The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

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Chapter 165: Sins and Punishment (4)

The sky was a deep crimson. Flocks of crows circled overhead, their wings flapping in a continuous dance. A tall, elevated structure with a gruesome spectacle.

Dolores stood there, her mouth partially agape, taking in the horrifying scene before her.

‘Where on earth is this?’ she wondered.

She couldn’t fathom any battlefield or conflict zone in this world being as harsh and desolate as this. Moreover, the hanging figure on the structure…

“Who is that?”

Dolores squinted her eyes and tried to focus. Perhaps this figure had a close connection to the “Night Hound.”

Examining the face of the person whose throat had been slit, might provide some insight into the identity of Night Hound. Dolores thought it might aid in her quest to uncover his true identity.

But…

Caw-caw!

A lone crow landed and began pecking at the severed throat. Caw-caw! Caw-caw! Caw-caw!

Following this, numerous crows descended, picking at the throat. Dolores suppressed her disgust at the gruesome sight between the black feathers.

The state of the throat was so deteriorated that there was no way to discern the person’s facial features. It had already rotted extensively, and with the crows feasting on it, only the skeletal remains were left.

“Is this Night Hound’s shameful memory?”

Dolores turned her head slightly to look at the Night Hound standing beside her.

“…”

He remained motionless, his expression hidden behind his mask. It was impossible to tell whether he was experiencing embarrassment or some other emotion. However…

“It brings back old memories,” he mumbled.

The brief comment he made was still as dry as ever, containing only a residue of deep regret.

Name: …kir… … …kerville

Crime: …………

The mostly ripped piece of wood was an unsightly shambles. Dolores was ultimately unable to elicit any information about the Night Hound’s true identity from his memories. She was even more intrigued by the path he had taken in life and all the burdens he had carried.

“…What kind of life had this person lived? How heavy is the burden he’s been carrying all this time?”

Just like when she used to treat plague patients together with him, the Night Hound’s apathy stirred up a sense of tenderness and affection in Dolores, akin to maternal love, beyond mere sympathy for a troubled neighbor and the usual benevolence of a saintess.

On the other hand, Vikir saw the old scene after a long time.

His hometown.

The world he had abandoned.

He missed it a little, but he had no desire to return.

That world had labeled him a traitor, and executed him with the label of a hound, and yet he had continued to serve his self-serving master.

“Revenge has already been taken, so there’s nothing left but to move forward.”

He raised his sword with a nonchalant attitude and cut the scene in front of him into two.

The beheaded body was ripped apart as the head flew away, and the crows that had been circling it were also chased away.

Black feathers fluttered in the air.

Caw, caw!

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The crows circled and flew away into the distant sky.

The world shattered and disappeared like a broken tile.

Eventually, from beyond the dark fog, the growling of Dantalian could be heard.

[What are you? Who are you, exactly? And why are the landscapes of my hometown in your memories?]

The man’s voice carried a hint of laughter, mixed with confusion and surprise.

Vikir chose not to respond to Dantalian’s inquiry.

[Very well, no need to answer. I can see for myself.]

Dantalian opened another pouch. The pouch appeared to come to life, and he promptly retrieved something from it – “Terror,” an entity designed to dig up Vikir’s memories that terrified him the most.

Tsss-tsss-tsss-tsss-tsss…

Soon, an elderly man emerged from the nocturnal mist. Vikir immediately recognized his identity.

‘Hugo! Hugo Le Baskerville!’

The elderly man had snow-white hair and a face covered in wrinkles, numerous burn marks, and scars.

“Who is that?” Dolores failed to recognize Hugo.

Of course, she knew Hugo in this reality.

Being of a high-ranking status within the Quovadis Family, she had exchanged pleasantries with the head of the Baskerville Clan, Hugo, on various imperial occasions.

However, the last image of Hugo in Vikir’s memories was vastly different from his current appearance. The prolonged years of war had significantly altered his countenance. Not only were there wrinkles and black patches on his face, but he had become more hideous and grotesque over the few years since the start of the war. Furthermore, the numerous knife marks and scorching scars etched onto his face gave the elderly Hugo a much more sinister appearance.

Normally, if a master lost their dignity, a hound wouldn’t dare to disobey. Hence, Vikir was able to partially let go of his instinctive fear of Hugo. Moreover, Dantalian hadn’t yet accumulated enough power to flawlessly reproduce the abilities of the figures from Vikir’s memories.

Kwooosh!

Vikir pushed the aura stored within Beelzebub to its limits and lunged forward, causing seven fangs to devour Hugo. This time, it was the hound who devoured its master.

“It won’t be much longer.”

Vikir pledged to himself, promising to someday devour Hugo in reality.

Dolores, who had watched the illusion shatter, asked Vikir cautiously, “Excuse me… if it’s not too impolite, may I inquire who that elderly man was from earlier?”

“My father.”

“Ah…”

Dolores fell silent.

She also saw her father during the Sack of terror’s illusion. And perhaps the Night Hound had seen himself in her, just as she had seen herself in him.

Did the Night Hound see himself in her too? Dolores silently hoped so. If she could provide him with even a small measure of comfort, just as he had comforted her, it would be enough.

Meanwhile, Dantalian shouted with a voice mixed with fear and rage, [Gahhh! How… How can you so easily overcome shame and fear like this? You seem so inhuman!]

[But even if you are a heartless creature, this time won’t be so simple!]

Hooo-hooo-hooo!

The final sack began to stir.

‘Love.’ The most primal element that moves humans. An emotion essential for human interaction and existence. It was now time for the sack to reveal ‘the thing Vikir loves the most.’

Dolores felt a sense of tension, somewhat inexplicable, creeping over her. Engaging in combat against a demon of archdemon level while experiencing such emotions seemed utterly foolish and pitiful. However…

“…I’m curious!”

Dolores couldn’t help herself, and even as she chided herself for being distracted, she remained alert. Regardless of what would come out, she intended to observe it closely.

She didn’t know if her curiosity was due to a need to prepare for the battle with the demon or if it was driven by her fascination with Night Hound’s past. But she remained prepared for whatever was to come.

Eventually…

Tsss-tsss-tsss-tsss-tsss…

The last sack left behind by Dantalian opened wide.

[Hoho! Creatures like you are surprisingly vulnerable in the face of love, even though you may appear as unyielding as stone. No matter how unfeeling you are, when faced with the one you love, you can’t help but lose your composure! It’s not for nothing that romance sells well in any era! Love transcends all things… What!?]

However, Dantalian’s boisterous voice was cut short.

“…!”

Even Dolores was experiencing a similar feeling right now. She was on the same wavelength as Dantalian, if only for this moment.

Flutter…

In front of her eyes, the sack of love revealed the face that Night Hound loved.

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