless Vikir's eyes widen.

An egg. It was a rather large black egg.

The egg of Madame Eight-Legged, the one he had saved when he was adrift for two years in the depth of the Black Mountain with his former enemy.

I've always carried it in my pocket, just in case, but why is it wriggling now?

"...?"

Vikir looked up.

In the direction of the egg's wiggling, a group of children were running a lead race.

"What?

For a moment, Vikir's mind wandered.

Madame Eight-Legged Egg had once grown up in the same nest as the wolf pups in Balak's village.

The pups had cuddled, rolled over, licked, and played together.

Is it possible that this egg misses that simple life, and that's why it wants to join the children at the orphanage when it sees them playing? Is it a coincidence that neither Madame Eight-Legged Egg nor the children at the orphanage have parents?

"No, it can't be. There's no spirituality in a mere spider's egg....'

But if it's an egg of a high-ranking creature with a danger rating of S, Madame Eight-Legged, it might be something else.

Then.

Bam!

A ball kicked by one of the children made a loud noise.

At the same time, the expressions of all the children turned to horror.

"Ouch!?"

Had the ball gone too far?

No, it wasn't.

There was a loud pop, but the ball didn't move an inch from its spot.

The leather had torn and the air inside had burst.

"Alas, this was the last ball...."

The children gathered around the worn-out ball and cried.

The orphanage made a lot of money selling indulgences, but the toys the children played with were always old, shabby ones that had been donated long ago.

The balls the children used to play football with were worn out and had holes in them that had been stitched together several times to form a ball.

Eventually, it burst, and the children could no longer play ball.

"...."

The last child to kick the ball panics, not knowing what to do.

Vikir thought the face of the flustered child was quite familiar.

Nymphet. A girl who doesn't often open up to volunteers.

Her usual expressionless face was gone, and she was looking at her classmates with a tearful expression.

A look that said she was sorry and didn't know what to do.

And then. Something amazing happened.

...Pot!

Madame Eight-Legged's egg pierced Vikir's chest and shot forward.

Pow! Pow! Pow!

Madame's egg bounced and rolled lightly across the floor, as if urging a child to play with it.

"Huh? A ball!"

The children are delighted to see Madame's egg bouncing this way.

The ball deflected and bounced in a few odd directions, but the kids generally didn't seem to mind, and used Madame's egg as their lead ball.

"...That's crazy."

Vikir's mouth was half open as he watched Madame's egg bounce around the playground, chasing the children.

The egg seemed somehow amused as it bounced off the children's hands and feet or soared into the air.

It didn't crack on impact, but rather bounced around like a rubber ball.

The perfect material, as if the heavens had sent it down to be used as a ball when playing ball.

... But even so, it was definitely a demonic creature's egg, and certainly not something for children to play with.

Vikir took a step forward to snatch it away from the children.

At that very moment.

"Hmph!"

A raspy cough came from behind him.

Vikir ignored it and took another step forward.

"Cough! Cough!"

The coughing continued, as if trying to force Vikir's attention.

"...?"

Vikir's eyes spun around to see a familiar face.

St. Dolores stood before him, her face slightly flushed.

Vikir quickly snatched up Guilty's ledgers from his side and tucked them into his arms.

Dolores narrowed her eyes at the sight.

"Studying for a writing exam? Are you studying while doing volunteer work? ... Hmm, you're surprisingly diligent."

"What is it?"

Vikir asks in a stern tone, and Dolores coughs once more, averting her gaze.

"Uhm, uhm, just, uhm. I was wondering what your volunteer work is like, and from what I've heard from some of my friends, you seem pretty dedicated to it. Is it worth it?"

"Yeah."

"...."

"...."

"...Ah, is that it, answer?"

"Yeah."

"...I see."

Dolores couldn't help but notice that Vikir's short answers didn't sit well with her.

She was used to asking one word questions and getting ten or a hundred answers.

Dolores twisted the ends of her hair around her fingers a few times before she forced herself to speak.

"..., actually. I came to talk to you about what happened yesterday."

"...?"

Vikir's brow furrowed slightly.

"Yesterday?

It was unimportant, so he must have forgotten about it right away.

As Vikir was trying to recall what had happened with Dolores yesterday, Dolores hesitantly continued.

"Well, I guess it's because we have a bit of a family situation... and I think I overreacted to you yesterday, but I'm sure you were just trying to help me, and I'm really sorry for the way I yelled at you yesterday....."

Dolores was apparently referring to yesterday when she was pushed down the hallway by Vikir with her mouth covered.

But.

"...!"

Vikir wasn't paying attention to Dolores at all right now.

Because something much bigger than that was happening right now.

Bam!

Madame's egg, kicked by the Nymphet, flew high into the air this time.

But he had chosen the wrong trajectory.

...Pow!

He fell into the deep sewers at the edge of the playground.

The kids all screamed.

"Ouch! No! That's the last ball!"

"We're not going to make it without it!"

"Pick it up! We have to pick it up or...!"

The problem is that the filth and wastewater flowing in that sewer is being sucked straight into an underground sewage treatment plant, and the ball that fell into it isn't just any ball.

Purrrrrr...

Even as the kids are panicking, Madame's egg is making its way to the sewage treatment plant.

The sewer is too deep for them to get into and the flow is too fast.

A dire situation in more ways than one.

So Dolores couldn't finish her sentence.

"I'm sorry... okay?"

Vikir, the object of her apology, scurried out onto the playground as she spoke.

"It's deep. Move."

Vikir gave a quick warning to the kids who had gathered in front of the sewer and were scrambling to get out of the way.

And then.

...a puff of air!

Without a moment's hesitation, Vikir dove into the filthy, floating sewer.