The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

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Chapter 170: Madam Eight-Leg’s Offspring (1)

[Exclusive] [Saintess Declares Holy War Against Night Hound!]

“I must meet him again.”

[On the morning of October 1st, Saintess Dolores of Quovadis displayed strong hostility towards the ‘Night Hound.’]

As she bit her lip, her determined expression hinted at impending turmoil.

Bang. Whose reputation will be tarnished— Night Hound’s, or Quovadis’?

On the other hand, there are arguments that Dolores, who usually speaks with mild and diplomatic language, unusually used such strong expressions. Some are speculating that there may be a possibility of her declaring a ‘Holy War’.

Various newspapers began to circulate this news.

The volunteer group, returning to Colosseo Academy, was astonished when they read the article in the Academy Weekly newspaper.

“Wow! The article is already out? We were part of this historic moment.”

“Hmm, did President Dolores declare a holy war?”

“It didn’t seem like that kind of atmosphere. The article seems a bit exaggerated.”

Tudor, Sancho, Figgy, and Bianca each had something to say as they read the newspapers. Sinclaire also nodded in agreement.

“Well, reporters tend to be like that. They have to write provocatively to get more views.”

“Vikir, what do you think?”

Sinclaire asked, and everyone turned their gaze in her direction.

Vikir stood a bit apart from the group as he read the newspaper. There was a melancholic and distant air about him that no one could quite understand.

“Why is he so serious? Hey, aren’t you coming? Well, then, we’ll go first…”

Bianca muttered, and Tudor playfully nudged her in the side.

“Hey, don’t you have any consideration?”

“What? Consideration for what?”

“Vikir’s feelings?”

“Ah, I don’t know how he’s feeling.”

“Tsk, thoughtless child. Vikir is probably going to want some alone time.”

“I guess. I would feel that way.”

“Comforting someone while they’re hurting can be poisonous.”

“That’s true. The rumors are just dirty gossip.”

“Right, I’m fine with Vikir even if he peed. It’s not like we’re going to spread any rumors.”

“…No, no matter how broad-minded we are, it’s still bothersome.”

Sinclaire, looking back at Vikir standing behind her, expressed her sympathy.

“…I don’t mind even if he peed on someone.”

“Of course, it’s fine with you. Because it wasn’t you who peed.”

Tudor patted Sinclaire on the shoulder and then looked at the others.

“Okay, everybody understands, right? So, let’s give Vikir some alone time. Figgy, how about sleeping in our room today? Let him be alone for a while.”

“Can I do that? Thanks, Sancho.”

“Thanks, Sancho.”

During this volunteer activity, Figgy also seemed to have become quite friendly with the other friends. They naturally distanced themselves to give Vikir some alone time.

Meanwhile…

“Is he leaving early? This worked out well.”

Vikir was watching as his fellow students moved away in groups.

Kachk—

He turned onto a side path.

Walking alone towards the dormitory, Vikir sat down at his desk in silence.

A small bouquet and an incense holder were placed on his desk.

While the incense burned, Vikir recited a sutra.

It was a requiem for Nymphet.

‘Aren’t you too harsh on the kid? Did you get a kiss or not?’

‘I didn’t get one.’

‘It’s not ‘didn’t,’ it’s ‘haven’t!’ The child wanted to kiss you. Just take it!’

The conversation from the farewell party flashed through Vikir’s mind.

“I should have waited then, even if it meant receiving a kiss,” Vikir muttered as he furrowed his brows slightly.

‘I need to hunt even harder.’

In the era of destruction, innocent children like Nymphets would inevitably suffer and die if nothing was done. To avoid this, Vikir felt compelled to pursue demons even more zealously. He determined that all demons and traitorous servants who had sided with them should be exterminated.

‘To do that… I need to check the harvest first’

Vikir reached into his pouch and brought out several black leather sacks. These were obtained from Ephebo, Hebe, Pedo, and Gerento.

The black leather sacks had purple threads running through them and appeared to be alive. When he combined them, he saw something unusual.

“T-This is…”

Vikir’s eyes widened as he held up a large mask that looked like a combination of a hood and cowl. It featured two sharp protrusions near the ears, reminiscent of a Doberman’s earless skull.

Vikir already knew the identity of this artifact.

“…I see. So it’s this, huh.”

The mask emitted an ominous aura. It was an artifact rivaling the [Demon Sword Beelzebub.]

[Mask of Many Faces ‘Picaresque’] / Mask

-Tribal Grudge +0

-Human Heart in a Beast’s Form -Off

Vikir closed his eyes and recalled information about this artifact. He had read about it in an ancient Eastern bestiary.

‘Could it be that wearing this mask makes you stronger every time you kill someone of the same kind?’

According to the tales, when a human wore the mask, they became increasingly powerful each time they killed another human. The mask was said to have mysterious powers that provided exceptional regenerative and mana-boosting abilities to its wearer.

‘Although, I did hear about some minor side effects as well…’

Vikir decided to put on the mask. He draped it over his head.

“Ah!”

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Vikir suddenly felt his body changing. His damaged body and stamina, exhausted from the recent battle with Dantalian, were rapidly rejuvenating. The regenerative power of the mask was even superior to the Fog Lizard’s rejuvenation.

“This is damn amazing!”

The fog lizard’s rejuvenation excelled at regenerating lost tissue, but it couldn’t restore stamina and mental energy. However, the mask possessed the ability to replenish all aspects of the wearer’s strength.

‘…But there is one problem.’

Vikir noticed that his body had become significantly smaller.

“Eh?”

He turned his head toward a nearby mirror and was shocked to see a small, black dog—a tiny ball of black fur with sharp teeth, cute eyes, and pink jelly-like paw pads.

‘Is… this me?’

Vikir had transformed into a real dog. While there was an idiom in Korean that said, “Drinking alcohol turns you into a dog,” this was far from a metaphor. He was a genuine dog, complete with glossy black fur, sharp teeth, adorable eyes, and cute, pink paw pads.

‘Let’s not even talk about this-!’

Vikir lamented his fate in silence.

The idiom “Drinking alcohol turns you into a dog” was only figurative and metaphorical. It was used to describe someone’s drunken behavior, not an actual transformation into a canine. Vikir found himself in a rather unique situation.

‘Off.’ Vikir decided.

He removed the mask. This time, his human form remained intact. The mask seemed to provide the wearer with the ability to transform at will.

Vikir sat on the floor and dressed himself, silently cursing the inconvenience of shedding his clothes before using the mask.

“Using the mask to transform into a dog whenever I want could be a handy ability.”

He recognized that the mask’s superior regeneration and shape-shifting abilities would be quite useful during his future hunting activities.

‘I wonder if it’s allowed to keep pets in the academy?’

Fortunately, there were no rules against keeping animals inside the academy dormitories. Many students kept animals like owls, pigeons, turtles, hamsters, and other small creatures as pets. The only restrictions seemed to apply to larger animals like bears or elephants.

Vikir decided to take a closer look at the dormitory rules and regulations.

As he was absorbed in reading, a slight noise caught his attention.

“?”

It was the sound of something small and insignificant breaking.

Vikir turned his head in curiosity, trying to identify the source of the noise.

The noise came from a corner of the room where Vikir had hung a coat.

“Ah?”

Investigating further, he discovered something astonishing—a black sphere with a gradually thinning shell. It was an egg, the egg of Madam Eight legs.

“Right, I remember now. This little guy helped block Dantalian’s spear.”

Unexpectedly, the egg, which was known for its extreme toughness and elasticity, didn’t look as pristine as before. The shell was slowly cracking.

“Ah, that’s right. Even Madam Eight Legs ate her eggs to regain stamina, so the egg’s resilience isn’t a surprise.”

Vikir had expected the egg to be robust but not completely unbreakable. After all, Madam Eight legs ate them easily, but Vikir was still shocked by its extraordinary resilience and durability.

However, when he examined the eggshell, it had cracked in several places.

“The eggshell is breaking?”

Vikir stared at the eggshell with a puzzled expression.

Eventually, with a “pop,” the eggshell shattered completely. Inside, there was a tiny creature that opened its eyes and stared at Vikir.

“?”

Vikir cocked his head in bewilderment.

Inside the broken eggshell, there was a small, bread-like lump with crumbs that looked like a biscuit. It was a creature he had never seen before, a real oddity.

Curiously, the creature gazed back at Vikir as it emerged from the eggshell.

“?”

Vikir raised an eyebrow.

The tiny creature in the eggshell looked right at him and blinked. It was a perplexing sight.

Vikir scratched his head, feeling slightly awkward and unsure of how to react.

This peculiar little being was indeed the offspring of Madam Eight legs, the ruler who had terrorized the entire Red and Black mountains..

‘But, is it possible that the offspring of Madam Eightlegs would be so… harmless?’

Despite its intimidating lineage, the creature had none of the menace or fearfulness associated with its mother.

Vikir watched in amazement as the tiny creature, resembling a weird brownie, appeared to mimic his curious gestures.

[Woof- Hah- Arf-Arf-]

The creature made various noises, wagging its “tail” and nuzzling Vikir’s hands, much like a young wolf.

Vikir stared at the little creature, astonished by its behavior.

Despite its lineage, this peculiar offspring seemed far from fearsome.

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