Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound (Novel) Chapter 33

C33: Social Club (2)

The seven nobles gathered in the VVIP room were all intelligent and ruthless individuals.

Montblanc Ga, Pierre Ga, Louisbi Ga, Chanel Ga, Ferragamo Ga, Hermes Ga, Prada Ga.

The seven local clans they belonged to had lived without considering anyone's opinion, except for Baskerville Ga, in the region.

Even those who came from Baskerville Ga were persuaded by their strong power and the popular sentiment they carried, forming a close relationship.

They had never experienced a moment in their lives where things didn't go their way, so naturally, they assumed this time would be no different.

That's why they played a slightly malicious prank this time.


This time, the situation was different.


Countless glass shards and champagne droplets poured down in the VVIP room like a shower.

Glass shards reflecting dazzling light under the chandelier and bubbling champagne.

The seven nobles from the seven clans, soaked to the bone in the sharp and scorching shower, had blank expressions.

"You caused the champagne tower to explode with mana resonance?"

"Just by touching the table?"

"And not from below but from above?"

As the nobles all had a basic knowledge of martial arts, they could understand to some extent how ridiculous the phenomenon Vikir had created was.

To infuse mana into an object, generate vibrations through resonance, and explode it precisely at the desired point is not something achievable with ordinary mana proficiency.

Moreover, the glassware shattered from the top, not the bottom.

It's a feat only achievable by a master of my weight manipulation technique.

And the fact that the direction of the effect was vertical, not horizontal, adds to the difficulty.

In other words, it means being able to manipulate mana threads even thinner and more delicate than silk freely and effortlessly.

The manipulation of mana at an extremely high level. The realm of true experts.

Only one thought fills the minds of all the individuals present.


Monsters capable of slicing through rocks with a swing of their swords and killing birds in mid-air with just their momentum.

A distant absolute powerhouse that even the Sword Novices can hardly imagine.


Vikir's expression remains unchanged, still emotionless.

However, a crimson aura flowing from his shoulders resembles that of a similar existence to a divine messenger.

If death had a distinct form, wouldn't it look like this?

The nobles who had planned to give Vikir a hard time began to tremble in fear, soaked in the shower of champagne.

"Insane! They say he's only 15 years old!"

"Hey! You're a Sword Intermediate Expert! Do something!"

"Shut up! We won't even last a second if we provoke him!"

Amidst the frantic glances, one noble murmured in a dazed voice.

"...R-Right! Vikir! Have you heard of him?"

All the nobles' gazes focused on him.

He continued, his voice trembling.

"Vikir Van Baskerville. The supernova of Baskerville Ga! He submerged himself for seven minutes right after birth, strangled two venomous snakes in his cradle, hunted Cerberus at the age of eight, and defeated Morg Ga's magical arts in a duel...."

Upon hearing this, the expressions of the other nobles changed as if they had heard a ridiculous urban legend.

But... but what if those things were actually true?

The nobles' gaze now returns to Vikir once again.

The symbol of the Graduator, an aura as sticky as liquid.

If the urban legend was not true, there is no way to explain the aura of death emanating from Vikir's entire body.

In this world, any 15-year-old youngster who has already reached the realm of the Graduator is unheard of!

Even in Baskerville, known for its gathering of geniuses, such a case has never occurred before.

Perhaps even if we search the entire Imperial Academy 'Colosseum' or the entire capital city, it would be the same.

In the end, the nobles could only awkwardly smile and utter any words they could find.

"...We were going to pay for the drinks."

Do they realize that the pathetic smile that is always engraved on other people's faces is now engraved on their own?

On the other hand, upon hearing those words, Vikir casually replied.

"Of course, you should be the ones paying for the drinks you had."

Upon hearing his words, the seven nobles realized their mistake and fell silent.

"Oh, right. We haven't had a drink together yet."

They accidentally revealed their plan to give him a hard time.

However, since they hadn't actually done it yet, they might be able to come up with some excuse and brush it off.

...If their opponent wasn't Vikir.

Although he was only 15 years old, his soul was that of an experienced veteran, worn out by the passage of time.

Vikir immediately noticed the actions the seven nobles were about to take.

"Why? Were you planning to make me pay for the drinks after we played together?"

With a ghostly precision, Vikir caught onto their intentions, causing the seven nobles to jump and lower their heads.

"Well, that's not true!"

"Who would dare do such a ridiculous thing!?"

"How dare we... to the person who came from Baskerville..."

The seven nobles realized.

The opponent was not merely strong in combat power. Their temperament was something that should never be taken lightly.

In the end, they backed down.

Though they had been arrogant enough to consider Baskerville their own hunting ground, standing before Vikir, they couldn't even entertain such a thought of arrogance.

It seems that the hunting dogs of Baskerville cannot be easily cooked or tamed.

...However, the slight pride they had accumulated as second-generation members of a prominent local noble family led them to at least maintain their last shred of dignity.

"Actually, we wanted to test you, Subcónsul."

The nobles spoke with refined manners, smoothing their complexions.

Vikir still wore an expressionless face.

Interpreting that silence as a sign to continue, the nobles feigned ease and spoke with polite tones.

"Honestly, the Underdog City has become quite corrupt, hasn't it?"

"We judged that someone who would purify such a city should not be swayed by this level of temptation."

"Indeed, you have the qualification to lead us. We will follow."

"Oh, please allow us to consider this impressive presence as a lifelong lesson!"

"We will express today's admiration in a way that you won't be disappointed in the future."

Once again, they bowed their heads to Vikir and spoke with solemn voices.

Among them, there were even those who winked playfully at Vikir, pretending to be nonchalant.



One corner of Vikir's mouth slowly curved upward.

A smile.

With this small change, the atmosphere in the room completely transformed.

Until just now, it had been a chilling atmosphere, akin to a graveyard.

And that alone had instilled quite a sense of terror in the seven nobles.

But now, how is it?

An overwhelming sense of madness.

As if they were buried alive in a grave, they began to feel suffocating pressure that weighed heavily on the seven nobles.

Unable to even breathe properly, they started trembling uncontrollably, completely losing the smiles on their faces.

Vikir slowly walked toward the seven nobles, who were now as helpless as frogs trapped in a snake's disguise.

"Owners can test their dogs however they want."


"But the opposite is not true. Dogs cannot test their owners. Under any circumstances."

It was the moment when Hugo's teachings from long ago came to mind.

Vikir walked slowly in front of the frozen nobles.

"You think having a measly amount of money and power makes you fearless?"

Naturally, no answer could be heard.

Vikir continued speaking.

"It's because you've never seen anything truly terrifying."

So, pretending to have anticipated everything, acting gentlemanly, and appearing composed—it was all just an act.

And the price of that act was heavy.

Vikir took out a club from his embrace.

It was none other than the stake that had recently bestowed a 10 billion prize to the girl.


A dull sound.

The stake momentarily bent, then with tremendous speed, it flew and crushed the face of the nobleman at the forefront, turning it into a pulpy mess.

Endless strikes suddenly unleashed.

Teeth scattered, saliva, blood, tears, and nasal discharge splashed around.

For the duration of three blinks of an eye, Vikir relentlessly struck the nobleman's face, head, neck, and shoulders seven times, and he did the same to the other noblemen.

Eventually, all the noblemen flattened themselves on the floor of the VVIP room like pancakes.

Thud! Thump! Thud! Crack! Crunch!

Vikir did not cease his clubbing for a long while after that.

"Do you know why you're being hit?"

"Aaah! I don't know! I don't know why you suddenly started hitting me!"

"If you don't know, then you deserve to be hit."

Vikir swung the stake with an indifferent tone.

Seeing his expressionless face, the noblemen thought they might truly die at that moment.

"Ah, I know! Aaah, I think I know why you're hitting me!"

The dogs desperately pleaded, their lips burst open, tongues torn, and all their teeth shattered.

They appealed by spraying red blood like fountains from various parts of their heads.

Yet, their owner, still devoid of any reaction, continued to look on.

"If you know, then prepare for more hits."

Vikir's club showed no signs of stopping, even amidst the crimson flames.

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