Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound TL

Chapter 5 The Dogs of the Baskerville Family (2)

"You, I don't like you. Come with us."

"Come with us."

"Come with us."

The 9-year-old Baskerville triplets Highbro, Middlebro, and Lowbro were picking a low-level fight.

"..."

8-year-old Vikir thought silently.

In his childhood before the regression, meeting these guys was as terrifying as encountering the grim reaper.

They were also involved in his death decades later when he was discarded after use.

Above all, these would become warriors so outstanding that they'd be called 'Baskerville's Trident' or 'Hugo Baskerville's Trident' in over a decade.

Weren't they promising youngsters who would achieve great things for the Baskerville family?

So there was a need to nip them in the bud.

To eventually devour this Baskerville family, that is.

"...Hic. I'm scared of you, big brothers."

Is this the right way to do it?

Vikir pretended to be a dim-witted child, whimpering and looking around cautiously.

Then he said to the highly elated triplets:

"Can't you just beat me up somewhere where no one's around?"

The triplets giggled at this.

"At least you know something about honor."

"About honor."

"About honor."

Beating someone up where many eyes could see would be troublesome even for the triplets.

They twisted Vikir's arms and covered his mouth as they dragged him to a secluded place.

The 'Infant Tooth Castle' was an old structure built a long time ago, and true to its old architectural style, it had many isolated and corner spaces.

Crossing the entrance of a flooded basement, passing through an abandoned food storage and unrepaired cracks, up a spiral staircase.

The triplets dragged Vikir to an isolated room in an unused corridor.

Highbro, acting as the leader, said with a smile:

"If you scream, you might lose a body part. Well, if you get to the infirmary in time, they might be able to reattach it."

"Might reattach it."

"Might reattach it."

Seeing them grinning ominously while drawing daggers from their waists, it's hard to believe they're only 9 years old.

They say children can be more cruel?

Children who laugh as they tear off insects' heads or wings and step on them to death.

If even ordinary children can be like this, needless to say for the children of the Baskerville family.

These three little demons surrounded Vikir and said:

"I heard you stayed submerged in the Styx River for 7 minutes? We laughed for a long time when we heard that boast from the wet nurse."

"We laughed."

"We laughed."

Highbro nodded to the youngest, Lowbro, beside him.

Lowbro grinned and nodded, then went behind Vikir and covered his nose and mouth with both hands.

Highbro looked at Vikir's face and smiled vilely.

"7 minutes? I'll sear my hand if you can last even 3 minutes."

"I'll sear it!"

"I'll sear it!"

Lowbro tightened his grip on Vikir's nose and mouth.

His tightly clenched hands, seemingly determined not to allow even a single breath, exuded an innocent malice.

Highbro and Middlebro held Vikir's arms tightly, ready to subdue him if he moved, grinning all the while.

...However.

"...?"

"...?"

"...?"

The triplets turned their heads with puzzled expressions.

Because Vikir was standing still, not moving at all, just looking at the triplets.

"Hehehe, trying to resist? You've got some spirit. Let's see how long you can last."

"Let's see."

"Let's see."

The triplets tightened their grip even more.

1 minute passed like this.

Without drawing on mana, a young child should be starting to gasp for air by now.

"..."

But Vikir just stood there with calm eyes, exactly as he was at the beginning.

"...You're quite good at holding your breath, you bastard."

"You bastard."

"You bastard."

The triplets were so focused on maintaining their grip that they didn't notice the smiles slowly fading from their own faces.

And more than 2 minutes passed.

The triplets had become a bit less talkative by now.

This time surrounding Vikir, who was standing still, started to feel excruciatingly long.

"...What's with this guy? Isn't he breathing?"

"Is he?"

"Is he!"

When Highbro expressed doubt, Lowbro jumped up and shook his head. He was sure he was blocking the airway properly.

And 3 minutes.

4 minutes.

5 minutes.

6 minutes.

7 minutes.

8 minutes.

9 minutes.

10 minutes.

Vikir was still standing motionless.

During this time, only an eerie silence filled the room.

By this point, it was rather the triplets doing the bullying who were drenched in cold sweat.

10 minutes might not sound long, but if you actually try counting from 1 to 600 in your mind, you'll realize it's an incredibly long time.

All this while, Vikir had been staring at the triplets with an incredibly calm demeanor, blinking his eyes.

...Along with a tomb-like silence.

Eventually.

Highbro forced a smile and gestured to Lowbro.

"...B-Boring. Let this bastard go."

"Let him go."

"Let him go."

Just as Lowbro was about to remove his hand from Vikir's mouth.

"Aaargh!?"

A sudden noise erupted.

It wasn't the sound of Vikir gasping for breath or struggling.

Blood was gushing from Lowbro's index finger.

"...Ptui."

Vikir chewed on what had entered his mouth a few times before spitting it out.

Then he smirked at the triplets in front of him.

"Didn't you say you'd sear your hand?"

Vikir grinned with thick blood smeared around his mouth.

Seeing this, the triplets' faces instantly turned pale.

Eventually, Highbro shouted as if spitting out words:

"...Hmph! E-Even so, I'm not scared at all!"

"...Not scared at all!"

"...I'm scared!"

The last line slipped up.

As Highbro and Middlebro turned their heads, Lowbro showed his palm while sniffling.

"My finger's been cut off!"

The triplets' conversation started to fall apart.

Seeing blood is a familiar thing for the children of the Baskerville family.

But when it goes beyond blood to torn flesh and broken bone fragments, and especially when all of these are your own, it's a bit different.

The three who always moved together like a single trident started to act separately.

The eldest, Highbro, tried to calm the youngest, Lowbro.

"Ca-Calm down, bro. Let's quickly go to the infirmary and ask the priest to reattach your finger."

"Let's do that."

"Uuu... Okay. Quickly, quickly!"

Middlebro carried Lowbro on his back.

Just as Highbro quickly reached out to open the door.

"Who said you could leave?"

Vikir blocked their way.

Highbro's expression twisted viciously.

"You..."

Of course, that twisted expression never had a chance to straighten out again.

Crunch-

Vikir's fist flew in, completely breaking his nose and teeth.

Highbro collapsed to the floor, clutching his face.

...Crack!

Middlebro, who had been standing dazed with a blank expression, had his jaw dislocated by Vikir's immediate follow-up kick.

"Urk!?"

"Ugh-"

"Sob sob..."

The triplets, each screaming, groaning, and crying in different ways.

Vikir sat down gently in front of the door and said:

"You'll be uncomfortable for the rest of your lives. If you don't get proper treatment within the next hour, that is."

"..."

"But looking at your states, it doesn't seem like you'll be able to leave this room today."

"..."

"Remember today whenever your teeth, jaw, or finger ache when it rains."

At this, the triplets glared at Vikir as if they wanted to kill him.

The cruel nature nurtured in the Baskerville family over the past 9 years doesn't just disappear.

'...But in the end, they're just children.'

Vikir smiled brightly.

There's no one who doesn't listen after being beaten.

If there's someone who doesn't listen even after being beaten, you should consider whether you didn't beat them enough.

This was Hugo Baskerville's parenting philosophy and furthermore, the behavioral code of the entire Baskerville family.

"Uwaah!"

Highbro, being the eldest, gathered courage and charged again.

This time with a dagger in hand.

But.

Thud!

Despite Highbro's dagger stabbing directly into Vikir's body, it didn't draw a single drop of blood.

"...Huh?"

Highbro wore a blank expression.

Vikir's chest where the dagger hit seemed to turn black for a moment before returning to flesh color.

The protection of the Styx River.

Vikir's body had reached the state of complete sword invulnerability at just 8 years old.

Thwack!

A similar sound to when the dagger stabbed earlier.

But the result was completely different.

Highbro felt the few remaining teeth he had completely break off as he collapsed.

This happened with just two punches.

Rattle... Rattle... Gurgle-

The sound of tears, snot, saliva, blood, air bubbles, and teeth mixing and rattling in his mouth.

Vikir's dark shadow loomed over the triplets who were trembling violently, clutching their faces, jaws, and fingers.

...Clang!

The dagger was thrown between the triplets.

But none of them even thought of grabbing it.

They all instinctively knew:

'...If I grab that, I'll get beaten even worse.'

The triplets didn't dare raise their heads, just kneeling on the floor, dripping blood, tears, saliva, and cold sweat.

All three had wet their pants, it seemed.

Then.

Vikir spoke:

"Only one of you brothers can leave this room alive."

The triplets' expressions changed urgently as they found a glimmer of hope.

"Who?"

"Who?"

"Who?"

Vikir's answer to this was simple:

"That's for you brothers to decide from now on."

Simultaneously, the triplets' gazes converged on the dagger in the center.

...Crack!

Baskerville's trident began to split from within.