The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 434: The Returned Hound (3)

'Black Tongue Leeches'.

Vikir's secret weapon from Nouvelle Vague.

Hunger. A small vampire driven by an insatiable appetite.

They began to swell after drinking the blood flowing from the ground, and soon began to need more and more blood.

Specialized species bred by Black Tongue to seek only the blood of Vikir.

Their voracious appetite was too much for even the super-regenerative Vikir to handle.

But then a replacement appeared, one whose blood had the exact same composition as Vikir's own, and this was the perfect opportunity to grow the leeches.

"Eat a lot."

Vikir said cheerfully.

And the leeches moved as if they understood him.

the leeches gorging themselves among the torn flesh, exposed bones, tattered tendons, and lumps of fat.

Even Death Knight Vikir of the 9th Form is powerless against their insatiable appetite.

[Demon... kills... dies...]

Even the Death Knights of the world have no business against the countless swarms of vampires.

At the same time, the appearance of the leeches attached to the body of Death Knight Vikir began to change.

udeudeug- udeug- ppudeug!

The leeches grew from the size of a pea to the size of a finger.

But they didn't just get bigger.

weng-al-weng-al-

kkyaleuleuleug-

kigkigkig-

The leeches grew heads, bodies, and limbs, and their facial features began to resemble those of Vikir.

It still looked like a crude doll a child made in craft class, but the more blood it sucked, the more it resembled Vikir.

"...It's cute. You look just like my brother."

Sinclair reached for one of the leeches that had lost the feeding competition.

kyaag!

The leech's eyes widened and its teeth sank in, and Sinclair was horrified.

"What the hell, I was just trying to take care of the poor thing."

Sinclair grumbled a little as the leeches trotted off to suck blood again.

At least they didn't seem interested in anything other than Vikir's blood, right?

Meanwhile.

[Demon... die.]

Death Knight was slowly crumbling.

Not only was the 9th Form, which used up all of the mana, destroyed, but the 8th Form was allowed to hit the body twice in succession.

Combine that with the devastating trauma, the massive internal injuries caused by the mana surge, and the specialized creatures that Black Tongue had developed to capture Vikir, and it was clear that even the Death Knight who can use the 9th Form of Baskerville would not have the stamina to survive.

In the end, Vikir's residual thoughts, the ghosts of the old world, crumbled.

[Demons Kill... Demons Kill...]

Vikir tries to stand up despite his collapsing ego and crumbling body.

Vikir stared down at himself.

And then.

"Don't worry."

He reached out and covered the eyes of the remnant of consciousness that had fallen to the ground.

"The age of destruction will never come again."

And then something incredible happened.

The ghost's expression, stained with black blood and an even blacker shade under its eyes, relaxed slightly.

Tsutsutsutsutsutsuts...

In an instant, Vikir's body turned to blackened ash and scattered to the ground.

The wind blew it around a few times, and soon there was nothing left.

"...."

Vikir stared dryly into the direction of the wind.

The Age of Destruction.

Even an old man who has lived many lifetimes of hatred and anger does not know where the end of the road lies.

Then.

Creeping...

The sensation of something small crawling up the back of his foot.

When Vikir looked away, he saw leeches wandering around on the floor, panicked because there was nothing to eat.

The leeches, which had grown as big as fingers, were now mini-mes modeled after Vikir.

"Come on. Come back."

Vikir dropped a drop of his own blood into the leather sack and shook it on the floor.

The leeches, smelling his blood, leaped into the sack, their mouths watering.

Vikir watched the leeches wriggle in the sack and nodded.

"Hatred for Demons... and a copy of the main body with some of its appearance and strength. Could be very useful strategically, if I can control their appetites...."

The emotions of the remnant of the previous encounter had long since dried up.

A normal person would have been overcome with sentimentality for a long time after meeting with his past self, but Vikir doesn't consider such things a luxury.

Rather, he uses the painful scars of his past and the burden of his mission to fulfill it.

Tudor, Sancho, Piggy, and Bianca are left speechless by his nonchalant demeanor.

"If it were like before, I would have just thought of him as a boring and dull guy."

"But after seeing that mountain of emotions...."

"I feel sorry for Vikir, he's carrying so much on his shoulders alone."

"I don't even dare tell him to rely on us."

They were right.

Dolores and Sinclair could only stare at the back of Vikir's head, unable to say anything.

Finally, Vikir turned back to them and said.

"Okay. You asked me something earlier, didn't you?"

"Huh? Ah, ugh!"

Tudor nodded.

His friends were wondering how Vikir had gotten here.

"You see, I was imprisoned in Nouvelle Vague about four years ago. I escaped."

"...No, is that that easy?"

"Well, it took a lot of work. I almost died once."

Vikir gave a brief explanation of what had happened.

The labor at Nouvelle Vague, the solitary confinement, and then the volcano eruption.

An unbelievable tale of being shot up to the surface in a pillar of fire from the volcano.

If the speaker had not been Vikir, everyone would have thought it was an empty boast.

"When I went up, I thought I was going to die. But when I came down, I thought I was really dead. After I fell, I lost my memory for a while, so I wandered off. I worked in a fishing village catching warm fish and drying dried fish......."

Vikir frowned.

"I was fortunate that my two colleagues who escaped with me found me. When I saw familiar faces, the memories quickly came back. That's why they immediately moved to assassinate Passamonte. But he was so focused on you guys that his guard was down."

"Ugh! That's too much, you should warn us!"

"I didn't tell you on purpose, because I think you're already somewhat imbued with the demon's brainwashing. Sometimes you have to deceive your own allies before you can deceive your enemies."

Everyone nodded at Vikir's words.

Clearly, at some point, they had fallen for Passamonte's scheme.

"... Damn. He has some sort of hypnotic ability to make his opponents reckless. I've seen it firsthand, and it's dangerous."

Vikir nodded as if he already knew.

Just then, Bianca, who had seen the conversation between Tudor and Vikir, burst out laughing.

"You two have become quite similar in personality, haven't you?"

The comment wasn't limited to Tudor.

Over the past four years, every single one of the Night Walkers had become more and more like Vikir.

The tone, the way they spoke, even their personalities.

It wasn't just because Vikir's presence loomed large in their minds.

It was a change in personality that was inherent in living through such fierce and harsh times, and everyone was slowly going through it.

"I suppose most people's personalities change similarly as the destruction approaches."

"The real thing hasn't even started yet."

"So, in a few years from now I'll be talking like that too?"

Vikir smiled faintly at Tudor's playful comment.

Certainly, most of his former comrades-in-arms before the regression had similar personalities.

In extreme situations, the unique characteristics of an individual, such as personality or qualities, may gradually wear out and become more consistent with the overall average.

Then. Sinclair asked, as if out of the blue.

"So, what was my brother's personality like before all those traumatic experiences?"

All eyes turned to Vikir.

They didn't say anything, but they all looked very curious.

It wasn't a difficult question, so Vikir opened his mouth to answer.

"According to my nanny, who raised me as a child, ... I was shy and introverted. My favorite hobbies were playing with dolls and flower arranging. Of course, they were soon forbidden by the family tradition."

"Ooh... really doesn't suit you?"

Everyone could only nod slowly at Tudor's words.

Finally, Vikir had everyone's attention.

"It's time to get out of here."

"But how do we get out?"

"We'll have to use the same trick we used to get out of theHell Tree once more."

Vikir turned his head to look at Piggy.

Piggy's blood has mysterious powers.

It acts as a deadly poison to demons, distorting the space they create and causing it to close.

Vikir's gaze met him.

'... He's a good person.'

A strange voice flashed through Piggy's head for a moment.

"Huh?"

Piggy's head jerked from side to side in surprise, but no one was speaking to him except for Vikir.

'...What was that?'

It was a tinnitus he often heard, but it had never been as clear as it was now, so Piggy looked a bit puzzled.

'Come to think of it, I think I used to have these visions when I was at the Academy.'

As Piggy pondered this, Vikir spoke up.

"Piggy. Do you think I could borrow some of your blood?"

"Of course, if I can be of any help!"

Vikir quickly obtained a few drops of blood from Piggy.

With Piggy's blood on him, Beelzebub shoots a long line of blood into the air.

Crackle-!

The space within the Hell Tree began to twist and tear.

It was the same phenomenon as before.

"We'll ambush the demon as soon as we get out. He won't be expecting us."

Everyone's faces hardened with tension.

This is the second time they're striking first against an opponent they've already lost to once, so the pressure is on.

But unlike the first time, everyone's faces are much brighter.

This time, they had an ally they didn't have in their first attempt.

Vikir ended his speech with a short sentence.

"...Let's go out and give him a blow."

His voice sounded just as reliable as it had four years ago.

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