The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound-Chapter 18

Episode 18 Bared Teeth (1)

“Yes. Hast thou had enough?”

Hugo Les Baskerville.

He summoned Vikir to his office as he emerged from his study.

He had cleared his schedule to the point of waiting for Bikir’s arrival, and he was obviously looking forward to it.

Aside from his first and second sons, Bikir had never seen him care so much about his children.

But that’s no reason to get excited or panic. The Vikir of his past life had been almost as old as Hugo now.

“A little bit.”

“Ho-ho.”

Hugo’s eyes light up.

He’s only been in the library for a day, and he can’t possibly have gained anything.

Most of the other Baskervilles his age are just getting their feet wet with mana and haven’t even had a chance to play a real game yet.

Under such circumstances, what could a child of only eight years of age possibly get out of seeing a high-level sword book?

But Hugo looked at the son in front of him, who he didn’t even know how many times he’d been born, with an unexplained sense of anticipation that even he didn’t know the source of.

“What did you feel and understand in the library?”

“It was, um…… warm, and…… pointy, and…… sharp, and…… squishy, and…… squishy? Something like that.”

“…….”

Hugo ran a hand through his hair for a moment.

A child’s answer is always hard to understand.

But could it be the intuition of a master? Hugo suddenly understood something in Vikir’s string of words.

“……No way.”

Hugo shook his head weakly, even as he muttered to himself.

Aura.

A sign that one had truly entered the world of swords.

A realm that no ordinary swordsman would ever enter, not even in death.

A level that even the prodigies of Ironblade Baskerville could only reach at the age of fifteen by training nonstop.

That is the realm of the ‘Sword Expert Beginner’.

Hugo frowned once more.

A child of only eight years old. What was he expecting now?

And yet.

Hugo couldn’t take his eyes off his son’s Maalgan face in front of him.

What if.

The anticipation of what might be made Hugo impatient and forced him to open his mouth.

“Can you show this father what …… it is?”

All humans in Baskerville are reluctant to reveal their true prowess to one another.

It’s almost instinctive, even among parents and siblings.

That’s why Hugo chooses a cautious tone, even when dealing with his 8-year-old son.

But Hugo’s worries are dispersed so easily by Bikir’s cheerful answer.

“Of course.”

* * *

Baskerville Street’s performance hall.

A small child stands alone in the center of this wide-open plain, surrounded by a crowd of people.

Vikir’s eyes are closed as he holds a short sword long enough to match his size.

When Hugo decides to test Bikir’s level, a crowd of people flock to the stage to watch the spectacle.

“Did he say he was underwater for seven minutes in the Styx?”

“Well, he strangled two venomous snakes in their cradles.”

“And for this practical, he’s captured a Cerberus.”

Surprisingly, Hugo didn’t deter the onlookers.

He just stares at Vikir in the center of the stage.

Deacon Barrymore, standing beside Hugo, asked.

“My lord. How do you plan to test your master’s skills?”

“I plan to pit him against a …… worthy fiend.”

Hugo’s eyes were cold.

To unleash a demon against a mere eight-year-old.

Next. Vikir’s test animal arrived.

The creature brought by the Guardian Knights was a large, green-skinned monster.

<Orc

Danger Rating: C

Size: 2 meters

Found in: Enemy and Black Mountains Lowlands

A species designated as a pseudomorph due to its human-like appearance and intelligence.

Due to their strong bodies, low intelligence, and excellent fertility, they live in groups and are no less dangerous than barbarians.

Orc. A demonic creature with combat strength comparable to that of four or five unarmed adult men.

Their entire bodies are made up of lean muscle, and they are naturally strong, immune, and resilient.

Captured alive by Baskerville, this orc was ready to hate and rage against the entire world, as he had once been a member of a warlike tribe.

The people around him began to murmur.

“Hmph. To say the least, an orc is a bit……. for an 8-year-old.”

“If it’s an orc, you’d have to be at least 15 years old to deal with it.”

“Well, I’m sure the guardian knights will step in.”

Even if they were Ironblooded Baskervillians, most of them didn’t understand this matchup.

“…….”

But Hugo didn’t say anything, and the match went ahead.

And then.

…Clang!

The orc was freed from his restraints and released into the center of the arena.

Pushed back by the spears and swords of the Guardian Knights, the orc made his way to the center, drooling, teeth and gums bared.

There stood Vikir, sword in hand.

[Kaaaah!]

The orc lunged at Vikir with both hands outstretched.

An eight-year-old toddler, thinking it would be an easy kill, and caught off guard.

But Bikir ducks low and avoids the orc’s two hands.

It was a skillful move, capitalizing on the difference in weight and height.

“Huh?”

Hugo’s eyes widen in amusement. The other Baskervilles’ gazes were similarly amused.

But before the surprise could sink in, Bikir connected with his next move.

Bam!

He spun around, sword in hand.

He may be an 8-year-old child, but he weighs a lot.

Vikir’s full weight was on the blade, and it sliced right through the orc’s wrist.

[Grrrrr!?]

The orc didn’t realize what had happened for a moment.

It’s understandable, as the opponent in front of him suddenly disappeared, and his wrist was sliced off.

But before he could realize it, the next reality hit him hard.

After slashing the orc’s wrists and slipping out from under his groin, Vikir cut the orc’s ankles as well.

Thud!

By the time the orc realizes that his wrists have been cut off, his ankles have been sliced off and he has fallen to the ground.

A hush falls over the area.

Everyone in Baskerville stared wide-eyed.

“…… He’s eight years old?”

“How is that physical, he looks like an old man?”

“I can’t believe he can do that without raising his mana. What was I doing at that age…….”

The number of people surrounding the rehearsal hall grows by the hour.

Even the guardian knights and servants have come to watch.

But.

“…….”

Hugo is the only one who remains speechless.

Of course, Vikir understood Hugo’s reaction.

‘You haven’t shown me what you’ve uncovered in the library yet, I suppose.

‘What you just did to the orc’s wrists and ankles was really just physical.

You haven’t even shown me what you’ve learned in the library yet.

And now.

Vikir took a deep breath and flicked his sword lightly.

It’s a fairly heavy short sword for a child to hold, but in Vikir’s hands, it swings like a puppy grass.

As if that weren’t amazing enough, Bikir pulled off another stunning move.

…Pow!

The tip of the blade glows faintly.

Everyone in Baskerville, realizing the identity of the light, gasped in unison.

“Aura Blade!”

The gaseous aura that symbolized the Sword Expert.

It was emanating from the tip of Vikir’s blade like a ghostly fire.

The aura crackled as if blood was being burned for firewood.

An emblem of the Baskervilles, a concentration of life force.

The orc instinctively recoils in fear and backs away.

He tries to heal the wounds on his wrists and ankles with the orc’s unique skill, Rapid Regeneration.

<Binge Fly ‘Beelzebub’> / Awl

-1 slot: Burn – Cerberus (A+)

-2 slot: Bleed – Hellhound (B+)

Slot -3: Fast Regeneration – Norvegicus (F)

Unfortunately, this was not possible due to the power of Beelzebub in Vikir’s body.

The Hellhound’s Bleed skill overpowered the Orc’s Rapid Regeneration skill.

Now the Orc would feel the full mortal force of the Hellhound’s teeth.

Shallow, minor wounds that would normally not bleed will surely draw blood in time, and will bleed for much longer than normal.

If you slit your wrist or ankle, it’s a no-brainer.

Gulp…gulp…gulp…gulp…

The blood on the shortsword slowly disappears.

The Shortsword, imbued with the power of Beelzebub, lusted after the Orc’s blood like a monkfish, and the Orc was forced to offer it up as a tribute over and over again, unable to resist.

And in that situation.

Boom!

Vikir’s sword swung.

And all those gathered in the ballroom saw.

A single, ghastly fang emerging from thin air.

The first ceremony of Baskerville.

A single ‘stabbing fang’ appeared and sank deep into the nape of the orc’s neck.

Naturally, the orc’s breathing was instantly cut off.

With the agony of burning in hell.

Vikir displayed the kind of unfiltered innocence one might expect from a 15-year-old in Baskerville.

Naturally, words were spoken around him.

“Crazy. I didn’t even feel mana when I was eight.”

“I could barely form a ball of mana in the palm of my hand.”

“That kid looks like a perfect Expert Beginner, holy shit, is that even possible?”

Eight years old, when the youngest Sword Expert ever was 14.

This was unheard of even in Baskerville, a place of sword geniuses.

Deacon Barrymore said with a mixture of shock and amusement.

“……chu, congratulations, my lord. A rare genius has emerged, a triumph for the family.”

“……Hmm.”

Hugo nodded, expressionless.

But Barrymore looked. The corner of Hugo’s mouth, hidden beneath his mustache, twitched upward.

He could never get enough of his children’s praise, so he chimed in a little more.

“It is an orc who can hold his own against four or five full-grown men and not be overpowered. My God, an eight-year-old killing an orc like that with such ease. There will never be another genius like that in any family in the empire……”

“Hmph. Enough, butler.”

Hugo interrupted Barrymore as if he were a stranger.

Then he opened his mouth with an uncomfortable expression.

“Apparently, the orcs are a little strange.”

“What?”

“Orcs are characterized by their great regenerative powers, but that guy just lost a lot of blood. A sudden loss of blood in large quantities inevitably dulls them. Was that Bikir guy’s sword poisoned or something?”

“Ah, that’s unlikely, it’s just an ordinary sword that was checked and handed over by the Guardian Knights.”

“Hmph. Then the orc must have been weakened a lot.”

The man was never one to take compliments lightly.

Barrymore smiled faintly and shrugged.

“Whatever. It was true that Baskerville had a rare genius on its hands.

A young warrior who, at the tender age of eight, had become a perfect Sword Expert beginner.

When everyone, including Hugo, was quite surprised by this accomplishment.

“Wait a minute.”

Vikir caught everyone’s attention.

Hugo started to turn away, but stopped and looked at Bikir.

Their gazes locked together.

Vikir spoke in a low voice.

“Is there anything bigger than an orc?”

He asks and doubles back.