The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 116, The Grand Banquet (7)

Vikir left the main venue where the grand banquet was hosted.

He had just exited the main gate and was heading down a side path between the training grounds and the fortress.

“….”

Vikir had to stop his steps at the edge of the training grounds.

On the opposite side, a clearly discernible presence was coming out of the thicket. It was a very open invitation.

Before long, a single crimson sword strike, like a snake, flew towards Vikir.

The aura was Gooey and as red as blood. It was a sword strike that only Peak Graduator could produce.

About six fangs were flying towards Vikir.

“Should I block it?”

Vikir hesitated for a moment.

For an attack of this level, he could easily block it and counterattack.

However, the skill Vikir had publicly displayed was that of a mid-tier Graduator. In such a situation, there were limited reactions he could show.

Vikir drew his sword from his waist and deftly deflected the strike, allowing it to pass by. He maintained the same posture and rolled to the side.

In that split second, Vikir’s blade drew four fang marks, while the attack numbered six.

Four Fangs collided with each other and canceled out, leaving only two Fangs targeting Vikir.

Vikir decided to simply take them with his body.

Thanks to Stix’s blessing, Vikir’s body momentarily turned as hard as iron.

Kwahng! Thud!

Naturally, the sword, which had been emitting an aura of about Mid-tierGraduator level, shattered into two pieces, and a piece of Vikir’s cloak tore away.

Qua-qua-thud!

The strike flew off course and left a large scar on the ground.

The two Fangs that hit Vikir’s body scattered on their own before fighting against Stix’s protection.

“….!”

Vikir realized that this attack wasn’t originally meant to harm him.

Sure enough, laughter could be heard from beyond the thicket.

“Our nephew has grown up.”

Count Boston Terrier, one of the seven Counts, greeted Vikir with a faint smile.

Vikir stood before Boston Terrier, ready to fight. His broken sword showed that he could still fight.

Seeing this, Boston Terrier flashed a look that seemed to say Vikir looked even more beautiful.

Then, a voice rang out.

“Who’s drawing a sword and causing a ruckus in our territory?”

There was someone blocking the way between Boston Terrier and Vikir.

A man in a black cloak, with the hem of his cloak fluttering, appeared. It was Count Great Dane.

He looked at Boston Terrier and spoke.

“Attempted murder of a family member. If our elder brother finds out, you’ll be under house arrest for at least a few months.”

“Don’t try to sell your brotherly affection.”

“Affection? Is hiding and laying a trap considered affection?”

“Kids grow up by fighting.”

“You crazy? Are you a kid?”

In response to Great Dane’s words, Boston Terrier bared his Fang beneath his sunglasses.

“Next time, don’t interfere with the affairs of a future Mighty Pitbull.”

“Pitbull? Probably the next Mastiff. Can you send our beloved nephew to such a messy gang?”

“Hoohoo. You guys, even if you tear a bit of your hide, you’ll spill your guts and beg for your lives.”

“Hehehe. You guys are so tough that you don’t even have a scrap of hide to tear.”

Count Boston Terrier, leading the Pitbulls, and Count Great Dane, leading the Mastiffs, growled at each other without yielding an inch.

Now, with Hugo gone, they could fight without restraint.

“All right! Let the one who wins here take Vikir!”

“For the future of our beloved nephew, anything!”

As the two Counts drew their swords and confronted each other, a standoff ensued.

“….”

Vikir had somehow risen from his spot.

“Troublesome people,” he thought.

Considering Count Boston Terrier’s assertive personality, he had expected him to demand a precise demonstration of Vikir’s abilities.

Fortunately, there was Count Great Dane, his rival and enemy, which made things easier.

Meanwhile, Vikir recalled the power of the strike that had come earlier.

“It was quite manageable, more than I thought.”

The previous Counts before the regression were absolute Peak Graduators, and the current Counts had achieved similar levels of strength.

Although Vikir was also a Peak Graduator, there was a significant difference in the level of swordsmanship he used back then.

However, now that Vikir had started mastering Baskerville’s Seventh Fang and was currently learning the Sixth Form of swordsmanship, his achievements exceeded those of the current Counts.

And if he were to add the protection of Stix’s River and the power of Beelzebub…

“I might be able to defeat at least one Count. Two might be a stretch.”

Who would believe that this was an achievement made in just seventeen years?

While Vikir was closing his eyes and planning for the future.

“Younger brother!”

The voice calling Vikir from behind could be heard again.

When he turned his head to see what it was, a foul stench wafted to his nose.

Seth le Baskerville, Hugo’s youngest son.

He was looking at Vikir with a cheerful smile.

“Where are you planning to sleep tonight?”

“….”

“If you don’t have a plan, why not sleep at my castle? It’s not far from here.”

Vikir stared at Seth’s mouth, which seemed to be endlessly chattering.

What could be hiding inside that shell to emit such a foul odor?

Perhaps even if he were wicked, he wouldn’t be as ordinary as he seemed.

Thanks to testimony from CindiWendy and Chihuahua, it was already somewhat established that Seth was the mastermind behind numerous kidnapping and adoption-related incidents seventeen years ago.

Among all the accusations Vikir had faced before his regression, this one was the most damaging and decisive.

“…And that’s not all.”

Among the additional information CindiWendy had provided, there were things Vikir had never suspected.

For example, the fact that the person who had sent two venomous snakes to his crib when he was a newborn was none other than Seth’s mother. And that Penelope, Hugo’s eldest daughter, had been kidnapped by the Rokoko tribe, was also part of Seth’s mother’s sinister scheme.

CindiWendy had even revealed that Seth had purchased two Bloody Mambas from the indigenous people seventeen years ago while Vikir was preparing to trade with their tribe.

“…And that time Ballacks’s Aheuman sold the Bloody Mamba. What an ironic twist of fate.”

Vikir couldn’t help but crack a dry smile. He had inadvertently paid off his debt from his infancy.

Anyway.

The reason Seth hadn’t been labeled as a suspect was that he had always acted kind and frail, pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

At the time, he had disguised himself as an innocent child, so he hadn’t even made it onto the list of suspects.

That’s why Vikir had no choice but to look at Seth, or rather, the bizarre entity hidden beneath Seth’s facade, with a dry gaze.

“So, little brother. What’s your plan for the future? Will you come back as the Underdog’s assistant magistrate, or are you thinking of enrolling in the Academy?”

Seth stuck close to Vikir, continuing to act friendly.

Then, a voice intervened.

“I told you to behave, Seth.”

Osiris.

He spoke to Vikir and Seth with a stern expression.

“Do not raise your voices in front of the mansion. And it’s late at night, so continue this conversation next time.”

If someone who didn’t know him saw this, they would likely think he was just an old-fashioned person. Vikir had similar thoughts before his regression.

However, Vikir, who could read Osiris’s true intentions, simply nodded his head respectfully.

“Then, I will come to greet you another time, gentlemen.”

Osiris’s expression softened slightly at Vikir’s words, while Seth’s expression remained rigid.

But there was neither praise nor resentment to express. Vikir’s attitude was very professional, so there was nothing to fault.

It was what the eldest son had said, and there was justification. They had Seth’s expectations for the future, so they had saved face for the youngest son.

In the given situation, Vikir’s skillful attitude in looking out for his own safety in the most neutral and objective direction impressed even Osiris.

In Baskerville, there were many old forts that had been constructed for a long time. This meant that there were many neglected and obscure spaces.

Today, Vikir had come to the Youth Castle, where he would temporarily stay.

It was his room where he had spent a long time in his youth. Passing through the entrance of the waterlogged basement and navigating through the neglected food warehouse and unrepaired cracks, he climbed the spiral staircase.

Vikir remembered his childhood as he passed through this eerie corridor.

Suddenly, a strange sensation overcame him. Vikir stopped in his tracks and turned his head.

There, a scene unfolded that could remind one of ten years ago.

Baskerville’s triplets, also known as ‘Baskerville’s Three Spears.’

Highbro le Baskerville, Middlebro le Baskerville, and Lowbro le Baskerville.

Since meeting at the Grand banquet, the stepbrothers who hadn’t exchanged a single word were standing there.

In the ten years that had passed, they had grown tall, and their jaws had become more pronounced.

“….”

“….”

“….”

Their attitudes of standing silently in front of Vikir were still the same.

Meanwhile, Vikir smiled without a hint of moisture.

The purpose of being in such a gloomy and remote place, even carrying a sword and waiting, was mostly predictable.

“What is it?”

It was a question thrown with the intention to draw a sword at any moment.

And then…

SLASH!

The triplets silently drew their swords from their hips. Although there was no visible aura, a resolute determination seemed to emanate from their entire bodies.

“I must kill them,” Vikir decided. There was no hope for hunting dogs that couldn’t differentiate between dung and urine and bit into everything.

Murder and erasure.

This was also an opportunity to bury the events from two years ago during the flood.

…But?

The triplets began to show a reaction that even Vikir hadn’t expected.

Thud…

All three of them knelt on their right knees in front of Vikir and lowered their heads. The tips of their drawn knife blades were pointed at their right insteps, and the handles were aimed at Vikir.

“….?”

Vikir’s expression twisted in astonishment. This was the oath of allegiance that Imperial knights displayed when they met their destined lord.

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