The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 358: Crime and Punishment (3)

Even the most notorious prison in Venetior seemed to struggle to bear the reputation of the Night Hound.

Facing the impending dread of Nouvellebag, the most remote and dreaded prison in the continent, Vikir found himself temporarily housed in Venetior’s detention facility.

‘Tomorrow morning, isn’t it,’ Vikir muttered, recalling Nouvellebag’s journey, closing his eyes.

With 3,021 life sentences and Nouvellebag’s confinement ahead…

‘…I’ve escaped the death penalty, thankfully. Hugo’s plea was unexpected,’ he mused, confident that the verdict of immediate execution wouldn’t be issued, considering the analysis of numerous precedents.

However, he had prepared contingencies just in case an exceptional outcome led to an immediate execution.

‘The plan is flowing smoothly’, Vikir accepted it without any particular complaints. This verdict was also part of the plans he had originally conceived. There were some variables, but they fell within the expected margin of error.

At that moment,

– Execute the heinous criminal! Execute him!

– He must be put to death!

– Burn him alive!

– Apologize! You must apologize!

Faint noises could be heard from beyond the bars and walls. It seemed like a mob had gathered and was causing a ruckus.

The anger and sorrow of those who had lost family, friends, or lovers to Night Hound were immense.

Since the verdict, they had been staging intense protests outside without a moment’s rest.

[…Don’t you feel sad?] Decarabia suddenly asked.

Decarabia had shrunk in size, appearing as a small dot between Vikir’s collarbones. This ensured that he wouldn’t be discovered during pre-detention searches.

[Everything you’ve done was for the sake of humanity. Without you, the gates would have remained open, and countless people would have perished. And weren’t the deceased humans originally unforgivable, having made deals with demons? So, they should be grateful to you instead] Decarabia reasoned, rolling his eyes in apparent disappointment, though Vikir remained unfazed.

“You can’t expect them to believe that all the deceased were demonic entities destined to commit great sins against humanity in the future. Even if I say it, they won’t believe it,” Vikir replied calmly.

Humans are creatures who believe nothing unless they see it with their own eyes. Even explanations would be futile, and he needed more confidence to convince so many people individually.

“So, it’s easier for me to become the one to be killed,” he concluded.

[Human, do you dream of becoming a hero or a saint?] Decarabia questioned.

“No. I just want to save as many people as possible,” Vikir answered, maintaining his resolute demeanor.

Vikir has no particular interest in concepts like absolute authority. He doesn’t aspire to make lofty sacrifices for the entirety of humanity either. He simply wishes to protect the few traces of warmth that allowed him to endure his miserable past life and safeguard the precious connections he unexpectedly formed in this life.

And so, Vikir spent his time quietly meditating, feeling the sensation of the cold restraints clasping his wrists and ankles.

“…What are these restraints?” Vikir pondered, running his fingers over the handcuffs on his wrists and the shackles on his ankles, along with the interconnecting chains. Despite being made of cold metal, they were neither light nor flimsy. They were more formidable and robust than any metal of similar volume and mass, possessing the unsettling quality of neutralizing the mana of the detainee.

Vikir suddenly felt a spontaneous interest in these restraints. ‘Should I study them a bit? Perhaps an interesting variable might emerge.’

Just as Vikir was examining the restraints thoroughly, the underground prison door creaked open, and the voice of a guard echoed. “Visitors.”

Prisoners awaiting execution or those condemned to Nouvellebag were granted only three visitation opportunities. However, Vikir had already declined one visit from the representatives of Baskerville and two requests from students of the Colosseum Academy.

The guard seemed to anticipate Vikir’s refusal again as he moved to shut the door. However…

“Let them in,” Vikir agreed to the third visitation request.

The guard appeared somewhat surprised but soon left.

Eventually, the visitors descended to the front of the prison cell in the underground dungeon. Four individuals clad in black hoods and robes approached Vikir and unveiled their faces.

“Hello? It’s been a while,” the first to speak was CindiWendy.

Following her were Chihuahua, MiniPin, and finally, Ahul, each with a concerned expression.

“Young Master! What has happened? Your face is half gone!”

“Boss! You’ve been disfigured!”

“…Hunter.”

They all currently bore the surname of Baskerville. This was because Vikir had been promoted to senator within the family, and had also appointed them as his aides.

“Surprising,” Vikir stared intently at CindiWendy’s face before him. “I didn’t expect you to receive the surname Baskerville.”

Upon hearing this, CindiWendy shrugged. “Well, I’ve gotten older and now I feel like relying on something, anywhere, a little bit. Some days, I just get too tired.”

“I hope you’re not leaning on blades for support. Alliances are temporary. Wasn’t seeking revenge against Baskerville your ultimate goal?” Vikir questioned.

“True. But I’ve decided to change my perspective a bit,” CindiWendy replied with a smirk, raising her left hand.

Twinkle…

Surprisingly, a small ring sparkled on the ring finger of her left hand. It was unmistakably a symbol of sworn love between lovers or a wedding ring.

“If I become the mistress of Baskerville, wouldn’t that also, in a way, be revenge? It’s like swallowing Baskerville from the inside,” she explained.

“…?” For a moment, Vikir’s eyes remained still, but then they flickered slightly. Suddenly, a line from Hugo that he had heard long ago flashed in his mind.

“‘Osiris seems to have found a woman, but he doesn’t talk about her much.”

It was something Hugo had said directly to him when he visited Baskerville for the second round of the University League’s exam. Vikir couldn’t hide his surprise.

Osiris, who had been like a cold-blooded killer doll devoid of any emotions before his regression, was now meeting women. Ever since Pomeranian entered the family, he had noticed a slight change in Hugo and Osiris’s attitudes. But he never expected it to result in this kind of butterfly effect.

‘Is this a gain or a loss?’ Even for Vikir, who was always sure in his calculations, it was a phenomenon that was hard to gauge.

“Since when?” Vikir inquired.

“It’s been a while. Since I started mediating and supporting the trade between the indigenous people of the Western Front and Baskerville. We met a few times during security duties. Well, we’ve been acquaintances since childhood, too.”

Come to think of it, Osiris, who saw the aftermath of Andromalius, was the one who clarified the truth behind all incidents related to Seth’s death and settled the disputes, relieving the Baskerville family of their guilt. After Vikir left for the academy, Osiris vindicated Baskerville from the false accusations related to the death of her clan and acknowledged all responsibilities.

“There were procedures for compensation and personnel changes to remove the old elders.”

Furthermore, she was his childhood friend. Anyway, it was surprising.

The meeting between CindiWendy and Osiris was a big news that made even the stoic Vikir feel shaken.

Meanwhile, CindiWendy remarked with a sense of renewed sentiment, “…It’s the opposite of what it used to be.”

When CindiWendy and Vikir first met and conversed, she was inside the prison while Vikir was outside. But now, Vikir was inside the prison while CindiWendy was outside. Vikir’s reflection on this was brief. “It was expected,” he remarked, turning his head.

Chihuahua, MiniPin, and Ahul looked at Vikir with concerned expressions. However, Vikir was more concerned about those outside the prison. “There are things you all need to do,” he said, beckoning each of them individually and whispering something into their ears.

“…So, …stockpile food, …fortify high ground, …human mass migration, …last stronghold, …Torchka.”

Though the keywords varied slightly, there were several common ones. Eventually, when it was CindiWendy’s turn, Vikir stood up and approached the bars.

Swoosh…

Eventually, Vikir’s facial skin suddenly peeled off, revealing a Picaresque mask and the raven mask. This strange mask, which melded with the user’s skin upon wearing, passed from Vikir’s hand to CindiWendy’s.

“Oh my? Why are you giving me this?” CindiWendy asked.

“It’s not yours. Deliver it to Camus,” Vikir instructed.

An artifact left behind by Dantallian upon his death, infused with demonic power. It was a mask that Vikir had worn countless times while hunting numerous demons and their followers, almost serving as a symbol of the Night Hound.

“…She will understand my intentions,” Vikir stated confidently. With Sere accompanying Camus, she would surely understand the significance of receiving this mask.

CindiWendy, receiving the Picaresque mask, grimaced and shook her head. “How much chaos will that little troublemaker cause this time….”

“The world will naturally turn upside down,” Vikir responded.

CindiWendy’s metaphorical remark made Vikir pause. CindiWendy, Chihuahua, MiniPin, and Ahul all widened their eyes and looked at Vikir. And Vikir solemnly instructed them all,

“Prepare the ark. There will soon be a great flood.”

It was the first directive for survival in the age of destruction, the one and only strategy that could save humanity.

“Prepare the arc” Vikir’s final decree to his confidants.