Iron Blooded Hound

Chapter 51: Chapter 51: Eclipse of Fear

Something peered out from the fog.

A darker, thicker fog spread over the water.

Deeper, denser, heavier, and hazier – that's how it would be described!

It had been drawn to the lights and chaos of the battlefield by Baskerville and the Morg.

"Here comes Madame Eight-Legged."

Balak's fighters are notably terrifying.

The fighters of Morg and Baskerville understand the seriousness of the situation, as do the champions who are not known for their bravery.

Vikir, especially, already had some idea of what lurked beyond the darkness.

He had witnessed countless encounters in the Dark Mountains with the enemy before.

And Vikir remembered the words of an old local he had once encountered.

'Lady with eight legs'.

A part of eerie legend.

It was a tale of horrors hidden at the bottom of the water, in the depths of decaying root holes.

"...shhh. Don't make a sound."

Vikir hushed the camel in his arms.

"You may not see well, but you have sensitive ears and skin, old friend."

Light and sound. He's sensitive to them.

Jahak... ... Jaharak... ...

Beyond the tangled roots in the floodwaters, a noise sounded otherworldly.

It sounded like the awkward moan of an old person, or the last gasp of a drowning man in a swamp.

Stirring, stirring, stirring.

Soon there was the sound of furry fur being brushed all over.

From its sound, what was approaching must be of huge size.

Even the sturdy Morg Adolph was puzzled as to what species this creature belonged to.

"It must be another creature that hasn't been seen before, but how could such a beast remain unseen?"

Adolf's questions were valid.

But Vikir, who knew how vast the enemy and the Dark Mountain's waters were, had nothing to say.

He only shared the information from his previous experiences.

"Madame Eight-Legged. A level S demon. One that will grow into an even more terrifying beast in the next ten years.

Danger Level S.

Dangerous enough that a single entity is capable of destroying a nation.

If we were to fight it head-on, we would have no chance.

Even here, in its lair of Suhai, it's not yet night!

...Swallow, swallow, swallow, swallow, swallow, swallow, swallow.

Something sticky is dripping from above, onto the leaves, fallen branches, and human heads.

The drops of slime falling simultaneously from various locations created the illusion of raining precipitation.

....

Static.

Intense static.

There hadn't been a sound of a grasshopper in the water since before.

Then this happens.

The seasoned fighters of Baskerville, the well-trained wizards of Morg, and the fierce brute champions of Balak had all been reduced to mere spectators.

All were frozen, unable to move.

Praying that the great nightmare overhead would pass quickly.

All at once.

"Kaaaaaah!"

A tearing scream came from the air.

Vikir turned his head quickly.

There, standing, was Camu, her eyes narrowed with sickening fear.

"It's not ... ... , is it?"

She made an X with her hands as if to say, "No greater shame."

Vikir breathed a sigh of relief.

Ahun of Balak let out another scream.

"My, my head! Madame's toxin!"

Ahun was going near, shaking out his hair.

Was it because he had cut it off with a blade?

Tsutsutsutsuts... ...

On the ground, Ahun's hair was melting away.

But avoiding the onrushing water didn't save him from the tidal wave that followed.

"It" began to respond to his screams.

A thick darkness descended upon the Balak champions.

Aiyen immediately grabbed Ahun by the back of the neck and ran.

"You fool! If you weren't the eldest son of a shaman, I'd be all over you!"

Ahun fell down, unable to utter a word as Iyen snarled.

Soon, Balak's fighters began to disperse, spreading out across the water.

"Let us run!"

At Adolf's words, Morg and Baskerville's followers retreated.

But there was a slight difference in the way the Balak, Morg, and Baskerville coalition retreated.

Balak's champions fled individually, with none of them running in the same direction.

The Morg and Baskervilles, on the other hand, fled together.

This slight difference determined the outcome.

Passasasak-

The sound of blade-like leaves bending with ease.

A massive pile of fur was breaking through the thick foliage and thorns, moving this way.

... into the fray at a dangerous speed!

Puck! Thump! Pound...

Dull noises came from all directions.

It was the sound of fighters and mages being crushed by an unidentified assault.

"What on earth is that?"

Adolf shouted as he ran, clutching his camel.

Staffordshire, too, ran forward, carrying the Baskerville trio in his arms.

The trio, who had just been taken out by an unknown attacker, were bleeding from the corners of their mouths, their eyes wide open and glaring at the "it" behind them.

All at once.

"That's enough."

Vikir stopped.

Continuing like this, we're all going to die.

Whirr-

Vikir spun around in his seat.

Camu saw him and exclaimed.

"Rain, Vikir! What!"

She gasped in shock.

Facing the camel, Vikir didn't turn around, but waved his hand briefly.

"Let me handle this."

"It" is not an enemy that can be fought by concealing its power.

And this crisis was an opportunity, a golden moment to slip off Hugo's radar discreetly.

Vikir instinctively felt that the time had come to execute a plan he had long considered.

Death. And concealment.

When a dog in the field is dead, all surveillance and control over it ceases.

To him, he had proactively recalled the theories of the Baskerville 10th Swordsmanship. His mana and strength are slowly returning to the level of his previous life.

All he needs is time. A place away from prying eyes.

This is the perfect place to hide and recuperate, so that when the time is right, he can return to his family and perhaps be hailed as a hero.

"No! Vikir, please, come back!"

The camel pleaded.

Vikir turned his back on the mournful cry.

In the distant future, when he is no match for Hugo, or perhaps when he can hide and control his abilities perfectly, he will return to his family and maybe be regarded as a hero.

Essentially, he could claim to have sacrificed himself for Morg's cause.

Vikir straightened his posture.

"Give your all, or die.

He never intended to give his absolute best against a formidable adversary only to die anyway.

It was just a matter of how much he could unleash.

Vikir stood before 'It' in an almost sacrificial manner.

'If we go on like this, we'll all die,' 'I'll hold it off for a while, so everyone get out,' 'Let my family know that I was brave till the end,' ... ... and other lines that Vikir didn't even bother to say.

They probably got through without me.

"...Nephew."

Adolph bit his lip, a grim expression on his face.

He bit his lip so hard that it bled from the corner of his mouth, but he must return to his family as soon as possible to save his injured niece.

"Ace ... ... ."

Staffordshire, also carrying the injured trio, glanced back at Vikir with trembling eyes.

Finally, Camus.

"...."

She reached out her hands toward Vikir, her face covered in tears and snot, her expression now stunned, her throat hoarse from exhaustion.

Only to be interrupted from moving forward by Adolf's firm grip.

"Go."

Vikir turned his back on everyone and drew his sword.

Then.

"Don't let my niece's sacrifice be in vain!"

Adolf shouted, coughing up blood.

With that, the survivors of the Morgans and Baskervilles began to flee from 'it'.

"...."

Vikir watched them all move away.

And with that.

Passa Passa.

The rapidly approaching 'thing' broke through the darkness and leaned forward toward Vikir.

At the same time.

Vikir unleashed all the power he had been holding back.

Mana, fueled by the waters of the River Styx.

An aura made even more refined by his newfound mastery of Baskerville-style High Swordsmanship.

And the rare magic blade Lucifer pierced through his wrist, revealing long teeth.

...Puff-puff-puff!

A completely dark force, red as blood and dark as the void, began to frenzy like a demon from Satan's tip.

It quickly formed five huge teeth and clamped down on 'it'.

Jaaaahhhhh!

The creature let out a terrified scream. A scream, tight with pain.

Quack, quack, quack!

There was a flash of light like a giant sun falling.

Vikir's aura surged with power, driving dawn into the dark waters.

He didn't see Adolf and Staffordshire, who were focused on running forward, but... ... Camus and the trio, who were being carried by them and looking backward, saw through the exploding beam of light.

...Flash!

Vikir's unleashed power exploding in the aura of a Progressive Moderate.

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