The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Vikir stood his ground, blocking Orca’s aerial kick with his knee.

Thud—

Orca, in turn, tilted his head to avoid Vikir’s left fist.

As Vikir and Orca engaged in a fierce close-quarters battle using not only their swords and clubs but also their fists and feet, the blue flames surrounding Poseidon continued to gain momentum.

“Hubby! There’s not much tleft now!”

Hearing Aiyen’s shout, Vikir nodded and tried to step back.

However.

Swish—

The iron chain, swung like a whip from the end of Orca’s club, caught Vikir’s ankle and pulled him back.

“Where do you think you’re going? You should see this through to the end. Young ones these days lack perseverance.”

Orca spat out sparks from his eyes.

Vikir glanced briefly behind him.

The vibrations from Poseidon seemed unusual.

Judging from the continuous explosions near its roots, it seemed that the accumulated shock would soon exceed its threshold.

‘…Now, or a little longer? No, should I leave now?’

Even Vikir couldn’t make a precise judgment due to the ambiguous timing.

A little more, just a bit more shock accumulation would make it certain. But engaging in further combat with Orca here would deplete his strength for escape.

Moreover, Orca had been a great hero who had greatly aided the Human Alliance on the battlefield before his regression. Thus, Vikir couldn’t risk a life-or-death battle with him here.

‘Besides, he’s also the one who personally detonated Nouvellebag with his own hands….’

Vikir already knew the reason behind that.

The Cataclysm. Escalating warfare. The looming threat of destruction. The demons turning their gaze towards Nouvellebag. …And the event that happened completely unrelated to all of that.

‘…’Second’ 47 people Incident.’

As Vikir silently recalled a specific event in his mind.

Boom!

Orca’s club flew towards Vikir.

Vikir, too, pushed his aura to its limits and faced Orca.

Crackle!

Baskerville 8th style, Black Sun.

Despite being a technique that even sent Black Tounge flying with one blow, Orca held his ground.

His brow furrowed slightly, but Orca didn’t budge an inch, blocking Vikir’s Black Sun with sheer determination.

“…Is this your maximum output?”

“…”

“Then it’s my turn now.”

Orca wiped his face, smeared with sweat and blood, with his hand.

And then.

…Creak!

The sound of muscles and bones twisting began to emanate from his entire body.

For a moment, a piece of common knowledge from Vikir’s past brushed through his mind.

‘…Orca wasn’t just an ordinary human either.’

That’s right. Just like the five wardens guarding Nouvellebag weren’t human, neither was Orca.

As Vikir adjusted his stance, preparing to enter the imminent second round of battle.

Slash—

Somewhere, the sound of tough leather tearing was heard.

A whip tore through the thick fur coat draped over Orca’s shoulders, grazing past him.

Sadi. Despite being battered and bruised from the aftermath of her majin state and the battle, she was holding onto Orca from behind.

Further back, D’Ordand Souare were sprawled, drenched in blood.

Flubber seemed to have been completely shattered.

“…Thank you.”

Sadi wasn’t looking at Orca, but at Vikir.

Her sudden gratitude made Vikir chuckle.

What was she grateful for?

Sadi continued speaking.

“For keeping your promise.”

In that moment, Vikir remembered the promise he made to her at the Colosseo Academy.

When Vikir asked Sadi to hand over “Orwell,” the key to Nouvellebag’s main gate.

“Hand it over.”

“Yes~ I’ll gladly do that~ I do need the ‘main gate key,’ but… well, there are other ways.”

“…”

“In return, could you promiseone more thing?”

That was when Sadi made this request.

“If you ever get the chance to escape, please make sure to bring my grandfather with you.”

Sadi’s grandfather. The person who had the greatest influence on her beliefs.

“…!”

Vikir widened his eyes and looked around.

The clash between Vikir and Orca had already devastated the terrain.

Mountains and hills had collapsed, leaving countless crevices gaping wide on the plains.

Even in the isolated areas where beings were kept separate due to Level Nine’s inability to contain the aftermath, the impact was felt.

Given the circumstances, it was inevitable.

Crack—crackle!

In the distance, isolation cells began to crumble.

“Oh no…”

The color drained from Souare’s face, who managed the isolation cells.

D’Ordcouldn’t find words to express his despair either.

Even Orca, the mightiest of them all furrowed his brows.

His face contorted far more than when he faced Vikir’s 8th style.

And then.

Amidst the rubble of the collapsed isolation cells, a voice began to emerge.

“Pffssss…”

A lifeless laughter reminiscent of air escaping from a balloon.

It was a sound Vikir had heard when he was once trapped in an isolation cell.

Eventually, amidst the fallen rubble, a tall elderly figure rose.

So thin and twisted he seemed undead.

Yet, there was an undeniable sense of vitality in his movements.

He didn’t look like someone who just emerged from an isolation cell.

“…Angagoumang?”

Vikir inquired, to which the old man nodded, responding with a chuckle.

“Just when I was getting tired of ‘retirement,’ you calong little man.”

The old man turned to look at the fallen Sadi, offering a warm smile.

It was only then that Vikir could confirm his identity once again.

“Angagoumang Cedric Sad de Sade,” known as “Marquis Sade.”

It was the moment when the legendary warmonger, who had turned the Empire upside down during the “47 people incident,” was unleashed.