Chapter 47 – Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound


The sound of a hole in the air.

An arrow flew through the air with a crash and stuck in the dirt wall.


The hard baked earth wall exploded with a loud bang, leaving a huge hole.

A soldier who was taking cover behind it was instantly killed by the arrow.

“להרוג בוגדים”
“הצילו את הקולגות שלכם”
“איפה בעלי”

Booming voices echo from the edge of the jungle.

A tribe of brown-skinned savages.

They had swords and bows in their hands and were attacking Morg’s fortress.


An arrow flies, and a soldier is sent tumbling down the ramparts.

In the blink of an eye, Balak’s barbarian warriors overturned all the skirmishers and scrambled up the ramparts.

Boom, boom, boom!

They set fire to the cotton fields below the walls and dragged the barbarian slaves with them.

Thump, thump, thump!

The barking of dogs everywhere.

The Barbarians of Balak rode their great wolves in groups of two or three, and in their hands they carried nooses of strong rope.

These were thrown into the air, and a slave, always a woman, a man, and a child, was taken alive.

It was like a hunt.

The surprise was so swift that the fortress was in an uproar.

Flames were everywhere, soldiers were dying, and many slaves were being dragged alive.

And in the midst of it all, Vikir descended.

Some of the barbarian women’s eyes lit up when they saw him.

“איפה בעלי”
“לא זה שלי”
“בואו להיות ביחד בהגינות”

They tossed the nooses into the air, swung them up, and hurled them at Vikir’s throat in unison.

And with that.


The three-strand rope noose snaps around Vikir’s neck.

The barbarian warriors kicked at the mounted wolf’s loins, driving it like a horse.



The wolf was forced to stop running.

Vikir was standing there, unmoving.


The rope noose tightened around his neck, but Vikir didn’t budge.

Next, Vikir twisted the noose with his hands and gave it a firm squeeze.

Quack, quack, quack!

The wolf and the three barbarian female warriors sprawled across the floor.

The faces of the barbarian men around them twisted.

They shouted something and pointed their bows at Vikir.

Beep, beep, beep.

Arrows of incredible speed.
In unison, they lunged for Vikir.

But Vikir’s hand was much faster.


Vikir quickly drew his longsword and imbued it with an aura.

The liquid aura of the Gradient symbolized a single point on the tip of the blade.


Vikir drew a figure of eight with the tip of his blade, slicing all the flying arrows in half.

The barbarians shrank back in horror at the sight of Vikir’s aura.

They couldn’t help but notice.
This manipulative power could only be seen by those who touched some singularity.

Vikir squinted, taking in the group of Balak before him.

Brown skin.
Hair of varying shades of silver, gray, and black.

Faces painted black, collars with thorns around their necks, riding on the backs of large wolves and using bows as their primary weapons.

“Just like I remembered before the regression.

I’ve faced Balak’s warriors many times before.

They are not only belligerent, but each warrior is highly skilled.

It is fortunate that this is a plain with a fortress, for if we turned against them in the middle of a dark jungle, we would have had a hard time.

‘Before we set out, Hugo assured me that we were not to engage until we were joined by the main body.’

This was Baskerville territory, but it was leased to Morg, so Vikir had no reason to risk his life in dispute with them.



Vikir pressed the barbarian warriors with just the right amount of momentum, and they didn’t hesitate to charge at him.

They had seen the ghostly swordsmanship Vikir had displayed just moments before.



There was a loud explosion, followed by searing flames.

An earthen wall collapsed, and a girl stepped out from behind it.

The one who would one day be called an enemy and the Queen of Black.

Morg Camu, she glared at the barbarian warriors of Balak with bloodshot eyes.


Camu crossed her hands.

Quadra-casting, four offensive spells manifested and began to shake the battlefield upside down.

Powerful blasts of fire and wind, steel and rock, drove firestorms and rock showers.

Balak’s barbarian warriors were biting the wolves back, signaling loudly among themselves.

Perhaps it was time to retreat.

Camu kept the invaders at bay, but glanced back at Vikir.

Her gaze was drawn to the few drops of black liquid on the tip of Vikir’s blade.

“You were a Gradient? That’s amazing.”

Camu was genuinely impressed.

What kind of mastery was a Gradient?

An exalted realm that ordinary people couldn’t reach even after a lifetime of training.

Even the people of Baskerville, who were said to be swordsmanship geniuses, could only reach it by the time they were thirty.

“I see.
You are the only man I can recognize.”

Camou smirked and stepped up to Vikir’s side.

She had taken a defensive stance, as if she thought Vikir was tired of projecting his aura.

“Stay back, it’s dangerous.”

Stepping in front of Vikir, the camo created a wall of steel and rock while summoning icicles of fire and ice to pound the field.

Three circles of magic, even a quadruple cast.

Truly a Morgue genius, a talent worthy of a kick in the ass at age 15.

“I will avenge my brother’s death!”

Camu summoned all the mana in his body and hurled it at the barbarians.


The battlefield is a place where even the most genius of talents can’t let their guard down.


Camou frowned at the stinging sensation at the nape of his neck.

“An arrow?

But if it was an arrow, he would be dead before he had a chance to think about it.

He reached up and pulled the thing out of his nape.

Something so small and thin it could have slipped through the shields floating in the air.

It was a cactus needle.


Camu felt his head spin.

The thorns must have been laced with paralyzing poison.

“נתפס! היא אשתי עכשיו!”

I see one of the barbarian warriors pointing at the camel and jumping up and down with glee.

Apparently, he was the one who shot the tranquilizer needle.

And now.


The barbarian warrior threw the lasso he was holding at the camel.

It looks like he intends to capture the camel alive.



The lasso was intercepted halfway.

Vikir reached out and caught the lasso halfway.


The barbarian warrior and Vikir began to struggle.

The other man tugged at the noose with all his might, but the already superhuman Vikir was no match for his strength.


The barbarian warrior was thrown off the wolf’s back and sprawled on the ground.

“That’s at least a half-wit.

Vikir shook his head as he watched the Balak warrior roll around on his back.

Vikir looked back at Camu.

“I think we should retreat from here.”

“What? But the farmlands and the prisoners?”

“It would be better to refrain from engaging them until we have rejoined the main body of the Baskervilles.”

The camo looked conflicted.

Rationally, it would be better to back off moderately here.


She had just lost her beloved half-brother, and in the heat of the moment, her emotions got the better of her judgment.

He was taken alive by a savage tribe.
He must have suffered terrible pain and terror until the moment of his death.

The image of her brother flashed through her mind, and her fists tightened.

Just then.


A sharp piercing sound came from somewhere.

Vikir instinctively jerked his head back.

An arrow whizzes past the nape of his neck, sending him flying into the city wall.


The blow was strong enough to pierce the ear of the rampart.


Vikir jerked his head back.

A lone female warrior stared back at him, perched on the back of a large wolf.

Black hair mingled with silver, tipped with triangular ears, and a face smeared with ash.

She threw her lasso right at Vikir, as if she knew he would dodge it.

The snake-like lasso swooped down, aiming for Vikir’s throat at an exquisite angle.


Vikir didn’t react, instead calmly reaching for his sword.

The black aura that symbolized the Baskervilles drew four teeth in the air.

The noose snapped in half in midair.

Just then.


There was a hand on Vikir’s back.

He turned his head to see a camouflage of stiffened bodies pushing against Vikir’s back.

And behind him, the barbarian man who had fallen off the wolf’s back earlier, tugging at the noose through clenched teeth.

I thought he’d be a half-wit, but he’s stronger than I thought.

The noose was wrapped tightly around the camel’s waist, and the barbarian took off running with the paralyzing poison.

‘……So this is what happens.’

Vikir sighed softly.

A momentary lapse in judgment is costly.

Morg’s next patriarch would learn this the hard way.

“Even in her original history, she was kidnapped by barbarian tribes once.

Even before the regression.

As a young man, Camouflage was captured as a prisoner of war and taken away as a hostage.

Of course, it wasn’t long before she returned home, slaughtering barbarian tribes.

It was during this time that she became known as the Queen of Enemies and Black.

“But I still have to do my job.

Even though it’s not Baskerville’s business, Vikir has formed a strategic alliance with Morg.

Vikir quickly unleashes her aura.


The silver-haired female warrior’s weapon blocked Vikir’s path.


Vikir’s eyes narrowed as he realized the identity of the thing blocking his sword.

The Balak female warrior in front of him had swung her bow with its full length, blocking Vikir’s blade.


Vikir locked eyes with the woman before him.

A strange sense of disquiet washed over him.

“You look familiar.

Just as Vikir was about to rummage through his memory.

The warrior spoke up.

“You said you’d see …… again, didn’t you?”

She spoke in broken Imperial.

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