The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound
The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound - Chapter 368: Underground Expansion Project (3)

Chapter 368: Underground Expansion Project (3)

…Boom!

Fragments of rock and waves of lava spread in all directions, causing earthquakes and tsunamis.

All the prisoners and guards looked up at Vikir.

“I don’t wanna work.”

Vikir expressed his reluctance with a brief statement, and it shook the very foundation of Nouvellebag’s system.

Prisoners toil, guards supervise. That’s how the Nouvellebag system persisted.

….

A moment of complete silence filled the air.

Vikir thought to himself.

‘Isn’t it about time the guards start whipping?’

According to what Vikir knew of the Nouvellebag manual, if prisoners refused to work, guards could punish them with whips, clubs, or even knives.

…But?

Things didn’t go quite as Vikir had anticipated.

“Huh!? Ri-Riot in Level Nine!”

“T-This, this, this is beyond our control!”

“Support! Request backup!”

“AHHHHHH! Sound the alarm!”

The guard’s faces drained of color like A4 paper, screamed like frightened girls.

Eventually, the most serious warning, the crimson horn sound, reverberated heavily throughout the entire workshop.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

Upon hearing the tremendous noise, even the prisoners in the distance instinctively covered their eyes and ears with both hands, gaping and flattening themselves on the ground, raising their hips.

It seemed like a practiced response, perhaps indicating it wasn’t their first encounter with such an event.

“….”

It was only then that Vikir realized and closed his mouth in astonishment.

“Come to think of it, my former comrades-in-arms before regression were mostly detained at Level 3 or 4.”

There would certainly be a difference in how Level Three or Level Four prisoners would incite a riot compared to Level Nine.

But he never expected such a stark contrast.

Merely refusing to work, Vikir was being treated as if he were a terrorist intent on blowing up Nouvellebag.

…Clack! …Clack! …Clack! …Clack!

The eerie silence of the frozen workshop was shattered by the noisy march of the military boots.

Officers of higher ranks.

Shoulder-width shoulders with one or two mugunghwa flowers stuck in them, stern-faced guards gathered in groups of tens and twenties to form a scrum..

Beside them, officers of the rank of lieutenant with three diamonds pinned to their epaulets were encircled in a ring.

Lieutenant Bastille, at the front, spoke up. “Night hound. Resume your labor immediately. Otherwise, there will be consequences.”

He was in charge of various events such as admissions or executions and the management of the labor camp, ranking just below the fifth major among the hierarchy within Nouvellebag.

Vikir, having heard the stern warning, raised his right hand and slipped it into the pocket of his prisoner’s garb.

Eventually, as Vikir withdrew his hand from his pocket, all the guards tensed up.

Swish- However, what emerged from Vikir’s pocket was only a fist with the middle finger extended.

…Crack! Veins bulged on Lieutenant Bastille’s forehead.

“Subdue him! Kill him if necessary!”

At those words, the guards in the front each brandished their weapons and rushed towards Vikir.

Giant truncheons, crudely large clubs, ruthlessly sharp swords, heavy axe blades, long and jagged scythes—all mercilessly descended upon Vikir.

Watching this, Vikir pondered, chin in hand. “I don’t see the face I’m looking for. Should I stir things up a bit until “they” appear?”

In Vikir’s eyes, even the attacks of the guards, infused with mana, seemed extremely slow.

Though he couldn’t use mana because of the BDISSEM shackles, thanks to the physical resistance, magical resistance, and reflex stats he gained in the Abyss tree, avoiding the pouring attacks was not difficult.

Vikir’s hyper-tuned nerves, pushed to their limits, were supplemented by a keen sense of combat.

Bang! Vikir evaded all the attacks with just a few swings of his head, and soon broke through the tight scrum of officers, slipping out to the rear.

Then, the higher-ranking officers who were building a siege net from behind were startled.

“You, you can’t pass!”

“Don’t be afraid! He can’t even use mana anyway!”

“Kill him!”

The guards each drew truncheons or swords and swung them at Vikir.

However…

“Poor judgment.”

Vikir effortlessly swept away all the attacks with the BDISSEM chains connected to his wrists and ankles, as if drawing lines in the air.

Thud! Thwack!

The BDISSEM chains, originally meant for restraining prisoners, had become weapons instead.

The nasal bone of the guard hit by the snake-like flying chain collapsed heavily.

Vikir then proceeded to knock down three guards with punches, kicks, and elbows, breaking through the siege net of the higher-ranking officers.

“Whoa!? Ugh!”

“What the-?”

“We’re-”

Vikir had dealt blows to the lower and junior guards, each of whom fell in a single strike.

“Eugh!? What’s with him! Isn’t he unable to use mana!?”

However, such reactions among the guards were natural.

Thud!

Vikir, crushing the face of a lieutenant-level guard who had followed him to the end, thought to himself.

‘Nouvellebag’s guards are mostly villains. That saying fits perfectly.’

Normal wardens wouldn’t come to such a dreadful place to work.

Most of the guards working here in Nouvellebag were beings who had been demoted due to excessive cruelty or corruption.

Apart from their attire, they weren’t much different from the prisoners they supervised, as Vikir had observed how the guards released their twisted desires and stress onto the prisoners and heard many testimonies.

Then…

“…!”

Other figures entered Vikir’s field of vision.

Faces less tainted by time compared to the senior guards.

Junior-ranking guards of the so-called sub-officer class, the lowest rank in Nouvellebag, gathered, pointing their swords at Vikir.

Of course, each of them was trembling, but…

“Our seniors have fallen! Now it’s our turn!”

“As wardens of Grand Nouvellebag, we will never retreat!”

“Come on, muster up the courage! Let’s fight!”

However, no one stepped forward.

They were too young and frail to leap into what seemed like certain death to anyone.

‘They’re like students from the Colosseo Academy.’

Vikir looked at the rookie sub-officers in front of him and thought.

Then…

Swoosh-

Vikir felt a strike pass by his cheek.

Swish- Swish-

A few strands of hair fell from his head due to the quite sharp strike.

“…!”

Vikir turned his head with a newly serious expression.

There, a determined-looking female guard was sheathing a knife at her waist.

She looked like she was in her late teens.

Although she had a pretty face, she looked much more seasoned for her age, perhaps due to her cold expression.

On her chest was a badge with one diamond, indicating her sub-officer rank, along with a name tag that read ‘Kirko Grimm’.

Vikir was genuinely impressed.

Judging from her previous draw and sheathing of the sword, it was evident that this girl’s talent was extraordinary.

‘A rare talent indeed. Comparable to Tudor, Bianca, or perhaps even Sinclaire… No, maybe she could rival Camus or Dolores.’

A girl with the potential to match the young heroes from the Colosseo Academy.

With such valuable talent, why was she in a place like this?

‘Kirko. There was no hero with this name before regression, right?’

During the early stages of the human-demon war, Nouvellebag’s guards had vowed not to interfere with earthly affairs, but in the latter stages, they had risen to the surface to fight against demons, as the situation had become dire.

However, among those who had declared their names at that time, there was no female hero named Kirko.

‘…Why hasn’t someone with such talent and skill gained recognition?’

With a hint of doubt, Vikir watched Kirko.

“Ha!”

Amidst the unmoving bodies of the inmates, Kirko boldly drew her sword alone.

Once again, a gleaming strike flew, reaching a level akin to that of a top-tier sword expert.

‘A wasted talent.’

Vikir deftly dodged Kirko’s sword by a paper’s breadth.

…Thud!

Then, like a snake’s jaws, he grabbed Kirko by the throat and slammed her to the ground.

“Ugh!?”

Kirko groaned as she writhed on the ground.

As Vikir was about to step past Kirko.

“No, you can’t!”

Another guard blocked Vikir’s path.

It was Garam. Garem Nord, the bullied guard, who was called ‘fool’ not only by prisoners but also among the guards.

This reckless junior guard began to confront Vikir while blocking Kirko’s way with determined vigor.

“…”

Vikir cast a peculiar gaze downward.

Kirko, groaning on the ground, and Garem, guarding her desperately.

Although Vikir didn’t understand the relationship between these two, it was an unpleasant picture to him.

“Step aside.”

“No, I can’t! Not for Kirko…!”

However, Garem couldn’t finish his sentence.

Thud!

As if annoyed, Vikir raised his hand and slapped Garem’s cheek.

…Crack! Thud!

Garem was instantly thrown backward and knocked out cold.

“Urgh!?”

The gathered guards had no choice but to tighten the net around Vikir without knowing how to deal with him.

Meanwhile, Vikir, without using mana, could only seek openings in the encirclement, unable to evade so many guards.

And right at that moment.

“What’s all this commotion?”

A voice echoed from the top of the cliff, looming above the steep path.

It was a voice heavy and boiling like molten lead.

The expressions of all the guards brightened as if they had encountered their savior.

A man standing atop the cliff, overlooking them.

He had jet-black skin with eyes burning yellow like flames.

Covered in scars that adorned his face and body, his short hair couldn’t conceal the muscles bulging like logs all over his body, nearly tearing his guard uniform.

D’Ordume D D’Orcdile.

One of the five pillars upholding Nouvellebag.

It was the appearance of one of the strongest person in Nouvellebag.