The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 201: Mixed Bath (1)

Chapter 201: Mixed Bath (1)

The center of the Imperial City.

The Academy's walls rise high in the center of the bridge over the gently flowing waterway.

The bridge is quiet at dawn. There are few passersby along the usually bustling streets, only a few hardworking individuals who have started their day early.

Vikir crosses the bridge and makes his way to the Academy.

Slowly, slowly.

He was in worse shape than he thought.

The blood from his back had congealed and stopped bleeding, but the energy that had been drained from him was slow to return.

'Even with the resilience I gained by changing into a dog's body, I'll barely be able to survive this... in a human body.'

Perhaps in a human body, he would have passed out already.

With that, Vikir dragged his crumbling body and barely made it to the outer walls of the academy.

Hack.

A black puppy walking with its tongue hanging out.

The guards patrolling the Academy's outer walls spotted Vikir like that.

"What a cute little puppy, and he's so tiny."

"Hey, hey, don't touch him. It looks like a sick dog. What if it gets something dirty?"

"It's dirty, let's get rid of it."

One of the guards tried to pet Vikir, but the other guard next to him stopped him.

Pow!

The other guard walked out with a sullen look on his face and kicked Vikir.

Getting his ass handed to him, Vikir was forced to walk away.

The guards giggled at Vikir and then walked away without looking back.

'...What a pitiful stray dog.'

It's not like I hadn't been on the streets before, so I knew that life on the streets was hard.

However, the feeling of the streets for humans and the feeling of the streets for dogs were worlds apart.

Vikir gritted his teeth and stuck to the outside of the wall.

He walked as close to the wall as he could without being seen.

Even a casual passerby would be wary and move away.

He didn't know when he would be attacked again.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, look!"

A drunken passerby pulls a sausage out of his pocket and throws it at him, but of course he doesn't eat it.

In fact, it only makes him move further away from the dangerous creature.

"What a stubborn dog."

The drunk shakes the sausage a few times before dropping it on the ground and walking away.

'....'

Vikir walks silently against the wall.

His eyes scanning his surroundings, but his mind replaying the previous battle with the Eight Corpse.

Morg Snake should have been the Corpse King long ago.

Sindiwendi had given him a progress report not long ago, and so far he hasn't shown any signs of disturbance.

'Looks like he's still human.'

And at that point, the Corpse Queen appeared. What does this mean?

The corpse of Gerontoe and Ahheman.

And the last thing she said was....

There was more to think about.

When it came down to it, the main reason he couldn't end the Corpse Queen's life was his lack of swordsmanship.

Vikir remembered Hugo's performance against Andromalius.

The seven teeth he had created with a single blow, the upper and lower jaws that had closed like the gills of a monster, the way he had split the sky in seven.

They were the same Baskerville seven, but Vikir's seven and Hugo's seven were different.

That would be the gap between Graduotor and Swordmaster.

However, there was a moment when Vikir crossed the gap and reached the level of Master.

It was against Dantalian, when he received the buff from Saintess Dolores.

For a brief moment, Vikir's power rivaled Hugo's, and he was able to turn Dantalian's back on him.

The problem is, even without the saintess's help, you need to be able to summon that much power to survive the fight ahead.

If you want to reach the peak of your powers as soon as possible, you need to.... .... ....

'...I've lost too much blood, and my thoughts keep getting interrupted.'

I have a lot to think about, but my concentration is slipping.

He needed to find a safe place to rest before he could formulate his next plan and take action.

'Let's get back to the academy. I need to get to my dorm or the infirmary and get some sleep....'

Vikir dug his forepaws into the ground and made a burrow.

The opening beneath the rampart-like wall had been filled with softened soil and fallen leaves, making it easy to dig back in.

Vikir had just dug a hole under the wall and entered the academy.

He heard the sound of laughter from the bushes.

"Ugh, I've been drinking too much, I'm getting sleepy."

"Let's just burn this one and get back inside."

"It's almost dawn."

Three boys and three girls were leaning against the fence, flirting.

They reeked of alcohol and cigarettes and hadn't slept until this hour.

Vikir saw the scars that still marked their foreheads.

X

The scars are familiar.

Because they were all made by Vikir himself.

'...The sophomores who used to bully Piggy.'

A bunch of low-life scumbags who thought it was the beginning of the school year and picked on Piggy because he was nervous.

So Vikir had followed them, masked, and once dragged them into a back alley to give them a good beating when they went outside the academy.

At that point, Vikir pulled out a sword and carved a cross-shaped scar into the bullies' foreheads.

'If you ever make a nuisance of yourselves inside the academy again, I will not only kill you, but also your father and mother,' he said.

The murderous threat was a bonus.

Ever since they'd been beaten to a pulp by the masked Vikir, the six had been living like rats in the academy.

They usually insulted and bullied not only their juniors, but also their classmates, even their seniors, if they seemed a little weak.

However, if they think they are stronger or have a higher status than them, they are despicable servants who will fart and grovel, regardless of whether they are a junior, classmate, or senior.

But after being exposed to overwhelming violence and fear, they barely breathe inside the academy.

Who? Who had paid for the assault? And then to harm their parents?

There were too many people to pinpoint the culprits.

All they could do was grit their teeth and relive the karma they had accumulated, not knowing when or where retribution would strike again.

Once the bullies were silenced, there were fewer problems in the academy.

...But, did I mention that people are not meant to be fixed?

They were hiding in fear of being watched, but their caution didn't extend to the puppy, who had nowhere to go.

"Huh? What the fuck, asshole."

One of the boys, who had been drinking from a bottle, spotted Vikir emerging from the bushes.

Vikir turned his head to look away. The dog's body had recovered quickly, but the wounds on his body still hadn't fully healed.

The six sophomores giggled and surrounded Vikir.

"Hey, is it okay for stray dogs to roam around the academy like this?"

"They'll spread disease. Let's clean it up. It's a nice thing to do, picking up trash."

"I've been under a lot of stress lately. Let's tie him up somewhere."

"Shall we burn it alive?"

"Awww, poor thing, just throw him in the sewer over there and be done with it."

"Ah, I suddenly remember that masked bastard. Next time I see him, I'm going to carve a knife mark in his skull just like that. Let's practice first and carve it into that bastard's body."

The six bullies giggle, holding cigarette butts and daggers in their hands.

Several throw lit cigarette butts at Vikir, and a few throw liquor bottles at him, shattering them.

Spitting and kicking were commonplace.

Vikir thought for a moment.

'Maybe I should just kill them.'

It takes strength to endure, and when you're in such bad shape, it's hard to endure.

No matter how badly he was injured, if he were back in his human form, he could probably make six heads roll on the floor in a second, or even half a second.

In fact, I could probably do it in a dog's body.

But that would mean a big headline in the Academy's morning paper tomorrow.

.

It'll set other dogs and cats on fire.

I don't have a place to dispose of the body, and I don't have the stamina to do so.

Especially since my eyelids kept trying to close earlier.

[growl...]

A small cry came from above, barely audible to Vikir's ears.

He looked up to see the cub perched on the wall, its fur standing upright, looking down at him.

It looked like it might jump at any moment.

But Vikir shook his head.

The second-year students at Colosseo Academy are strong in their own way.

Six of them together would be a formidable foe for a young cub.

'I can't help it, I have to take on a human form for a while....'

Vikir was mulling over the various ways to dispose of a corpse without leaving a trace in his head.

"Cold Warrior, second year, class B."

An extremely dry and cold voice came from somewhere.

"Attendance No. 8, Pal Uspear, No. 29, Betty Realbelt, No. 58, Houser Yellop, No. 63, Seaweed Aimecom, No. 66, Bison Redmin, No. 71, Oiler Southmiddle."

A voice calling out the attendance numbers and names of the six scumbags, letter by letter.

"...What do you guys think you're doing?"

An unexpected source appeared.

A female student holding a bowl of food in one hand and a bowl of water in the other.

It was the student council president, Dolores L Quovadis.