The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 102: Longing (2)

Vikir opened his eyes.

He had a good night’s sleep without any nightmares.

He had half-awakened out of habit, always prepared for ambushes and other possible disasters, but this time he had slept soundly as if he were dead vulnerable.

Of course, when he woke up, his body’s wounds had completely healed.

This was partly due to the regenerative power of the Fog Lizard, but also because various medicinal herbs had treated both the inside and outside of his body.

“Where is this?”

Vikir sat up.

He was lying on a soft fur rug on a dry straw mat, covered with a clean cotton blanket.

There were even various medicines and bandages wrapped around his entire body.

When he looked around, he recognized the structure of the house below the cliff.

And when he looked down, he saw the owner of the room at his feet.

It was Aiyen.

Just as Vikir was about to ask what had happened, a voice came from the entrance of the house.

“Aiyen, did he wake up?”

Aquila. The Night Fox looked down at Vikir.

She had aged quite a bit since he had last seen her a few days ago.

Sunken cheeks and shadows under her eyes.

The years she had been suppressing with her strength had caught up with her.

Aquila sat down next to Vikir’s bedside and, glancing briefly at the sleeping Aiyen, said, “Aiyen carried you here after you passed out. She ran day and night for three days.”

Was that so? Aiyen, who had not eaten or slept for several days and had rushed here with all her might, was now asleep at Vikir’s bedside, unwilling to leave.

Vikir looked down at the sleeping Aiyen, her fingers clenched around her own toes.

Aquila asked Vikir, “What on earth happened?”

Vikir hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“I tried to kill Madam…”

The complete death of Madam. Vikir hadn’t confirmed it to the end, so he only spoke about the events leading up to it.

“I couldn’t defeat her with my strength alone, so I threw her down to the mountain. It was quite a struggle, but I was lucky to survive. I regret that I couldn’t completely cut off Madam’s breath.”

Vikir spoke calmly, but in truth, this was a remarkable feat.

Madam, who had tormented the indigenous people of the Mountains for so many years, had finally been driven away by a young hero’s hand.

Now, the indigenous people no longer needed to offer sacrifices.

They could use their light even on dark nights, and they no longer had to cower in fear during stormy nights.

This was enough to earn him the title of savior of all the tribes.

Aquila expressed her amazement throughout Vikir’s story.

And then, without hesitation, she told Vikir what he had been curious about.

“After you passed out, Madam escaped from the scene. The warriors of the Balak tribe followed you, but the deadly poison she had spread in all directions made it impossible to approach her recklessly. Rescuing you was all we could do.”

Whether it was intentional or not, Madam had fled, leaving deadly poison in all directions.

Due to the toxic mist created by them, the warriors and wolves could not reach her and eventually could not cut off her breath.

But…

Aquila said with determination, “But Madam must be dead by now.”

When Vikir turned his head, Aquila affirmed, “With those injuries, she can’t last long.”

That was true. Madam’s entire body had twisted, and she had lost various vital organs.

Her heart, liver, lungs, intestines, and other vital internal organs had all been pushed out of her body and were dragging on the ground, and even her exoskeleton had been completely destroyed.

Even her bones had shattered, and her brain inside had been torn into several pieces. So there was a very slim chance of Madam surviving.

Aquila had a reason to be so confident.

“Moreover, Madam fled to the ‘Cold Valley,’ known for its extreme cold even in the Flood. Even in July, it’s a place where ice forms. With a body that’s been completely destroyed, she can’t withstand the harsh climate there.”

In other words, Madam would either die from her injuries, starve to death because she couldn’t move, or freeze to death in the Cold Valley.

No matter how you looked at it, there was no fate for Madam other than death.

Therefore, Vikir became the hero of the Flood, the one who killed Madam.

“Hero, you say? That’s an exaggeration.”

Vikir lowered his head modestly, and Aquila smiled dryly.

“Is this still excessive praise?”

As soon as Aquila finished speaking, she swept the curtain at the entrance of the house.

And at that moment.

“…!”

Vikir couldn’t help but widen his eyes.

Outside the house, there was a massive crowd that seemed to number more than four digits.

They all knelt down, closed their eyes, and prayed with their hands together.

“We wish for the recovery of Vikir, the hero of the mountains. Please accept our prayers…”

Not only the major tribes, such as Ballak, Rokoko, and Renaissance but also a few small tribes with unfamiliar appearances and clothing.

Their ways of prayer were different, but their wishes were the same.

All of them surrounded Vikir’s house as one and performed a ritual.

And then, in an instant.

“Wow!”

When they saw Vikir awake, they all jumped up, rolled on the ground, and shouted in joy.

It was the moment when all the tribes united under Vikir’s achievements.

That night.

The whole series of events and incidents came to a quiet end.

The festival of eating, drinking, and enjoying that lasted all night, and the memorial service for the deceased, both ended at the same time.

Those who survived were filled with a sense of duty, sadness, relief, or joy and made new resolutions.

And everything came to an end, and the night grew quiet.

“…”

Vikir closed his eyes and checked his body’s condition.

“I’ve regained it. The prime of my former life”.

Deep within his body, a bubbling aura could be felt.

This thick aura, which had been boiled to the extreme and had become almost solid, was closer to a solid than a liquid.

——————

Peak Graduator. This was a level that Vikir had reached before his regression.

In addition to that, the swordsmanship of the Baskerville style also evolved.

The sixth fang he had drawn when facing Madam.

And at some point, another small fang had grown behind it.

Baskerville Seventh Fang.

The seventh fang surpassed the sixth fang with a huge margin.

Vikir had managed to create the seventh fang after his battle with Madam.

He couldn’t explain the exact reason, but he could only think of it as a natural phenomenon that occurred as his understanding of martial principles deepened during moments of crisis.

He had fully recovered the combat power of his prime before regression, and he had even obtained the Baskerville 7th Style.

Vikir’s swordsmanship before regression was only at the 4th Style, and considering that the current head of the Baskerville family, Hugo Le Basqueville, was at the 7th Style, this was truly an incredible achievement.

“However, Hugo is a Swordmaster.”

No matter how similar their levels of swordsmanship might be, Hugo was a master.

While Vikir was a Peak Graduator, he had not yet broken through the barrier to become a master.

“…Still, I reached the level I reached when I was forty, at the age of seventeen, so there’s a long way to go.”

If anyone else knew this fact, they would be astonished.

Even the past Swordmasters of the Baskerville family, who were known as the greatest masters in history, could not achieve such a feat.

Furthermore, Vikir had the confidence that even if he were to face Hugo in a 1-on-1 battle, he wouldn’t be at a disadvantage.

“If it’s a life-or-death battle rather than a sparring match… victory is not impossible.”

Vikir thought, recalling Hugo’s face in his mind.

At the same time, he drew Beelzebub, which now had a much longer blade than before, from his wrist.

…Clang!

With its engraved crimson patterns, Beelzebub exuded an even more ominous aura than before.

The reason was…

Beelzebub / Skills:

Slot 1: Deadly Poison – Madam Eight Legs (S)

Slot 2: Silent Heal – Mushussu (A+)

Slot 3: Superfast Regeneration – Fog Dragon (A+)

It was all because of a giant phantom that recently joined.

Madam Eight Legs.

After a part of her soul became a phantom and merged with Beelzebub, this already dangerous weapon became even deadlier.

Deadly Poison.

Madam’s terrifying malice, which could kill a person with just a tiny amount, had now infused into this weapon, making it even more deadly.

Vikir examined the result he obtained from killing Madam for a while.

Then, suddenly, Vikir’s thoughts went elsewhere.

“Come to think of it… what should I do with this?”

Vikir’s gaze turned to the pocket inside his black cloak.

As he reached into the pouch, he felt what he expected.

A soft, small sphere.

This large black sphere was an egg laid by Madam Eight Legs.

During the battle, Madam had been consuming her own eggs one by one to recover her strength. This was the last egg she left behind.

Vikir had picked it up on a whim as it fell.

“I didn’t expect it to survive the impact of the fall…”

The egg was remarkably durable. Even after several punches, it didn’t break and instead bounced back with resilience.

Others didn’t know what this black egg was, so Vikir had left it alone for now.

“Hmm, I wonder if it will hatch?”

Since it had left its mother’s embrace, there was a possibility that it wouldn’t hatch properly.

It might have been a stillbirth or it could have been damaged inside.

Vikir decided to keep the egg for now; it might come in handy as research material someday.

“Now, it’s time to leave.”

Vikir lay down on a pile of straw.

Over the past two years, he had seen, heard, and experienced many things in the mountain.

He had accumulated experiences he would never forget in his lifetime.

He had fully regained his combat power from before regression and had learned various important knowledge.

But he couldn’t stay here forever because there was still much to do back home.

“Someday… When I finish all my plans… It might be okay to come back here.”

As Vikir recalled his future plans, someone knocked on the curtain of the house.

Eventually, someone entered the house where Vikir was lying.

Squeak.

The night breeze, dewy and moist, entered and extinguished the candles inside the house.

“…?”

Vikir gazed into the darkness, where a shadow loomed beyond.

It was Aiyen.

She stood there, silhouetted against the bluish night sky, with countless galaxies of stars as her backdrop, looking down at Vikir.

But something was different.

“Vikir.”

Aiyen’s voice calling Vikir sounded unusually serious.

She had always been quiet and solemn, but today, for some reason, she seemed even more serious and resolute.

Soon after.

Aiyen approached Vikir closely.

Then, in a calm voice, she said,

“…Can you help me?”