The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 285: Power Inflation (3)

“Who in this whole wide world can frighten me?”

He looks around as if he rules the world,

“Right here.”

Night hound raised his hand and answered.

Simultaneously, Dolores felt her body, which was on the verge of being crushed, suddenly become remarkably lighter.

The strongest pilgrim, night hound.

Vikir stared at Bartolomeo.

“…!”

In an instant, Bartolomeo felt a chill creeping down his neck.

Crack!

He tilted his head back, and a sharp beam of attack sliced diagonally through the mountain of gold behind him.

Rumbling! Clang! Clang!

Torn or crumpled gold pieces fell with a noisy crash.

“…Oh.”

Bartolomeo wiped a thin, black streak of blood flowing down his cheek with his thumb.

Adjusting his posture, he asked in a stern voice, “Are you Night hound? The one who killed Quilt Indulgentia?”

“More precisely, it’s not Quilt but the ninth corpse, Dantalian.”

As soon as the name Dantalian was mentioned, Bartolomeo’s expression momentarily stiffened before relaxing.

“Ninth what? What is Dantalian? You’re speaking in incomprehensible terms.”

Although he tried to feign ignorance, there was no avoiding the situation now that the demon hunter had come this far.

“Andromalius, the ‘inferior youngest son.’ Dantalian, of the ‘Thousand faces’.’ Sere, the ‘king of corpses.’ Decarabia, the ‘wall of lamentation.’ I’ve taken care of them all. Do you get it now?”

“…”

Vikir’s words silenced Bartolomeo.

There was no need to pretend in front of someone who knew everything.

Slink-

Finally, he pulled out a sword that had been haphazardly buried in the pile of gold.

Bartolomeo observed the red blade extending from Vikir’s wrist and spoke, keeping his eyes on it.

“Shall we use the swords?”

“…”

“Aight.”

Bartolomeo smirked and demonstrated the sword.

Vikir recognized it at a glance.

A black blade. A blue gem glowing ominously at the end of the golden handle. A long sword with golden cord decorations hanging down.

Balmung.

Also known as ‘Balmung of the Abyss’ or ‘Balmung of Bahamut.’

It was originally one of the cursed swords passed down in the Baskerville Clan, known as the Abyssal Sword.

The sword possessed a sharpness that could cut through cold-steel with just a swing. However, it was an ominous sword with a legend that claimed it could corrupt the wielder, turning them into a tyrant.

Once belonging to the prestigious Nibelungen Clan, renowned for their swords during the Chaotic era, it later fell into the hands of their rival Balmung Clan, and after their merge with the Baskerville Clan, it became the arsenal of Baskerville, stored deep within their stronghold.

“…Why is it here?” Vikir momentarily harbored confusion. However, the question was soon answered as Bartolomeo took the initiative to speak.

“In my youth, I was a highly regarded swordsman. The head of the Baskerville Clan in those days admired my talent and even gifted me this sword.”

“…”

“Do you think you can challenge someone like me? Huhuhu, well.”

Bartolomeo tilted Balmung horizontally and stood facing Vikir. Then, with a swift movement, he leaped towards Vikir’s body.

Swoosh!

Blade against blade, Bartolomeo and Vikir’s auras collided in mid-air. The shockwave shattered the surrounding gems and gold into dust and fragments, creating a dense fog that spread in all directions.

…Crash!

Above two partially collapsed piles of gold, the shadows of Bartolomeo and Vikir intersected as they swapped positions. Each returned to their original places.

The first to flinch was Bartolomeo.

Drip-

Blood trickled down from his nose and mouth. Bartolomeo’s physique, once comparable to the head of the Baskerville Clan Hugo in his youth, had aged significantly. The disciplined body had become frail, and the brilliance of his talent had corroded with time.

“However…”

A wry smile formed on Bartolomeo’s lips.

“Form may be temporary, but class is eternal.”

Simultaneously,

Splat-

A fountain of red blood erupted from Vikir’s waist. Undoubtedly, Bartolomeo’s counterattack was effective. The razor-sharp blade of Balmung pierced through the protection of Styx’s river blessing and the S-rank monster Basilisk’s high-level regeneration ability ‘Invincibility’.

Vikir, bearing deep wounds revealing internal organs, had to retreat.

…Thud! …Thud! …Thud!

The golden soil was stained red by hot droplets of blood. Bartolomeo approached the injured Vikir.

“Financial relationships are all about give and take, aren’t they? I’m the type who never incurs debts; I always repay it immediately.”

“…”

“There’s a saying that there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Everything comes with a cost, a balance between expenses and outcomes. Even things that seem like freebies or losses due to bad luck eventually come with a price… Hmm?”

Bartolomeo paused briefly in his speech. Seizing this moment, Vikir spoke concisely.

“I agree.”

Simultaneously,

Splat, splat, splat, splat!

An immense fountain of blood surged from various parts of Bartolomeo’s body.

“What the…!?”

It was to the extent that he didn’t realize how sharply the canine fangs had cut him, with blood belatedly oozing from the wounds. The hound’s teeth were indeed sharp, causing blood to flow even after the initial strike.

Bartolomeo staggered backward.

“Hehehe… What a cliché scene.”

“You should feel embarrassed if you didn’t know it was coming.”

Vikir recalled memories from before his regression. Among the countless comrades with whom he had fought on numerous battlefields, there were a few exceptionally skilled swordsmen. Their swords were so fast and sharp that, after they cut down an enemy, it took several steps before blood would start to flow from their enemies.

Vikir remembered an incident during training when he had cut his thigh slightly. Despite not bleeding immediately, by the time he walked three kilometers back to the dormitory, blood suddenly gushed out, causing a loss of a small chunk of flesh. And all of this happened without using his aura.

Vikir had trained rigorously in the gravity chamber of the academy to reach such a level. Now, he was reaping significant results at this moment.

…Thud!

Having finished his thoughts, Vikir swung the legendary demonic sword Beelzebub.

Despite colliding with the legendary sword Balmung, Baalzepub showed no signs of being affected. It was only natural, as it was a blade created from the remains of the ancient demon king that had dominated the demon realm long ago.

On the other hand, Balmung seemed to be whimpering.

“Die already.”

Vikir infused his aura into the sword.

Swordmaster.

Solid aura extended, creating an unimaginable-sized onslaught.

Quaquaquaquaquacung!

Baskerville Style, Eighth Form.

Thanks to the deep understanding gained from encountering Cane Corso in the Sword Tomb, Vikir could create eight fangs.

Meanwhile, Dolores, who observed this, was genuinely surprised.

“…You’ve become even stronger than when I last saw you!”

When they first met at the orphanage, Night Hound couldn’t break the trajectory of that onslaught more than six times (Corresponding to the number of fangs he had at that time). Only when she awakened and applied buffs did they manage to break Dantalian’s trajectory seven times.

The peculiar swordsmanship displayed now might be of an unknown style, but one thing was certain – Night Hound had become significantly stronger compared to when they fought Dantalian.

“Nggh!”

Bartolomeo twisted his body and retreated. However, due to the venom already infiltrating his body through the bloodstream, he couldn’t go far and slid under a pile of gold.

“Die.”

Vikir thrust the sword deep into Bartolomeo’s abdomen.

Squelch-

Despite spewing blood, Bartolomeo tightly gripped Vikir’s arm.

“Do you think you’ll get away with this? As soon as the vault door opens, soldiers will rush in. And the royal guards will be notified…”

At that moment,

Splat-

A white light descended from above, enveloping Vikir and Bartolomeo. While Vikir’s wounds rapidly healed,

“Aaargh!”

The wounds on Bartolomeo’s body worsened even more.

It seemed as if they were searing, akin to being burned.

“Will people believe your words when they see you like this?”

Dolores stood on top of the mountain of gold, emitting white light. She used the ‘Mirror of Truth,’ a prize she had won for winning the university league, to reflect Bartolomeo.

In the small mirror, Bartolomeo’s true form was clearly visible – endlessly deep and endlessly dark evil. His true nature.

“…!”

Vikir quickly turned his head away from the mirror, distancing himself. Dolores, too, did not insist on uncovering Night Hound’s identity. Soon after, Bartolomeo began to laugh.

“Hehehehe… I see. You’ve prepared quite a bit.”

His recent agony and screams seemed like a distant memory. Vikir retrieved his sword and stepped back.

Tss, tss, tss, tss…

An obscure energy enveloped Bartolomeo’s entire body, lifting him into the air.

A warning came from Decarabia, which had been on Vikir’s chest.

“The play has ended. The Sixth Corpse is about to reveal its true colors.”

“I can see that much.”

Vikir pressed Decarabia back into his chest.

Shortly after, amidst Dolores’s anxious expression and Vikir’s composed demeanor, the sixth demon lord descended onto the golden hill.

[The ‘Sixth Corpse’ Belial]

Danger Level: S+

Size: ?

Location: Depths of the Abyssal Gate, ‘Snake’s Womb’

– Also known as the ‘Sixth Corpse.’

One of the ten supreme demon lords, an enemy of humanity, invincible and indestructible.

“Your body and soul will boil with agony.”

-『Decalogue』 10: Above –

Belial, the lord of greed and falsehood.

The arrival of the sixth key player leading the era of destruction.