The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 53: Slave of the Barbarian Tribe (2)

Chapter 53: Slave of the Barbarian Tribe (2)

Aiyen, a Ballak warrior and the daughter of a chieftain.

She spoke to Vikir in front of her.

"Get down."

Was she trying to make the hierarchy clear?

But it didn't sound like that was her intention.

Because.

Pfft.

Vikir felt a blast of air coming toward him.

At the same time.

...Pot!

Aiyen pulled on the leash around Vikir's neck.

As Vikir ducked, a thin arrow flew past his back, hitting the ground with a thud.

Aiyen shouted.

"You boys, can't you go practice somewhere else!"

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from beyond the bushes, and a group of young children came running.

Each one had a bow and arrow in his hand.

"...."

Vikir lifted his head again and looked at Aiyen in front of him.

The girl shaking off the water in front of her.

The girl he had rescued from the slave auction before.

Aiyen said to Vikir.

" We meet on the sphere, right?"

He spoke in Balak, judging his skills in the language to be better than Aiyen's in Imperial.

" ... I see you again."

Aiyen's eyes widened at the sound of the Balak language coming out of Vikir's mouth.

"Do you speak Balak?"

"A little."

She walked to stand in front of Vikir, her eyes wide with wonder.

She had only a few short pieces of deerskin around her, but she didn't seem to have any shame.

Aiyen stepped up to stand in front of Vikir.

"We were grateful then. We will repay your favor twice and your vengeance tenfold."

"...."

"You saved me once, so I will save you twice."

"...."

"I never thought you'd try to fight 'her', I ran away and came back just in case."

Certainly, Vikir would have been killed by Madame Eight-Legged, the Dark One, if the rope Aiyen had thrown hadn't been caught around his neck in time to pull him back.

...So what is the other time?

When Vikir looked at him as if demanding an explanation, the corners of Aiyen's eyes drew a fox-like arc.

"Did you not see it on the way here?"

She pointed beyond the bushes to the acrid column of smoke rising from the village.

Vikir thought of the prisoners he'd met along the way.

Perhaps she would share a similar fate.

Perhaps it was the Aiyen in front of him who had prevented it.

If so, that raised a more fundamental question.

"Why did you save me?"

Was it simply to repay a favor? If so, there would be no reason for him to throw the noose around his neck in the first place.

And Aiyen was not the only one who wanted to put a noose around Vikir's neck.

Every female warrior in Balak that day had her sights set on Vikir's neck.

As Aiyen sliced into the pizza, Vikir asked her bluntly.

"Is this some kind of husband hunt or something?"

"Oh, you must have heard about it somewhere."

It's not just the Balak, most savages in the jungle kidnap their spouses from outside the tribe.

The idea is to avoid incest and bring in fresh blood.

The Balak, of course, are a warrior tribe, so the physical strength of the abductee is a big factor.

Aiyen circled around Vikir once.

Like an appraiser evaluating a piece of merchandise.

In the meantime, Vikir had been thinking a lot.

What if they told the Baskervilles that they were alive, and they negotiated a hostage?

That would put a damper on their plans.

Their plan to stay off Hugo's radar and build up their strength would be ruined.

In order to stop it, you have to escape this place or annihilate all of them... ... That was impossible with Vikir's current physical condition

But Vikir had worried for nothing.

They didn't seem to have any intention of interfering with him.

Aiyen glanced at Vikir and said.

"Don't be mistaken. I am not like the other women. I don't need a husband."

"...."

"You have been captured to be used as a slave."

She wondered, but didn't say it out loud, if it had been necessary to throw the noose so desperately.

When Vikir remained still, Aiyen waved the dog collar in his hand.

"You won't be able to pass for a man with that body anyway, so you might as well get used to life as a slave."

By nature, Balak women see nothing but breeding in the men they capture from the outside world.

If the man fails to fulfill his role as a male, they usually kill him, but fortunately (?) Aiyen doesn't seem to have the sense to do so.

Aiyen tossed his clothes to Vikir at the water's edge.

Vikir catches it, and the collar pulls taut.

Aiyen led the way back to the village.

"You will live in front of my house and serve me."

Vikir's entire body screamed with each step, but he kept his mouth shut nonetheless.

The good news is that his body is recovering quickly, thanks to the power of Murcielago.

To Vikir, Aiyen gave his first order, briefly.

"Let's get our formalities straightened out."

Walking ahead, Aiyen paused at the entrance to the clan and looked back at Vikir.

He looked down and narrowed his eyes.

"Call me master."

* * *

Vikir descended again into the village of the Balak.

They lived freely in the dense jungle.

The concept of personal property seemed remote.

If you didn't have a place to sleep, you slept in a neighbor's tent, and no one minded.

If they were hungry, they ate from people who had plenty of food, and they were happy to share.

There seemed to be a shared consciousness that everything comes and goes, so let's share while we have it.

They gathered at a friend's house with a large tent, played cheerfully, and fell asleep.

Firewood, meat, and alcohol were shared generously, and there was no yamcha.

Even if they had been kidnapped from the outside, once they were recognized as members of the tribe, they could go anywhere and come anywhere.

Overall, a lively and welcoming atmosphere.

But the skeletons of captives hanging from the thorn trees at the tribe's boundary conveyed a different message.

This is Balak's clan, a land that is unforgiving to outsiders but endlessly friendly and free to residents.

... But within the clan, there is a "dignified zone" where even insiders are not allowed to roam.

Vikir's destination was one of those few places.

A large tent in the center of the village.

It looked like it could hold up to two dozen people, but even the children playing in front of it were not allowed to approach.

Passing warriors always bowed their heads in reverence toward the entrance of this tent.

Those grilling meat were careful to keep the smoke from wafting in this direction, and those preparing the entrails of their prey were careful to keep the scent of blood from drifting away.

"'... Is this the chieftain's house?

Vikir guessed from the size of the tent.

Aiyen grabbed the leash around Vikir's neck and strode inside.

"Mother."

Vikir could see the figure Aiyen sought.

Inside the tent, there was a chair with a large eagle carved into it, and a woman sitting cross-legged, reclining at an angle.

A grim expression, scars ovipositing all over her body.

She wears a cloak and bottoms made of eagle feathers, and a long, large bow rests on a sceptre behind her back.

She wore a cloak of eagle feathers, with a long, large bow on her back.

Aquila, the current matriarch of the Balak.

Vikir knelt silently before her, drawn by Aiyen's touch.

Vikir had already realized that the chieftainess' real name was Night Fox, as she exuded a heavy presence before him.

The woman who had scarred the bridge of Heavenly Sword Saint Hugo's nose.

Even Adolf the Mad had been defeated by her, and had spent some time in the service.

Her presence was the reason why Baskerville and the Morg were unable to cross the border between the enemy and the Black Mountain.

After all, she had killed 16 Gradient-class swordsmen, 10 fourth-class mages, and 6 fifth-class mages in her short life.

All without a single wound!

She was also the one who had left arrowhead marks on the faces of her enemies and the Black Mountain Demon Cerberus.

"What if it was before the regression?

If I had been able to unleash the power of my prime, could I have faced this woman?

'I would have had a 0% chance in a hand-to-hand fight, a 0% chance by assassination, and a... 20% chance by running away.'

That 20%, of course, is the chance of survival.

Vikir's mind raced as he tried to gauge the woman in front of him.

After all, she was up against a Hugo or an Adolf, a top predator that she was no match for right now.

Meanwhile, Aquila glared down at Vikir in front of her.

"Daughter, is this the Imperial male you've been drooling over?"

"No, when did I ever say that much... but yes, he is."

"Hmm. He's younger than you, and I recognize his face."

Aquila stared at Vikir with narrowed eyes.

The gaze was like that of a top predator from a vastly elevated position, scanning the lesser prey below.

All Vikir could do was keep his head down and avoid her gaze as much as possible.

Fortunately, Aquila didn't see any sign of Hugo on Vikir.

Hugo had strong lines, a square jaw, and a masculine appearance, while Vikir took on more of his mother's features.

Apart from that though, Aquila seemed to have a pretty good idea of Vikir's physical condition.

"I see. What are you doing picking up a wasted man?"

"If you treat him well, he'll be worth it. He's the one who jumped on Madame Eightlegs."

"Hmph. Yes, but rampaging without knowing your place will only get you in trouble."

Aquila said.

"Sure. It doesn't matter if the body is broken or not, as long as the seeds are intact...."

"Aah! Mother, that's not it, he's going to be used as a slave!"

"What? But isn't that the purpose you've been telling me all along...."

"Whoa, that's what it was originally intended for, a slave, I need one to help me hunt!"

Aiyen quickly waved her hand to stop Aquila's words.

Aquila looked at her daughter with a puzzled expression, then nodded.

"...Well, so be it. It is your freedom to use your slave for whatever purpose you choose."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Aiyen bowed her head and tugged on Vikir's leash.

Once outside the tent, Aiyen's expression was much stiffer than before.

The flustered look on his face before his mother was gone.

"From now on, I will give you a mission."

Aiyen looked down at Vikir, who was only one head shorter than her, and spoke in a high-pitched voice.

"It will be difficult."

...A pretty tough mission, indeed.