The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 372: Solitary Confinement (2)

The old man who revealed his name as ‘Angagoumang’ seemed to be bored, continuously talking to Vikir.

“It feels like I’ve been trapped in this solitary confinement for several years now. Let’s see, every time I count 60 seconds in my mind, I draw a stroke in my heart. It’s already surpassed three million strokes…”

Hearing Angagoumang’s words, Vikir couldn’t help but roll his tongue inwardly. Even for Vikir, who had experienced all sorts of hardships, 100 days in solitary confinement felt burdensome and suffocating.

‘But being imprisoned here for years? It’s unbelievable.’

Though it was the words of a stranger whom he had never seen and would never see again, being a fellow prisoner in solitary confinement, Vikir couldn’t help but find it somewhat credible.

“How did you manage not to starve to death all these years?”

“Oh, well, every other day they throw some stale bread crusts into the hole.”

“But wouldn’t the amount of available water be insufficient?”

“You can suck the dew from the air.”

Vikir momentarily closed his mouth. Dew? In this scorching space? But the old man Angagoumang was casually imparting the survival techniques of this place.

“Well, you can survive without eating bread crusts. It’s about slowing down your metabolism to an extreme level and slowly breaking down the accumulated nutrients in your body.”

“…”

“Oh, youngsters these days, they tend to strive too hard to live. Too much passion can become poison. Sometimes it’s good to take a break like this and reflect on life rather than constantly running. Living like a rock, like water.”

Despite the old man’s casual ramblings in the quiet back room, Vikir couldn’t help but pay attention. It was the infamous solitary confinement of Nouvellebag. Wasn’t this figure claiming to have been trapped here for more than a few years?

‘If someone hasn’t gone insane after being trapped here, they must have been a notorious criminal.’

Perhaps that person had already gone insane, but who knows.

Afterward, Angagoumang continued to talk to Vikir.

“You sound like a young lad. What landed you in a place like this?”

“Crimes don’t discriminate by age.”

“Oh, that’s a fair point. So, why were you imprisoned? Care to answer an old man’s question?”

“Political assassination.”

Vikir answered briefly. Upon hearing this, the old man chuckled.

“You did a good deed, so why were you imprisoned? Did you upset some powerful family?”

“Well, one could see it that way.”

“Oh, dear, dear. You were a hunting dog for them. It’s the nature of things; when a rabbit falls into the mountain, you cook the hunting dog. It’s an eternal truth.”

Angagoumang casually added a few words at the end.

“I seem to know where you come from. Baskerville?”

Vikir felt a bit embarrassed. And Angagoumang seemed to see through Vikir’s hesitation as he chuckled with malicious laughter.

“Haha, I guessed it right. Only a cruel family would send a loyal hound like you to a place like this. There aren’t many families cruel enough to do so. At best, it would be an Iron blooded sword family or a Poisionous Family.”

“Do you know about Baskerville?”

“As one does. Our family was once part of the Iron Blooded Sword Family too.”

Vikir pondered for a moment on Angagoumang’s words. Baskerville may be regarded as the pinnacle of the sword families now, but it wasn’t always so. Before the unification of the empire, there were at least four sword families with higher renown than Baskerville.

Bahamut. Jiz. Sade. Nibelungen.

Baskerville was a slightly inferior clan compared to these four families. In fact, until then, they were nothing more than a family-type mercenary group wandering the continent without a decent territory.

Nevertheless, after a while Baskerville was added to those four families, making it one of the five major sword families.

The old man Angagoumang chuckled as if reminiscing about those times.

“Back then, our family was also renowned as a prestigious sword family. But since my time, I’ve laid down the sword, so the lineage of the sword must have ended from then on. …Hmm, or perhaps the entire family disappeared?”

“Didn’t you have any descendants?”

“Hmm~ There was one granddaughter. But whether she’s alive or dead, I don’t know. If she’s alive, she’ll probably be older than you. Not quite your mother’s age… more like your youngest aunt or older sister.”

“You’ve lived quite a long life, haven’t you?”

“That’s right. I’ve lived long. Spent my whole life on the battlefield.”

The old man Angagoumang chuckled as he spoke.

“It was unreasonable to adapt to a peaceful world. Fighting and war were my life.”

“You’re still living fiercely even in the solitary confinement of Nouvellebag. A consistent life.”

“Haha, fiercely? Here? No way. This place is like a resort. Right now, I’m just relaxing like this to release the old tensions from the battles I fought… but once I get a little itchy, I plan to leave.”

Seeing the audacity of considering the Nouvellebag’s solitary confinement as a place for relaxation, it was clear that he wasn’t an ordinary old man.

Vikir became a bit curious about how long this old man had lived and how intense his life had been.

At that moment, it seemed that Angagoumang the old man also had the same thought.

“It seems like we can have a decent conversation. Do you happen to know the art of swordplay?”

Swordplay. Just as high-ranked Go players could play matches with their eyes closed using only their senses, seasoned swordsmen could spar with their eyes closed using their senses.

It was impossible unless they had each other’s swords and movements completely memorized.

Vikir readily accepted Angagoumang’s request for a swordplay duel.

“Do you know Baskerville’s swordsmanship?”

“I have a rough idea. Alright, then let’s begin.”

Angagoumang opened his mouth and started the duel with a move.

Vikir also unfolded the skills he possessed, engaging in the imaginary duel.

Baskerville 1st Style: Piercing deeply into the opponent’s body.

Baskerville 2nd Style: Piercing even deeper to immobilize the opponent.

Baskerville 3rd Style: Biting and adding weight to the opponent.

Baskerville 4th Style: Cutting away the opponent’s body.

.

.

As a warm-up, Vikir demonstrated Baskerville Styles 1 through 4.

Surprisingly, Angagoumang the old man saw through Vikir’s mastery of the four styles he had accumulated.

“Amazing! To think a mere youngster like you could execute Style 4 so perfectly. It’s as if I’m watching a middle-aged man who has spent his entire life on the battlefield!”

However, after finishing his sentence, he added in a joking tone.

“…Well, compared to this old man, you’re still a greenhorn.”

Eventually, Angagoumang the old man unfolded his move.

Vikir had no knowledge of the swordsmanship practiced by Angagoumang the old man, but based on Vikir’s own theories of swordsmanship, Angagoumang reversed his own techniques.

Even without knowing Angagoumang’s swordsmanship, Vikir, who was proficient in his own swordsmanship, naturally understood how Angagoumang was countering his techniques. It was like a scene vividly painted in his mind.

Vikir’s Style 1 was engulfed by Angagoumang’s smooth swordplay. Then, his Style 2 ended up merely indicating where his own body was. Styles 3 and 4, which hadn’t been unleashed yet, were soon swallowed up by Angagoumang’s attacks, and Vikir found himself on the brink of being torn to pieces.

‘…What’s going on? He’s not your ordinary old man.’

Vikir couldn’t help but pause to observe more closely.

Eventually, all of Vikir’s strength was revealed.

Baskerville 5th Style: Ripping apart the opponent’s body.

Baskerville 6th Style: Breaking the opponent’s body.

Baskerville 7th Style: Crushing the opponent’s body.

Baskerville 8th Style: Gathering all teeth together to immobilize.

The pinnacle of Baskerville’s swordsmanship.

With tremendous momentum, he counterattacked Angagoumang fiercely.

Black sun.

The ultimate technique that once severed the throat of the fith corpse, Amdusias, it shook the entire virtual world of their swordplay.

However…

“Haha, this truly astounds me. Unbelievable. How is it possible to reach such a level at this age?”

Angagoumang was merely astonished, showing no signs of fear or retreat.

Eventually, the force of Angagoumang clashed with Vikir’s force.

It was an aggression and ferocity unthinkable for an old man on his deathbed, and even Vikir, faced with such relentless onslaught, had no choice but to yield.

‘…To think such a madman exists in this world.’

Even Vikir, through his encounter with Angagoumang in their swordplay, couldn’t help but be struck by a profound shock.

A product of a life dedicated solely to fighting, slaughter, and conflict.

Truly, a war-crazed lunatic.

With every breath, every step, every touch, there was only desire for flesh and destruction. An aura of restless longing to inflict harm. This twisted extreme. A skewed nobility.

Now it seemed clear why this old man was isolated from humanity, locked away in the deepest, most brutal cell of prison.

[A lunatic. Whether demon or human, some types should never be engaged with, regardless of their lineage.]

It was quite a statement coming from Decarabia, who was once considered a demon himself.

At that moment, Angagoumang chuckled and spoke.

“Seems like you’re slightly motivated after sparring with me, huh? Gives me a bit of youthful vigor.”

“Glad to be of help.”

“Indeed, a significant help. Ah! Haven’t felt this way since Winston and Orca. Hmm, maybe even back when I fought the Seven Dukes of Baskerville.”

“The Seven Dukes? Are you referring to figures like Boston Terrier, Great Dane, Isabella?”

“Who? I don’t know those kids. I’m talking about the Seven Dukes of the previous era.”

Given Angagoumang’s age, it was likely at least two or three generations back.

Angagoumang then asked Vikir, “Who is the current head of the Baskerville family?”

“Hugo Le Baskerville.”

“Hugo… Hugo… Who’s that? Some insignificant little shit now holding the title, I suppose. Why didn’t that old stick-in-the-mud Cane Corso inherit the position?”

“…You know Cane Corso?”

“Yeah, I know him. Stern and cantankerous noble. I got into a lot of trouble with him when I was a kid.”

Angagoumang reminisced with a wistful tone, as if recalling childhood games.

“Just thinking about his punishment still makes my spine shiver. Haha, wonder if he’s dead now? Well, it’s only natural given how much time has passed. Maybe he got obsessed with the sword tomb or something, like a foolish old fool.”

“… ”

Vikir remained silent.

The existence of sword tomb, the fact that Cane Corso became a Death Knight and mastered the 9th fang, didn’t need to be mentioned.

…And aside from that, Vikir felt he knew who Angagoumang really was.

Before their regression, the guardians of Nouvellebag had declared they wouldn’t participate in the war between demons and humans. But that was only in the early stages of the Demonic War. As the war progressed, the guardians of Nouvellebag also emerged onto the surface to fight demons, not just to protect humanity but for other reasons as well.

The collapse of Nouvellebag.

With Nouvellebag itself gone, both the guardians and the prisoners had no choice but to come to the surface.

‘The one who caused the collapse of Nouvellebag itself was the warden, Orca.’

Why would the very symbol of Nouvellebag take such drastic action?

There were various opinions on the matter, but one particularly convincing theory stood out: A single prisoner attempted to escape, and Warden Orca took extreme measures to prevent it.

The fact that he collapsed the entire Nouvellebag prison just to stop one person from escaping speaks volumes about how dangerous that individual must have been.

There were differing opinions on who that prisoner might have been, but…

‘It’s probably this person.’

If so, Vikir knew exactly who Angagoumang was and what his true name was.

Considering Vikir’s knowledge of the recent sparring session and the long history of Baskerville, he was even more certain.

Vikir had reached a conclusion.

‘…An individual one should avoid getting involved with if possible.’

There was someone more terrifying and dreadful than a demon right next to them.