Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound Chapter 434

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

Chapter 434: The Return of the Night Hound (1)

[…All demons must die.]

Vikir murmured in a low voice.

Dolores and the other graduates of Colossep Academy initially greeted Vikir with delight, but soon realized something.

This was not Vikir. It was a fragment of the Inner World that hadn’t been dealt with four years ago when Amdusias was eliminated.

The residual thought inside merely mimicked Vikir’s form.

“…But even so.”

“He looks exactly like Vikir.”

Tudor and Bianca broke into a cold sweat.

Over the past four years, everyone had undergone many changes both internally and externally, but the Vikir in front of them appeared exactly as he did four years ago.

“Seeing him now, Vikir was really young.”

“Did he really hunt those terrifying demons with that young body?”

Sancho and Figgy also sighed.

“…”

“…”

Dolores and Sinclaire remained silent, their mouths shut.

However, the sadness, affection, and longing were clear in their gazes as they looked at the residual thought that was once part of Vikir’s subconscious.

But then.

Something happened that shattered everyone’s tender emotions.

[…All demons must die!]

Vikir’s residual thought.

Once a part of Vikir’s inner self, it began to swing a sword at them.

Ka-Ka-Ka-Ka-Ka-Boom!

A terrifying slash swept across the ground.

Dolores and the others felt a chill down their spines and hurriedly dodged.

Indeed, this was no time to pity Vikir.

Regardless of how desolate Vikir’s inner self had been, he had been an absolute powerhouse who had reached the level of a Swordmaster.

“Ah- Why is he attacking us!?”

“Ugh, has he become so aggressive because he’s been trapped here for the past four years?”

Tudor and Bianca, being at the forefront, were the first to be attacked.

Kra-Kra-Kra-Kra-Kra-

Watching the fangs flying around, shredding everything in their path, made them feel like small herbivores being hunted by a giant predator.

Overwhelming fear. An oppressive presence that defied resistance. Their instincts screamed wildly to run away immediately!

Rumble-

A storm of ferocious fangs, an aura like pitch-black flames.

Through it all, Vikir’s eyes blazed with deep emptiness.

They could only think of fleeing; they had no will to fight against such terrifying eyes.

[…All demons must die.]

A wildfire-like hatred towards demons.

But the target of that hatred was not only demons, but everything in the world.

“…Well, in this world, there are only demons. He’s moving to kill everything he encounters.”

Dolores gritted her teeth.

The burden and sense of responsibility that Vikir carried could be guessed by looking at the towering mountains and mountain ranges in the background.

He must have carried an unimaginable burden on his shoulders, one that an ordinary human couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“I felt it from the first moment I met Night Hound.”

The faint emotions she felt watching him serve the sick in the slums.

Dolores was now definitively reaffirming those feelings.

Meanwhile, Sinclaire was closely analyzing Vikir before her.

“That form, it has to be that.”

“That? What do you mean by that?”

“…A human-shaped monster that lives solely for battle. A noble knight who has turned dark, becoming a crystallized remnant of thought.”

Sinclaire wiped the cold sweat from her forehead as she answered Bianca’s question.

“A Death Knight.”

At her words, everyone turned their gaze to Vikir’s face.

“…One. …Two. …Three. …Four. …Five. …Six. …Seven. …Eight.”

And they counted the number of fangs Vikir currently displayed.

During the Abyss tree Incident, Vikir had fought Amdusias to a standstill.

Everyone clearly remembered the trajectory of the fangs his sword carved.

Eight. That was the number of fangs Vikir had drawn.

And now, the number of fangs Vikir was drawing in front of them was.

“…Nine.”

Nine.

The Vikir before them was swinging his sword, drawing nine fangs.

Ka-Ka-Ka-Ka-Ka-Ka-Ka-Boom!

Nine streaks of slashes tore through the earth and sky.

Chaotic and disorderly. Yet, the destructive power of this swordsmanship was utterly terrifying.

“Ugh! We have to survive this? In this already harsh world?”

“Now I understand why that fragment of Amdusias dried up and died.”

Tudor and Bianca hastily retreated.

Baskerville’s Ninth Style.

For some reason, Vikir’s residual thought had managed to use it, exuding terrifying killing intent as he twisted his head left and right.

…Crack! …Crack!

No matter how you looked at it, this wasn’t the movement of a living human.

It seemed that Vikir’s fragment of consciousness had wandered this devastated world, enduring endless battles and pain, leading to some form of awakening.

“We have no choice but to fight.”

Dolores bit her lip as she spoke.

Flash!

A holy barrier blocked Vikir’s path.

[……?]

Vikir’s residual thought flinched at the unfamiliar energy, different from that of demons.

However.

Boom!

No exceptions. A Death Knight destroys everything that stands in its way.

Baskerville’s Fourth Style. Four streaks of slashes hammered at Dolores’s barrier.

“Big Brother!”

Sinclaire joined the fray as well.

Drawing up the gold veins from beneath the ground, she reinforced Dolores’s holy barrier with her golden shield.

Thud-

A massive impact shredded the barrier as it broke through.

At that moment.

“……!”

“……!”

Dolores and Sinclaire felt a powerful wave of emotions crashing into their hearts.

Tudor, Sancho, Figgy, and Bianca, who were brushing away fragments of the aura, felt the same.

Each clash of swords, each spatter of blood brought a searing wave of emotion through their chests.

These were the wounds of Vikir’s heart, accumulated over his lifetime.

Not physical injuries, but a totality of pain, loneliness, hatred, solitude, sorrow, and loss.

“……!”

Everyone had focused only on the visible pain, failing to see the shadow of emotions beneath.

The resolve Vikir always held, the countless times he revisited and replayed his past, filled everyone’s hearts.

True empathy.

Dolores, Tudor, Sancho, Figgy, Bianca, and Sinclaire understood.

The loneliness of one raised as a hound amidst discrimination.

The sense of loss from losing comrades he was attached to.

The sorrow of being betrayed by someone he trusted.

The desolation of being abandoned and executed by a master he was loyal to.

The powerlessness of watching those he wished to protect die like trash.

Losing, being tortured, fighting, tearing apart, dying, killing, struggling.

…Yes, struggling. Always struggling in life.

A bastard. The child of a discarded concubine. Even his middle name, ‘Van’, reflected his status.

He had to fight a hundred times harder than his half-siblings, who were born with surnames like ‘La’ or ‘Le’, yet he lived a life of loneliness and pain.

This is the life of Night Hound.

This was Vikir’s past, synonymous with war, a reflection of the age of destruction.

Drip—

Tears flowed from their eyes, without knowing who cried first.

Their bodies were being shredded in the storm of slashes, but the pain in their hearts was even greater.

“Vikir lived with these emotions in his heart all this time.”

“……It’s unbelievable, even while experiencing it firsthand.”

“To have gone through this and still overcome it.”

“Damn it! How can a human endure all this?”

Tudor, Sancho, Figgy, and Bianca were deeply shaken by the newfound understanding of their comrade’s inner world.

Sinclaire, who was maintaining the barrier, bit her lip until it bled.

‘I had no idea my brother’s past was like this.’

Honestly, she thought she was the saddest and loneliest person in the world.

But now, feeling the emotional blades cutting through her, she understood.

She understood all too well.

‘This is not the time to think about love.’

‘…Not now?’

‘…’

‘Not now, but maybe after my brother achieves his goal, will he have some peace?’

‘My goal is far and arduous. To achieve it, there’s still a long way to go…’

‘I know. Someone like you must have huge ambitions, they must be truly great. So, if one day my brother achieves everything he desires…’

‘…’

‘Will you accept me then?’

How childish those words were.

How much of a burden they placed on him.

‘…If that day comes.’

And how heavy-hearted, yet sincerely heartfelt, his seemingly casual response, given just to end the conversation, truly was.

Meanwhile.

“……”

Dolores barely held back her trembling.

‘Vikir! Stay strong! You are a strong person!’

She shouted inwardly, facing the storm of slashes.

It was fortunate that these slashes were aimless; if they had been a bit more accurate, her barrier would have been shredded like paper.

She carefully navigated between the sword strikes.

Though the blades that pierced the wall left long cuts on her body, Dolores remained undeterred.

Eventually, she pulled out an artifact from her chest.

The Mirror of Truth. It reveals the true nature of whoever it reflects.

Dolores wanted to show this to Vikir’s rampaging residual thought.

To help him see who he truly was, how valuable and radiant he was.

At that moment.

As if by miracle, the storm of slashes paused.

Dolores, seizing the moment, held up the mirror towards Vikir as her final act.

Flash—

In the mirror, Vikir’s reflection appeared.

Not the youthful face from four years ago, but a man’s face, more defined and mature, stared back at Vikir’s residual thought.

A face marked by sincerity, uprightness, strong conviction, and firm resolution.

Dolores felt her strength wane and managed a faint smile.

“Yes. This clean and handsome face. This is your true self.”

She spoke with heartfelt sincerity.

Even if she turned to dust in this moment, if she could lighten the burden of this lonely man even slightly…

…

…

But.

Reality unfolded a bit differently than Dolores had imagined.

“I know.”

The Vikir in the mirror opened his mouth and spoke.

“?”

Dolores was momentarily stunned.

‘Did the Mirror of Truth have this feature?’

But her thoughts didn’t last long.

Swish—

A quiet hand covered the mirror.

That’s right. Dolores, having lost strength in her hands, hadn’t managed to pull out the mirror at all.

…Then what was the Vikir standing before her?

Dolores lifted her head again to take a closer look.

[…All demons must die.]

“I agree.”

Vikir’s residual thought, emitting terrifying killing intent, stood in the shadows.

And another Vikir, facing his own self.

“It’s been a long time, everyone.”

The figure addressing them with a short greeting was unmistakably him.

It was the real Vikir!

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]