Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound (Novel) Chapter 2


"Where am I?"

Vikir examined his body.

No mana. No strength.

Even the aura he had accumulated by shedding countless drops of blood during his countless battles was now completely depleted.

"Did I fall into hell?"

But that wasn't the case.

This place... it's too desolate to be called hell.

It's a place so bleak that even hell would cry. It is the Baskerville family's domain.

He couldn't help but recognize the air of the place where he had lived as a hunting dog for over 30 years.

The smell of blood, the smell of decay, the smell of everything that had died in filth.

Vikir von Baskerville had an intuition. He had regressed to the time when he was born.

"Now, what should I do?"

His body had just experienced about 100 days of life. There wasn't much he could do.

Should he just turn his body over and send a signal to the wet nurse in the communal nursery to breastfeed him?

That's when it happened.

"There don't seem to be any useful guys around."

A familiar voice was heard.

It was Hugo Le Baskerville, the family boss of the Baskerville family, standing in the center of the nursery.

The moment Vikir heard his voice, he instinctively got up, as he used to do in his past life.

Fortunately, he was just a newborn baby, so it was impossible.


Seeing the perpetrator who had been executed while falsely accusing him, his gums automatically itched.

But since he still didn't have teeth, no sound was made.

"Calm down."

The days of striving to become a member of the Baskerville family, to gain recognition from his father, and to tear off the label of being a bastard.

Inferior blood. The dried stains of past life, resembling dried blood, were now goodbye.

In this life, he will live differently. He will not live a life like a hunting dog that only exists when there are no rabbits.

That's when it happened.

There was a catalyst that solidified Vikir's determination even more.

"Move the children to 'Swords Cradle'."

Hugo's words reached his ears.

As he listened, Vikir thought to himself.

'Is this the initiation ceremony?'

The Cradle of Swords is the journey path that winds around a small hill and flows into the Styx River.

As they cross the wall made of swords and immerse their bodies into the waters of the Styx River, the children of the Baskerville family are reborn as warriors.

Of course, the river's current does not grant abundant power to everyone.

Survival of the fittest, the law of the jungle.

The strong ones always get more to eat from the moment they are born.

The children of the Baskerville family must quickly leave the Cradle of Swords and immerse themselves in the Styx River as soon as possible. By staying in the river as long as possible, they can secure a better position than their siblings.

Therefore, as soon as Vikir is thrown into the center of the Cradle of Swords, he moves immediately.


He twists the blade with his small, delicate hands.

While children of other prestigious families are said to grasp various things that help their future during the Stone Grasping Ceremony, the children of the Baskerville family must grasp the blades that threaten their future from the Stone Grasping Ceremony.

Spit, pot, zip, sizzle...

The blades swarm around his body.

With each powerful swing through the blades, a piercing pain courses through his entire body.

But it doesn't matter.

He's already accustomed to this level of pain after living as a hunting dog for decades.

Tearing, biting, and stabbing others have prepared him for such reactions a hundred times over.

'Besides, the deeper the wounds, the better the water of the Styx River can penetrate the body.'

Vikir knows all the secret, legendary, mythical, and folklore-like aspects of the Baskerville family.

That's why he knows well how to make the most of the Styx River.

Splish, splish, splish...

The innocent body of a child is led into hell by the tough and resilient soul of a hunting dog.

The Blood Path. The crimson path.

The blood flowing from the body guided Vikir down the slope, showing him the straight route, the shortest distance he had to take.

Vikir continued crawling in the direction indicated by his blood droplets.

And soon enough, he reached the sacred land of Baskerville.

The Styx River flowing through the marshland.

When one immersed their body in it, their physicality became as hard as steel, and their soul became clear as ever.

Vikir took the position of a fetus and threw himself into the river.


It was heavy. It felt agonizing as if he had plunged into boiling iron.

The water was scorching hot, with steam rising fiercely. Since he had fallen into this place with countless blade wounds all over his body, it shouldn't be surprising that he felt no pain.

But Vikir endured the surging pain, and he waited.

For the wounds to split open, tear apart, and burst, allowing the water from the Styx to seep in.


Drip, drip, drip...

His flesh began to transform.

The water from the Styx that infiltrated his wounds, permeating through his bones and internal organs, was altering every inch of Vikir's body.

"It's undeniably different."

Vikir was astonished by the fact that starting off well in the beginning could make such a dramatic difference.

His previous life's physicality was tough and experienced, but it was small and slender.

Since his bones were weak, there were limits to developing muscles, and due to a narrow mana flow, there were clear restrictions on raising an aura.

But his brothers were different. They had large frames, sturdy bones, and ample mana channels.

That was talent, disposition, an entirely different starting line.

In his previous life, Vikir had almost finished last in the Swords Cradle tower.

Consequently, he couldn't fully enjoy the effects of the Styx River.

His brothers had already absorbed all of its power.

Afterward, as an abandoned child with meager talents, he was always given the lowest seat.

When others enjoyed clean food, wore clean clothes, slept in clean places, and did clean work,

Vikir had to eat dirty things, wear dirty clothes, sleep in filthy places, and engage in dirty work.

As a result, every achievement he gained belonged to his ever-changing brothers.

The same was true during the war with the demons.

No matter how many demons and fiends he killed, the credit always went to his father or his half-brothers.

There were hardly any rewards to speak of.

It wasn't just the demons that had to be killed, but also Father's enemies, and even humans were the same.

He had to engage in espionage, assassination, espionage, ambush, and intimidation activities, constantly shuttling between the seven noble families, and in doing so, he elevated Baskerville to the highest position among the seven noble families.

...But what were the results?

"Killing a rabbit and cooking a dog."

Once the rabbit is gone and the hunt is over, the hunting dog is no longer needed and is eaten.

Reversing the accusation of colluding with demons, Vikir, in exchange for all the dirty deeds Hugo had done, was executed.

He had committed only one crime.

"Knowing too much."


Vikir gritted his teeth.

The teeth that had started growing rapidly in his mouth clashed fiercely.

The anger that the Styx river water carried, permeating even the bone marrow, gradually transformed his bones to be thicker, his flesh to be tougher, and his mana channels to be wider.

Of course, the burning pain continued to surge, but it didn't matter.

Vikir began to drink the water altogether.

He had intended to strengthen his internal organs as well.

He recalled an ancient legend passed down in the Baskerville family.

"In ancient times, there was an invincible warrior in Baskerville, right?"

The strongest swordsman who didn't even shed a drop of blood despite being struck by an axe.

But his fate was truly absurd.

A poisoned arrow shot by a rival from another family hit his Achilles heel, and as an aftereffect, he died.

It was when he was a newborn baby, his wet nurse held his ankles and dipped him backward into the Styx river, but due to the wet nurse's palm, there was a relatively weak spot where the river water did not touch.

"That shouldn't be the case."

Vikir did his best to twist his body in the river.

He did his best to ensure that every part of his body was fully immersed in the water.

In the process, wounds opened up, but it was actually a good thing.

The water could properly permeate his body.

Bubbling, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling...

Blood drained out, and his mind became hazy.

His breath was stifled, and he wanted to rise to the surface quickly.

But he couldn't do that.

Once a child leaves the embrace of the Styx river, it doesn't accept them back.

If he only exposes his head to breathe, the head will no longer receive protection.

So Vikir clung to a stone in the river and desperately held on.

He kept moving his arms, ensuring that the river water touched the palm holding the stone.

And then.

Faint voices reached his ears.

"Young master! You need to come out!"

"If you stay submerged any longer, you'll die!"

"Goodness! What should we do?"

"We need to rescue him! We must!"

There seemed to be commotion from above. Well, that was to be expected.

Excessive greed turns into poison. It's good to strengthen the body, but it shouldn't result in suffocation and death.


"Son, come up now."

Hugo Le Baskerville's voice also reached Vikir's ears.

But that voice only fueled Vikir's determination even more.


Vikir raised his body.

But it wasn't a simple rise.


He drank the water of the Styx river, filling his mouth to the brim. Until the very end.

And then.


As soon as he surfaced, he greedily took in the air.

Vikir opened his mouth wide to breathe.

Seeing him, Hugo Le Baskerville couldn't help but wear a rare bright smile.

"Hahaha, see this rascal? Hasn't he grown his teeth!"

The boiling water had revealed the hunting dog's sharp fangs.

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