The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 404: Jailbreaker (4)

Chapter 404: Jailbreaker (4)

Vikir fixed his gaze on the sword in front of him.

He couldn't say for sure who it was, but he had a hunch.

An unprecedented Great Demonic Sword whose notoriety extended far beyond the Demon World and into Middle Earth.

The Seven Ancient Demon Constellations, also known as the Seven Great Plagues.

The remains of these Seven Ancient Demon Constellations were brought into the mortal world in some form, whether material or conceptual, and despite no longer being able to interfere with the laws of cause and effect, they retained some of the power of their lives.

One of these was this sword, Beelzebub.

'But there are six others.'

Vikir thought, looking at the red sword of Beelzebub protruding from the wrist of his right hand.

Humans called the seven swords made from the remains of the Seven Demon Constellations the 'Seven Demon Swords'.

This Beelzebub is one of them.

...And the sword in front of Vikir was also one of the magic swords included in the Seven Demon Swords.

The magic sword Asmodeus. A fearsome sword that rivaled Beelzebub.

One of the final weapons brought by the demons in the later stages of the Age of Destruction.

'It was one of the great weapons of the First Corpses, and I never thought it would be here.'

Vikir thought as he gazed at Asmodeus, the magic sword in front of him.

And Asmodeus's current owner, Black Tongue, stared at the wrinkled hilt with a mesmerized look in his eyes.

"Once upon a time, I had a leech that I loved... No, now that I think about it, maybe it wasn't a leech at all, well, anyway."

Black Tongue was now explaining how he had acquired the magic sword Asmodeus.

"It had a great appetite for blood, very greedy, but it kept sucking blood, and it got too big and strong and out of control."

Black Tongue laughed as he kissed Asmodeus' sword.

"So I tricked it, locked it in solitary confinement, and starved it to death. Souare had a hard time with that, I guess?"

"...."

"But this one, it turns out, is so strong that no matter how long I locked it in solitary confinement, it wouldn't die. Instead, it just stays skinny and unmoving, like it's hibernating, and no matter how long I try to dry it with hot air, it doesn't die, it just shrivels up~"

Black Tongue grinded the leech, which had turned into a solid stick of meat, against a whetstone.

"There was a ton of meat powder coming out. But as a result, it became so sharp, right? Does it look like a real sword?"

It's amazing that the remains of the Demon Constellation didn't lose its bloodlust after such a long time after it was separated from its deceased body, but it's even more amazing that there was a madman who grinded it into a sword.

'So this is how the magic sword Asmodeus was born.'

Vikir marveled at the madness of Black Tongue.

But it's only admiration as a spectator to the show, the hound eyeing his prey with his usual lazy gaze.

"You'd better be careful. That sword does not serve an unworthy master. It'll take the opportunity to bite, and then turn around and eat you."

Before the regression, he'd seen many examples.

Humans and demons alike have fallen prey to the sword.

But Vikir's warning did not fall on deaf ears.

Black Tongue smirked and lifted Asmodeus.

"This one still wants blood, even after all this time. Yes, he wants your blood, and he wants it hard."

It was true.

Asmodeus was swelling up, drinking the blood of Black Tongue.

It pulsed like a madman, eager to lunge at the Vikir in front of it!

And then.

Clang!

The two magic swords clashed together.

"...."

Vikir swallowed a groan at the weight on his wrist.

He wasn't sure how dried out the large hunk of meat was.

It was certainly small in volume, but it weighed a ton, and its strength far exceeded that of any metal.

Just as a large hunk of meat becomes smaller and harder when it dries out.

Kiriririk-

Moreover, the sword itself bends at odd angles and slashes through gaps.

It was like watching a vampire itself, a single, blood-crazed leech.

peoeog-

Asmodeus bent like a whip, avoiding friction with Beelzebub.

peopeopeog!

Just as Beelzebub of Vikir stabbed Black Tongue in the chest, Asmodeus of Black Tongue also stabbed Vikir in the thigh.

"Aaaah!? You damned bastard, you're supposed to protect your master before your meal!"

Black Tongue screamed, but the shape of his mouth was smiling.

Madness. It is indeed the sword of its master.

"...."

Vikir frowned.

Even though the sword was rampaging on its own, it was all taking routes optimized for killing.

In addition, Black Tongue had considerable swordsmanship skills.

Perhaps he could even crush Colonel D'Ordume or Colonel Souare with simple combat power alone.

Tsutsutsutsuts...

Vikir had tried to tap into the power of the starvation drought within Beelzebub, but it was clearly inferior to Asmodeus' bloodsucking abilities.

Moreover, Asmodeus was gulping down Vikir's blood, which contained Madame's poison.

"What a troublesome guy."

Vikir said briefly, stepping back.

Black Tongue smirked and followed Vikir.

"Are you scared? Are you afraid? Why are you running away?"

"...."

Vikir stepped back, silent. He took the route back the way he'd come.

But Black Tongue wouldn't let him get away.

"Fear makes you blind and deaf, my friend."

At the same time.

Grasp!

Black Tongue's arm snapped a little more grotesquely.

"...!"

Vikir saw Asmodeus, who had let go of Beelzebub, was also bent at an even more severe angle.

Black Tongue smiled.

"No wonder, the more blood it sucks, the more flexible it becomes."

As dried beef jerky absorbs water, it becomes softer.

The same was true for Asmodeus.

Asmodeus coiled itself into an even more volatile shape than its previous trajectory, and then slammed into Vikir's face.

"...!"

Vikir quickly jerked his head to the side, but Black Tongue's deft swordplay only succeeded in pushing Asmodeus deeper and deeper into Vikir mouth.

kwadeug!

Vikir's ear was ripped off entirely.

It was such a severe wound that even the organs inside, such as the cochlea and the semicircular canal, were ripped out.

"Ugh."

A groan escaped Vikir's lips.

Even if the cotton swab was inserted just a little deeper into the ear, it hurt, but when the entire ear was torn and pulled out, the pain was indescribable.

Tsutsutsutsuts...

Basilisk's regenerative powers quickly healed the wound, but it would take time to regenerate the intricate organs within.

Shudder-

The deafening noise in his ears naturally messed with his balance and sense of distance.

Black Tongue lunged at the staggering Vikir, mouth mouth wide open all the way to the ears.

A smile filled with madness.

"Hathathathat- die, Night Hound!"

Vikir swung his sword at the maddened Black Tongue.

jjeojeojeojeojeog!

The deafening slashes of the sword swung back and forth, left and right.

But none of them touched Black Tongue.

In fact, they flew in the wrong direction.

"Hathathat! You've made a complete fool of yourself!"

Black Tongue sneered at Vikir, who was swinging his sword at the wrong place.

...kwang!

Black Tongue ferociously slashes at Vikir, his body more than twice as large as before due to his excitement.

The leeches covering his body were bubbling with his excitement.

Black Tongue slobbered and mocked atop Vikir's body.

"With all this commotion, it must be bad, maybe D'Ordume or Souare will come. Heck, maybe the old man himself, Orca, will come to visit. How are you feeling, nervous, breaking out in a cold sweat, your eyes spinning?"

But.

"Uhm. That won't work."

D'Ordume or Souare might have been fine, but Orca is too much.

At the click of Black Tongue, Vikir replied briefly.

"I wanted leeches, so I invested some time, but I don't think I have time to play with you anymore."

Vikir raised his left hand as Black Tongue gave him a questioning look.

"...!?"

Black Tongue's two eyes bulged.

The leather sack filled with the eggs of the new leeches was now in Vikir's hand.

"Goodbye, then."

Vikir said a short farewell.

At the same time.

...kwakwang!

The corridor shook.

The walls, floor, and ceiling of the corridor cracked, following the trajectory of Vikir's blows.

jjeojeojeojeojeojeog!

An entire section of the corridor had been cut out. So was the flubber slime that coated the building's exterior walls.

"...?"

Black Tongue suddenly felt the floor he was on-or rather, the entire room-shift.

Like a slice of cake falling away, the entire space in which Black Tongue was standing was moving away from the corridor.

Nouvelle Vague is a castle in the depths of the sea. In the direction the piece was headed, of course, was the deepest depths of the sea, the seabed of the Great Deep.

chwaaaaag-

The waters of the deep rushed in like crazy.

"Ugh!? Something like this! Just swim back!"

Black Tongue was very embarrassed at having suddenly fallen into the sea and was struggling with its limbs.

Then.

"...!"

Black Tongue looked up.

The hound preparing to leap at him, the seasoned veteran's gaze.

"That annoying guy...."

Vikir unleashed his reserved power at Black Tongue, who was pushed out to sea.

8th Baskerville Form. Black Sun.

Extremely concentrated aura forms a black sphere, sucking in everything in its path.

...kuleuleuleuleuleug!

The approaching waters swirled in a vortex, and Black Tongue, trapped in the center, could barely squirm.

And then, with complete dominance, the hound delivered its final sentence.

"Get lost"

It was simple and clear.