The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 245: Survival Contest (3)

Chapter 245: Survival Contest (3)

The sun sets quickly in the jungle.

The day was slowly turning dark, and the hot air was cooling down.

"Whoa... what's that smell?"

Dolores emerged from the bushes, exhausted.

Her clothes were riddled with tears and stained with twigs, leaves, and dirt.

She had only 38% HP left.

Then.

"What?"

Dolores recognized the smell and the light that had been luring her.

A roaring fire, covered in ashes and emitting only warmth, and a red stew bubbling over it made her mouth water.

"Hey, why is this here...."

In her head, she knew it was strange. But her feet uncontrollably lead her to the source of smell.

The smell of the stew was too strong to ignore.

'There are signs of human occupancy. There's no sign of anyone lurking around, so it's not like they're preparing for an ambush. So someone made it to eat and then left?'

Someone prepared the food for a meal, but then had to leave for something urgent, or just abandoned the area.

That's all she could think of.

Normally, Dolores wouldn't have touched anything that belonged to anyone else, but....

'I just have to stay alive, that's the rule of survival.'

If that's the case, I might be excused.

Dolores slowly reached for the stew.

Then.

Passasac-.

Someone stood up from the grass some distance away.

"Wait."

It was Vikir.

Far enough away for a surprise, but close enough for Vikir, whose primary skill is the bow.

Dolores, however, was prepared for the archer's surprise.

"...Was there an ambush again!?"

She quickly drew back, preparing her divine shield.

Vikir raised his bow and pointed it in her direction.

"...."

"...."

Vikir and Dolores faced each other.

Even if they were from the same school, the rules of the tournament made them enemies.

However, it would be inefficient for them to fight each other when the tournament was only halfway through.

So Dolores didn't make a move.

"...."

"...."

The boy and girl, neither perfect allies nor perfect enemies, stared at each other in a strange silence.

And it was Dolores, or more accurately, her stomach, that broke the silence.

...Gurgle!

Dolores's stomach, which hasn't eaten in days, screams.

Dolores's face immediately turned bright red.

Why did she feel so embarrassed when she got caught feeling hungry?

Especially when the one who caught her was a guy.

But the impassive Vikir didn't care if Dolores' stomach was singing opera or heavy metal.

The thirsty person digs a well. Eventually, Dolores, in a sorry state, raised her hand.

"...I think we should join hands for a while, since we're from the same school. It's still a long way from the end of the competition."

"...Do as you please."

Dolores's brow furrowed once at Vikir's lukewarm words as he drew back his bow.

With that, the atmosphere settled into a lull.

But there was more to Dolores than simply avoiding a fight.

"Hey, hey, hey, do you have any of that stew left, and if so, could you share some with me?"

She said with difficulty.

It was a pity that Dolores of all people had to beg for leftovers.

Dolores spoke quickly.

"Of course, I'm not asking for free! I can heal and buff you!"

In such a harsh environment, the presence of a healer would be essential.

So Vikir replied coldly.

"I don't need one."

"Okay, win-win... uh, what?"

Hearing Vikir's answer, Dolores doubted her ears.

As it turns out, common sense doesn't work for Vikir.

Hadn't he burned more than half of the gnoll hides at the last bazaar because he found the alliance of aristocrats and nobles to be a nuisance?

Dolores looked at Vikir with a blank expression.

Then she realized why he didn't need heals or buffs.

100% HP.

Vikir was in perfect condition, no fatigue, no damage.

In this jungle inferno!

'How the hell is this possible?'

Dolores's mind was spinning again.

"Hey, look, Common... Vikir."

Grenouille poked his head out of the bushes beside Vikir.

He gave Vikir a puzzled look.

"Have you forgotten who she is? She's a saint from Quovadis!"

"...."

"And she's the student council president of the academy! As if that wasn't enough, what...."

"...."

"Leaving all that aside, how can you refuse to help such a beautiful lady when she asks for help!"

Grenouille's words were ones that any normal person could relate to.

... But Vikir was not an ordinary person.

Vikir twitched his ears once, as if he was annoyed, and three strong hands shot out from behind Grenouille to cover his mouth.

"Hey, bestie. Let's have some bonding time together."

"Let's go."

"Let's go."

Highbro, Midbro, Lowbro.

Vikir's trident dragged Grenouille, who couldn't even let out a squeak, and disappeared into the bushes.

The silent confrontation between Vikir and Dolores began again.

Then.

Dolores sighed lightly and raised her hands.

"I am not a saint of Quovadis, nor am I the student council president of the Academy."

"...."

"I'm just a hungry lamb."

It was a declaration of surrender.

Dolores remembered the words she had once heard.

-'Who are you and why have you come to me at this late hour?'

-'...I'm just a lost lamb.'

The first conversation with the Night Hound.

Deeply impressed with the Night Hound's answer, Dolores had borrowed his words here.

And Vikir understood.

Vikir showed his approval by lowering his bow and stepping aside, and Dolores sat down at the campfire to eat the stew.

"Thank you."

The stew that Vikir had prepared with his own hands had a pleasant smell.

Dolores's nose twitched.

The oddly meaty smell of the stew must have come from the small garnish of mushrooms that Vikir had added as he handed her the bowl.

gulp....mmm.

Dolores took a sip of the stew and her face lit up with surprise and delight.

"...delicious."

How could something taste so amazing in such a harsh environment?

It was the most delicious food she had ever eaten in her life.

Maybe it was the difference between a sweetfish and a snailfish, but that's what it tasted like right now.

Dolores frantically emptied her bowl, oblivious to the red marks at the corners of her mouth.

A whopping thirteen times!

All this time, Vikir had been sitting next to Dolores without saying a word.

Finally, when Dolores was somewhat full, she turned to Vikir and said with a shrug.

"I'm afraid, I'm in this condition because I was attacked by Hohenheim of the Magic Tower right at the beginning of the tournament."

Hohenheim's nickname, 'smart-ass with high nose' was indeed a fitting one.

Dolores's comrades rallied around her and fought to the end.

The death of a healer in a party would truly be catastrophic.

And as a result, Dolores lost all of her team members and survived alone.

Hohenheim, an excellent flame mage, was able to slaughter several groups on his own.

Dolores fought back by healing and buffing her allies around her, but she was ultimately defeated in a guerrilla war against Hohenheim, who was able to move in and out quickly on his own.

"Four of my team members were eliminated, because we were just chasing Hohenheim around and getting picked off one by one. It was a one-man show."

They hadn't asked, but it was valuable information nonetheless.

Grenouille and the Baskerville triplets' eyes lit up as they listened carefully to Dolores.

It was not every day that they happen to meet a third-year ace in the middle of a tournament and getting her advice, so it was not surprising.

... but.

"Is that so?"

Vikir only nodded, his expression still blank, not showing any hint of his feelings..

The blank stare left Dolores speechless.

She began to observe Vikir carefully.

'Why is he so nonchalant in the midst of this terrible jungle? How does he know how to cook this, and where does he get the ingredients?'

Vikir looks as comfortable as if he were in his own backyard and kitchen.

It was as if he was at home among the Red and Black Mountains.

Of course, Dolores didn't knows that Vikir had been going in and out of the Red and Black Mountains for the past several decades, and that he lived there as his home for two years. Or the fact that he had stored fresh ingredients in his ring with a space magic comparable to the subspace magic of the Magic Tower. There was no way to know that ingredients and spices were being used little by little.

Meanwhile.

Fadak-fadak-fadak-fadak

Vikir continued to simmer the fish stew from earlier, fanning it with a broad leaf over the top.

The warmth and smell wafted across the jungle on the breeze.

On a dark night like this, the lights and smells would be even more intense.

Dolores scratched her head and asked.

"But who are you going to lure with the smell of this food? What if it's a very strong one, like Hohenheim of Magic Tower, or Bakiraga of Varangian, or Lovegood of Themiscyra...."

Baiting prey with food was a good idea, but if the prey was too strong, the hunter could become the prey.

Dolores was inwardly worried that Hohenheim or Bakiraga would come.

Well, then.

with a plop-

Vikir replied, tossing an unseen mushroom into the coconut pot.

"I don't care who comes."

And then, as if waiting for those words.

Boom!

The grass in the front area was engulfed in huge flames and burned down.

Zap-zap-zap-zap-zap.

There was a louse walking out into the middle of the space where everything had been reduced to ash.

"What is this smell?"

A highly acclaimed genius produced by the Magic Tower.

The strongest contender at this point.

The top predator who had just single-handedly wiped out over 50 enemies.

A smart-ass with a high nose.

That was Hohenheim.