Episode 40 The United Front in Morgoth (1)


The morning dawned.

Last night.
Vikir had slept in the pavilion across the street from the city magistrate’s office after his night shift.

Knowing that, the Chihuahua had been there early in the morning.

“Hey, sleepy assistant magistrate.
The sun is already up, it’s time for you to go to work……uhhhhhhhh!?”

After knocking on the door, the Chihuahua didn’t get to finish his morning greeting before letting out a grotesque scream.

There was blood everywhere.

Blood, blood, blood, soaking down the white bedspread and staining the marble tiles on the floor in a grid-like pattern.

The walls, the ceiling, the bed, all drenched in blood.

“Ah.
Good morning, sir.”

Vikir gets up from the bed with too much nonchalance.

Judging by his sleepy expression, he really was asleep just a moment ago.

And on the bed beneath him lies a corpse, head and torso separated.

A dagger is clutched in the hand of a black-cloaked man, clearly an assassin.

Vikir looked at the assassin’s body on the floor.

“Hmm? I don’t remember him, he must have killed me in my sleep.”

“Zee, is that true?”

“Of course not.
It’s a lighthearted joke.”

Vikir tried to make a joke of his own, thinking, “Wouldn’t a 15-year-old be this playful?” but the Chihuahua didn’t seem to realize it was a joke in the first place.

“So, Your Excellency……, what kind of childhood did you have back home?”

“Was it not much fun?”

“No, it wasn’t a matter of fun…….”

The Chihuahua seemed in many ways at a loss for words.

Vikir shook his head in disbelief.

“I’ve been getting a lot of these flies lately.”

Two poisoned arrows, four poisoned glasses, six street burying attacks, stabbings, sulfuric acid spraying, sniping, arson, carriage ramming, etc……..

All in the last three days.

This was the first assassin to enter his bedroom, but even he was no match for Vikir.

Every warrior who had lived through the Age of Destruction had mastered the art of sensing the killing around them in their sleep, and Vikir was no different.

“Hmph.
I guess I should look on the bright side.
It means I’m getting noticed, right?”

“You’ve got some nerve, man.”

“You’re disrespectful to your superiors, sir.”

I retorted nonchalantly and turned to put on my robe.

The Chihuahua stuck out its tongue as Vikir nonchalantly followed her out of the bedroom.

“Looking at you, it’s hard to believe you’re really 15 years old.”


“Where’s the blood in that?”

“Even if it is Baskerville blood…… I mean, weren’t the rest of the Baskervilles like this in the first place, and the previous Archon was…….”

The Chihuahua continued to babble, but Vikir was already tuning out his words.

Instead, his mind was on the payoff from his last illegal auction house heist.

/ Awl

-1 slot: Burn – Cerberus (A+)

-2 slot: Choke – Infernal Buffalo (A)

Slot -3: Bleed – Hellhound (B+)

Magic Sword Beelzebub.

This strange blade, which drains and absorbs the abilities of those it kills, was sealed with the power of Murcielago the Infernal Buffalo, a beast you met at the auction house some time ago.

The troll’s C+-ranked danger ability, Super Rapid Regeneration, was gone, replaced by the infernal buffalo’s Tight Throat Breath.

While “Super Fast Regeneration” is an ability to quickly heal an injured body, “Tough Breath” is much more versatile, as it makes the body so tough and hard that it cannot be injured in the first place.

In the first place, the Infernal Buffalo was a high-level beast that couldn’t even be compared to a troll, so it was no wonder its effects were superior.

‘I didn’t know there was a Class A demonic corpse in the auction house, I’m lucky.’

After consuming it, he was able to easily defeat the assassin who came yesterday.

The assassin who had infiltrated the palace last night was a Gradual.

Even though he was only a low ranked Gradual, I remembered that he produced an aura that was as sticky as liquid.

It was an unexpected attack, and the dagger slightly pierced my chest.

But thanks to a synergistic combination of the protection of the River Styx and the hardiness of the Infernal Buffalo, Vikir’s body was left with only a faint scar.

The assassin himself would not have known.

“Mu, whose body is so hard……!?

Little did he know that this would be his last words.

“I’m going to find out who’s behind these assassins and put them out of business.”

“That makes sense.”

In fact, though he hadn’t told the Chihuahua, Vikir was thinking of resigning from his position as deputy magistrate after this job was done.

Just like Xindiwendi had told him not long ago.

Just then.

Something happened to help Vikir’s plans.

The call came from Baskerville itself.

A huge black carriage stood in front of the city hall.

A luxury carriage emblazoned with the Baskervilles’ toothy logo.

Visiting the town hall early in the morning was a man Vicky knew well.

Deacon John Barrymore, who had come to see Vikir personally.

“Master.
Long time no see.”

“I see, Deacon.
You look better.”


Deacon Barrymore beamed at Vikir’s response.

“Look at that.
Didn’t I tell you when you left the main house that you would do well?”

The rumors of the outside world had reached the main house.

They were all about the underdog city’s new deputy magistrate.

“Lucky in many ways.
The timing was right.”

But the rumor-monger himself remains uncharacteristically modest.

Deacon Barrymore then revealed the reason for his visit.

“My lord is looking for you.
Presumably, he wants an accurate report on this incident.”

“If it was a report, I would have already submitted it in writing.”

“Haha, is that the same as having your son come and tell you in person?”

After speaking, Barrymore stroked his mustache and narrowed his eyes.

“You’re so excited.
I’ve never seen you smile like that before.”

* * *

Hugo Les Baskervilles.

He was still sitting at his patriarch’s desk, his face expressionless.

But Vikir could sense an alien aura emanating from him.

It was.

“……Well done, son.”

It was uncharacteristically warm.

Hugo set today’s morning paper down on his desk.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The results of the popularity poll of the citizens were on the front page of the newspaper.

“You’ve done a great job.”

“You did what you had to do.”

“There are a lot of dumbasses out there who can’t do what they’re supposed to do.”

Hugo looked at Vikir, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Illegal slave trading is a felony punishable by death for both buyer and seller.
Your actions have been commended by the Imperial Court.”

“I am honored.”


“This is your chance to dispel the myth that Baskervilles are only good with a sword and bad with their heads.
You’ve done a great job.”

Vikir’s special law, his performance in proclaiming it, and his vigorous enforcement of the law set a precedent for all the cities under the Baskervilles’ control, and even the imperial family.

Hugo’s unorthodox appointment was rewarded by Vikir’s unorthodox performance.

One of the Baskervilles’ customs is to be sure of reward and punishment.

If you do well, you get rewarded; if you don’t, you get punished.

Vikir had done an outstanding job and should be rewarded accordingly.

And today, Hugo had summoned Vikir to the main house to discuss the reward.

“Admission to the Academy.”

The Colosseo, the Imperial Academy, the place where every elite in the world dreamed of entering.

Hearing that, Vikir asked.

“Isn’t it customary to enter the academy at the age of 20?”

“If you’re good enough, there’s no age limit.
You can be an early adopter or a late adopter, as long as you fulfill the following conditions: no more than 25 years old when you enter and no more than 30 years old when you graduate.”

“……I will live up to your expectations.”

Vikir interjected with a short testimonial.

Hmm?

Hugo, who normally would have ended the conversation at this point, showed a rare willingness to continue.

“I’m sending a few people, including you, to the Academy, but I haven’t gotten around to organizing the entries yet.”

“……?”

“Do you have any close brothers who would like to go with you?”

The question was completely unexpected.
Didn’t it sound like something a father would ask his son?

“Uh-oh.
You’re a father.

But then Vikir remembered something he had forgotten himself.

He is Hugo’s son, after all.

He hadn’t been treated like a son for so long that he had forgotten.

Vikir hesitated a moment, then spoke.

“I’m best friends with the triplets, Highbrow, Middlebrow, and Lowbrow.”

What’s the big deal about being best friends, if you want them around, you’re best friends.

“……Is that so?”

Hugo’s eyes widened a little in surprise, but then he nodded in understanding.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

That was the end of the conversation about the academy.

Vikir had just finished his chaplaincy and was about to leave.

“Oh, by the way.
Son, stay a minute.”

“……?”


Vikir stopped in his tracks and turned around, and Hugo rose briefly from his seat.

Then he spoke in a low voice.

“I’ve been looking over the laws of your underdog city.”

“They are …… immature.”

“You’ve made quite a few changes to the agricultural laws.
You’ve done a very efficient job.”

“That’s very flattering.”

Vikir had once reorganized the laws governing the large farms on the outskirts of Underdog City, in the area where the Red and Black Mountains met in the lower reaches and wide open plains.

In addition to the ruby mines, there are many fields of sugar cane, tobacco, cotton, and other crops.

They were mainly worked by savage captives.

Is that why? The savages who occasionally raided across the border often targeted farms on the outskirts of Underdog City.

Hugo said.

“Why don’t you take a quick tour of the estate before you enter the Academy? See if the laws you’ve established are being followed.
It would be good experience.”

“As you wish.”

Vikir obeyed, still unwilling to argue.

Then.

Hugo, who had been watching the scene with satisfaction, suddenly asked.

“By the way, are you going alone?”

“……?”

Vikir scratched his head.

So he’s going to go on a territorial tour by himself?

When Vikir looked at Hugo with a puzzled expression, he settled back into his chair and spoke in a relaxed voice.

“This is a joint operation.”

At Hugo’s words, Vikir remained silent.
It was an indication that he needed a little more explanation.

Understanding that, Hugo got down to business.

“Do you remember the operation you organized when you were eight years old? Why, the ruby mine.”

“……Of course.
I seem to recall that it involved leasing the Ruby Mines area to the Morg and driving the barbarians towards it, keeping the two factions apart untouched.”

Aka the carnage map.

The idea was that if they wanted to expand their borders, they’d have to deal with the barbarians anyway, so they might as well use the Morg to get rid of them.

Hugo’s mouth curled into a wry smile.

“The plan worked.”

“And by worked, you mean……?”

“The Morg made the first offer.
Very low-key.”

Hugo hadn’t looked this happy in a long time.

He turned to Vikir.

“They’re talking about a joint war of attrition.”

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