Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound TL

Chapter 2 Hell Hound (2)

'Where am I?'

Vikir checked his body.

No mana. No strength.

Not even a trace of the aura he had built up over countless brushes with death.

'Have I fallen into hell?'

But that wasn't it.

This place... is too barren even to be called hell.

A place that would make even hell weep - that's the Baskerville family.

He couldn't mistake the air of the place where he had lived as a hound for over 30 years.

The smell of blood, pus, and everything that died filthily.

Vikir van Baskerville sensed that he had regressed to shortly after his birth.

'What should I do now.'

A body that has lived just about 100 days. There's not much it can do.

Perhaps just turning over to signal the nursemaid for milk?

Right then.

"None of them look useful."

A familiar voice was heard.

He could see Hugo le Baskerville, the head of the Baskerville family, standing in the center of the nursery.

The moment he heard his voice, Vikir almost instinctively got up to prostrate himself, as he used to do in his previous life.

Fortunately, that was impossible in an infant's body.

Grind-

His teeth ground automatically at the sight of the main culprit who had framed and executed him.

But since he didn't have teeth yet, no sound was heard.

'Calm down.'

The days of vengeance and humiliation he had struggled through to become a member of the Baskerville family, to be acknowledged by his father, to shed the stigma of being an illegitimate child.

The inferior blood. The dried bloodstains of his past life - it's goodbye to all that now.

He would live differently in this life. He wouldn't live the life of a hunting dog that gets boiled when the rabbit disappears.

Right then.

There was an incident that made Vikir's resolve even firmer.

"Move the children to the 'Cradle of Sword Pricks.'"

Hugo's words were heard.

As he was carried out in a nursemaid's arms, Vikir thought.

'The first rite of passage, is it.'

The Cradle of Sword Pricks is the journey to the Styx River that flows around a small hill.

The moment they immerse themselves in the Styx River after crossing the wall made of swords, the children of the Baskerville family are reborn as warriors.

Of course, this Styx River doesn't give abundant power to everyone equally.

Survival of the fittest, natural selection.

The strong ones eat more - it's the same from birth.

The children of the Baskerville family must escape the Cradle of Sword Pricks as quickly as possible and immerse themselves in the Styx River.

The faster they do it, and the longer they stay in the river water, the more advantageous position they can secure over their siblings.

So Vikir moved as soon as he was thrown into the center of the Cradle of Sword Pricks.

...Grip!

He pressed and twisted the sword blades with his tiny hands.

While children of some noble families might grab things that help their future during their first birthday, the children of the Baskerville family have to grab sword blades that threaten their future from their first birthday.

Spit- Pat- Rip- Scrape-

The blades slashed all over his body.

Every time he squeezed through between the blades, a burning pain swept through his entire body.

But it doesn't matter.

This level of pain was already familiar from living as a hound for decades.

It was something he had endured hundreds of times as a reaction to clawing, biting, and crushing others.

'Moreover, the deeper the wounds, the better for the water of the Styx River to soak in more effectively.'

Vikir knew all the secret, legendary, mythical, and ghostly tales of the Baskerville family.

Therefore, he also knew well how to maximize the use of the Styx River.

Crawl... Crawl... Crawl...

The child's soft body is guided to hell by the tough and strong soul of a hound.

Blood path. The red road.

The blood flowing from his body and trickling down the slope was showing the straight route, the shortest distance he should move forward.

Vikir continued to crawl in the direction his blood droplets indicated.

And soon, he reached the sacred ground of the Baskerville family.

The Styx River flowing through the swamp.

If you immerse your body here, your body becomes as hard as steel and your soul becomes clearer than ever.

Vikir threw himself into the river in a fetal position.

...Splash!

It's heavy. It was painful as if he had entered boiling molten iron.

Water so hot that steam was rising. Falling in here with countless sword wounds all over his body, how could it not be painful?

But Vikir endured the pain of being boiled alive. And he waited.

For the water of the Styx to seep into the cuts, tears, and burst wounds.

Eventually.

Tss tss tss tss tss...

His flesh began to change.

The water of the Styx, which had seeped through the wounds into his bones and internal organs, was changing every part of Vikir's body.

'It's certainly different.'

Vikir was surprised that getting off to such a good start could make such a dramatic difference.

His body in his previous life was tough and experienced, but small and thin.

Because his bones were weak, there was a limit to building muscle, and because his mana pool was narrow, there was a clear limit to raising his aura.

But his siblings were different. Tall stature, thick bones, wide mana pools.

That was talent, quality, a different starting line altogether.

In his previous life, Vikir had escaped the Tower of Sword Pricks almost last.

So he couldn't properly enjoy the effects of the Styx River.

His siblings had already sucked up all its power.

After that, due to his background as an illegitimate child and his meager talent, he was always given the lowest seat.

While others ate clean things, wore clean things, slept in clean places, and did clean work.

He had to eat dirty things, wear dirty things, sleep in dirty places, and do only dirty work.

The achievements he gained through such means always became his half-siblings'.

It was the same in the war against the demon race.

No matter how many demons and evil spirits he killed, the credit always went to his father or his half-siblings.

There was almost no reward.

It wasn't just the demon race he had to kill, but also his father's political opponents and humans as well.

He had to actively engage in spying, assassination, intelligence gathering, ambush, and blackmail activities across all seven great families, and in doing so, he elevated the Baskerville family to the highest position among the seven families.

...But what was the result?

Discarding the hunting dog after the hunt.

When the rabbit disappears and the hunt is over, the hunting dog is no longer needed and is boiled to eat.

Framed with charges of colluding with the demon race, Vikir was executed while bearing all the dirty sins of Hugo in his place.

His only crime was:

'Knowing too much'.

Grind-

Vikir gritted his teeth.

The teeth that had suddenly started growing in his mouth clashed fiercely.

The water of the Styx River rushed in following the anger that penetrated to the marrow of his bones, and soon changed his bones to be thicker, his flesh tougher, and his mana pool wider.

Of course, the burning pain continued to surge, but it didn't matter.

Vikir even started to drink the water.

He intended to strengthen his internal organs thoroughly.

He was recalling an old legend passed down in the Baskerville family.

'Long ago, there was an invincible warrior in Baskerville, right?'

The strongest swordsman who didn't even get a scratch on his skin, let alone his bones, when hit by an axe.

But his end was truly absurd.

An arrow dipped in poison shot by a rival from another family hit his heel, and he died from the aftereffects.

This was because when he was an infant, the wet nurse held him upside down by both ankles and dipped him in the Styx River, but due to the wet nurse's palms, a relatively weak spot was created where the river water didn't touch.

'There shouldn't be such weak spots.'

Vikir stirred his body in the river water to the best of his ability.

He twisted his body as much as possible to ensure there were no parts less touched by the water.

In the process, his wounds opened and tore, but that was even better.

The water could properly seep into his body.

Bubble bubble bubble bubble...

Blood drained out and his consciousness became hazy.

His breath was choked, and he wanted to quickly rise to the surface.

But he couldn't.

The Styx River doesn't accept a child who has once left its embrace.

If he puts out just his head to breathe, that part will no longer receive protection.

So Vikir desperately held onto a rock in the river.

While constantly stirring his arms to ensure the river water touched even his palms holding the rock.

Then.

Faint voices were heard in his ears.

"Young master! You must come out!"

"If you stay submerged any longer, you'll die!"

"Oh my! What should we do!"

"Pull him out! We must pull him out!"

It seems there's a commotion up there. Well, it can't be helped.

Too much greed becomes poison. It's good to strengthen the body, but it's not good to die from suffocation.

Moreover.

"Son. Come up now."

Even the voice of Hugo le Baskerville is heard.

But that voice only fans Vikir's stubbornness even more.

Swoosh-

Vikir raised his body.

But he didn't just raise it.

Gulp- Gulp- Gulp- Gulp-

He fills his mouth with the water of the Styx River. Until the very last moment.

And.

"Puha-"

As soon as he comes up, he takes in air to his heart's content.

Vikir opens his mouth wide to breathe.

Seeing him, Hugo le Baskerville rarely breaks into a bright smile.

"Hahaha, look at this fellow? He's already grown teeth!"

The boiled hunting dog has bared its fangs.