The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 470: Tochka Annihilation Battle (2)

Black shadows rise from the dust.

The hounds of Baskerville sprint like the wind that shakes the ears of barley.

And standing in their way are the hounds of a previous generation.

cheolkeodeog... jeolgeuleog... deolgeuleog...

The swordsmen of the Baskerville family, with only their skeletons and skins remaining, walk towards them with their shrouds waving.

With each step they take, the clatter of rusted metal, knocked-out teeth, and jawbones clash.

Chaang-!

The famous swords of the previous generation revealed their teeth that had turned into saw blades.

Isabella, German, Bostonterrier, Greatdan, Cu-Chulainn, and Metzgerhund stood against him. The six Knights Commanders also drew their respective weapons.

The Count of Bostonterrier, sword drawn, was the first to leap to the front of the display.

The Count of Greatdane was next.

"Hahahahaha, old dogs with missing teeth, where are you pretending to be active duty?"

" ... Look. These are our ancestors."

"Yeah, well, if you're tired, just lie down quietly and wait and then eat the ancestral rites!"

The two clash fiercely with the Baskervilles' dead soldiers wearing shrouds.

The wide slash characteristic of Bostonterrier was attacking many dead soldiers at once.

The violent, storm-like slashes were irregular and chaotic, but they were just as destructive.

In contrast, Greatdan slash is thin but dense.

A large, gargantuan dead soldier charged forward, relying solely on his size, only to be sliced in half by the enormous weight of Greatdan's slash.

Isabella and German then jumped into the fray.

"Why don't you go over there instead of coming over to me?"

"Hmph, you're just going to take all the credit for your achievements?"

"...There is such a difference in military strength, so where is the monopoly?"

These two people have often been told that men and women seem to have reversed.

German began to catch up with Isabella, showing both a sense of rivalry and a sense of victimization.

Isabella, characteristically efficient and cost-effective, began shifting the trajectory of her sword as if she were setting down a checkerboard.

With minimal movement and aura, dozens of dead soldiers had already fallen.

German was also displaying a sword skill that was not far behind Isabella's.

With a strength comparable to hundreds of poisonous soldiers, the poisonous dead soldiers were collapsing like scarecrows.

Meanwhile, Metzgerhund and Cu-Chulainn were closely following Vikir, the leader of the detachment, on both sides as if they were guarding him.

"6th! Let's go for 6th Form!"

"4th Form! Compete with 4th Form!"

Both of them were proud of their swordsmanship, to the point of arrogance.

However, since the level of extreme intention has been reached, such level of mastery is to be expected.

hwilililig- kwagig!

Feeling the stinging gaze on his back, Vikir unfolded the 6th Form without a care in the world.

The 6 teeth pierce through the poisonous dead soldiers without a second thought.

Vikir's 6th Form, honed over the years in the Hell Tree, had certainly become a formidable skill.

peopeopeopeog!

Of course, so was the 4th Form.

The 4 teeth he had honed so fiercely in his last life had paid off in this one.

The four teeth stretched out as naturally as if he were just breathing, shredding the dead soldiers in front of him.

"...Ooh!"

"...Indeed!"

Metzgerhund and Cu-Chulainn watched in admiration as Vikir spat out 4th and 6th Form almost simultaneously.

Of course, the more this happened, the more their competitive spirit was inflamed.

kwa-jijijijijig!

Metzgerhund's carnivorous appetite and Cu-Chulainn's voracious appetite were like a meat grinding mill, crushing the poisonous soldier defenses.

Behind the Seven Counts, who are breaking through the most fiercely contested front lines as if they were in no man's land, the hounds of Baskerville are steadily closing the distance.

And at the forefront of it all was Vikir.

peopeopeopeog!

Vikir raises his magic sword, Beelzebub, and a dozen heads rain down from the sky.

hwiiing-

A humid southeastern wind from afar swept away the bitter blood incense.

Just then, as Vikir was leading his detachment through the front lines, something came into view in the distance.

"...!"

Skinny giant bodies emerging through red fog and dust.

O-oooooh...

It was a unit of tall, poisonous soldiers over a dozen meters tall.

Their muscles and skeletons deteriorated from their obsession with height, but their grotesquely elongated arms could reach over the walls of Tochka when stretched out.

They walked slowly from beyond the lines, exhaling a red mist of death from the sweat pores of their bodies.

They were probably specially designed to attack Tochka's high walls.

'...If we let those things get close to the walls, it'll be a headache for the defense.'

I'm sure Major General Orca will take care of it, but it would be best to minimize the burden on Tochka's own nature.

There are refugees there to protect.

'Fortunately, their poorly constructed skeletons will slow their approach. We'd better cut them down before they reach the walls.

Vikir made a quick judgment call.

"Let's hit those giants over there first!"

"Yes!"

The seven counts sheathed their swords and turned on their heels at Vikir's command.

The seven hundred knights following them did the same.

Vikir had just crossed the battlefield at the head of a small army.

But then, he heard a cackling laugh from the side.

"Pushishishi- where are you running so hard? I envy your youth."

Vikir turned his head to see an old man standing on a tall outcropping of rock off to the side.

Marquis de Sade, he appeared like a ghost, without warning.

Behind him were the Nouvelle Vague all-stars: D'Ordume, Souare, BDISSEM, Flubber, and Kirko.

Even the demonized Sady.

Vikir asked in a tone of disbelief.

"...What's the combination, are you under arrest or something?"

"Pushishishi- no joke. I borrowed it from the old man, Orca. It's better in small numbers to strike back."

Marquis de Sade laughs as if it's no big deal, even as he berates the wardens who once imprisoned him.

Behind him, of course, D'Orduem and Suoare's expressions are utterly rotten.

Especially the expression of Souare, who was in charge of the solitary confinement cell where Marquis de Sade was being held, was quite something to behold.

Marquis de Sade asked.

"Anyway, were you on your way to the walls?"

"Yes. It's going to be a pain in the ass if those big things get stuck on the walls."

"Pushishishi – you're quick to judge, and accurate."

Marquis de Sade and Vikir, both masters of tactics, were right on the spot.

Just as he was about to turn away, Marquis de Sade's gaze fell upon the six men and women standing behind Vikir.

"Hoo – I wonder where all this young life comes from. Are you the new Seven Counts of House Baskerville?"

The six men and women's brow furrowed in unison at the word 'young'.

Bostonterrier, Greatdan, Isabella, German Shepherd, Metzgerhund, and Cu-Chulainn all turned toward Marquis de Sade, their sharp killing intent spraying in a show of dominance.

"Ugh, aren't you a little old for the battlefield, old man? I think you're closer to the dead soldiers standing there than we are."

"Hey, no disrespect to the old man, I'm sure he's got a lot of courage coming out of the back room."

"There's nothing to discuss with you, you're labeled a top-class war criminal by the Empire, and we'll put you back in the buns when the civil war is over."

"It's disgusting how prisoners launder their image. Consider yourself lucky, old man."

"Marquis de Sade, the old monster. A perfect opponent to test my newfound advanced form of carnivory."

"... A powerhouse. I want to fight him."

Marquis de Sade smirked as he watched the seven counts posture for battle.

"The older the puppies are, the more they bark. There is no particular character in this generation's Baskervilles. Except for that old man, CaneCorso... ...."

Just then.

peopeopeopeopeong!

A loud boom erupted from the walls.

"...!"

Vikir and Marquis de Sade, who were approaching the wall, stopped in their tracks at the same time.

One after another, the tall poisonous soldiers who had just reached for the castle gates collapsed.

Below them, a dark storm was blowing in, severing their ankles.

"Hmmm – there's someone quite useful over there, who is it?"

Marquis de Sade is interested.

The troops guarding the lower part of the castle walls, cutting off the ankles of the poisonous soldiers, soon began to approach.

Eventually, the being standing at the forefront of the black wind appeared in front of Vikir.

"We heard the red whistle, but we were still a little late in gathering. I don't want to use my age as an excuse, but this is getting old...But."

At the sound of his voice, Vikir couldn't help but look surprised.

The immaculately pressed suit, the handsome mustache, and the polite greeting.

"...Really. You've really grown up, Master."

Deacon John Barrymore was there.

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