Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound (Novel) Chapter 5

 C5: The Dogs of Baskerville Manor (Part 2)

"You, I don't like you. Follow me."

"Follow me."

"Follow me."

Highbro, Middlebro, and Lowbro, the nine-year-old triplets of Baskerville Manor, were provoking a petty argument.

"... "

Vikir, at the age of eight, remained silent as he pondered.

Encountering these guys in his early childhood was as terrifying as meeting a grim reaper.

Even decades later, when faced with the impending death in the Tohsagupang incident, these guys were involved.

Above all, they would become exceptional warriors, known as the "Trident of Baskerville" or "Hugo Baskerville's Trident," in ten years' time.

Weren't they aspiring individuals who would leave remarkable achievements in Baskerville Manor?

Therefore, it was necessary to trample them down in advance.

To devour and wipe out this Baskerville Manor in due time.

"...Hmph. I'm scared of my brothers."

Is this the right thing to do?

Vikir looked around hesitantly, like a timid child.

Then, he spoke towards the mischievous triplets who were full of themselves.

"Wouldn't it be better to go somewhere where no one is around and settle this with a fight?"

Upon hearing this, the triplets burst into laughter.

"At least you know what honor means."



Being beaten up in a place with many onlookers was a hassle even for the triplets.

They broke Vikir's arms and covered his mouth, dragging him to a secluded place.

The "Young Fangs Castle" had been standing for a long time, following ancient architectural styles, with numerous hidden corners and dilapidated spaces.

Crossing the entrance to the submerged basement, passing through the abandoned food storage and unrepaired cracks, they ascended the spiral staircase.

The triplets took Vikir to a remote room in an unused corridor.

"If you scream, who knows which part might be severed? Well, if you make it to the infirmary on time, we can reattach it."

"We can reattach it."

"We can reattach it."

As they pulled out the daggers at their waists and grinned wickedly, it was hard to believe they were only nine years old.

Are younger children more cruel?

Children who laugh while tearing off the heads or wings of insects and crushing them.

Even ordinary children might behave like this, but the children of Baskerville Manor were a different story.

The three little demons surrounded Vikir and spoke.

"You said you held your breath underwater in the Styx River for seven minutes? We laughed for a long time when we heard that nonsense from your nanny."

"We laughed."

"We laughed."

Highbro gestured to the youngest, Lowbro, who was standing next to him.

In response, Lowbro smirked and nodded, then swiftly moved behind Vikir and covered his nose and mouth with both hands.

Highbro looked at Vikir's face and laughed maliciously.

"Seven minutes, huh? If you can hold out for just three minutes, I'll consider sparing you."

"I'll spare him!"

"I'll spare him!"

Lowbro tightened his grip on Vikir's nose and mouth even more.

From his determined, unyielding hands that denied even a breath of air, a naive and sinister malice could be felt.

Highbro and Middlebro laughed heartily, firmly holding Vikir's arms, ready to subdue him if he moved.





The triplets turned their heads with puzzled expressions.

It was because Vikir, without making a single move, stood still and stared at them.

"Hehehe, are you trying to bluff? You're quite gutsy. Let's see how far you can go."

"Let's see."

"Let's see."

The triplets tightened their grip even more.

Another minute passed.

Mana was not replenished, so as a young child, their breath would gradually become more labored.


However, Vikir remained calm and still, with the same serene gaze.

"....He's quite good at enduring, this brat."

"This brat."

"This brat."

The triplets continued to exert force in their hands without relenting, unaware that their smiles were slowly fading from their lips.

And more than two minutes passed.

The triplets' words had diminished somewhat during that time.

The moments surrounding Vikir, standing motionless, began to feel unbearably long.

"....What's with this brat? Isn't he breathing?"

"Isn't he?"

"Isn't he!"

When Highbro expressed doubt, Lowbro jumped up, nodding vigorously. Clearly, he had blocked Vikir's airway.

And three minutes passed.

Four minutes.

Five minutes.

Six minutes.

Seven minutes.

Eight minutes.

Nine minutes.

Ten minutes.

Vikir remained completely motionless, still standing silently.

During that time, the room was filled with an eerie stillness.

At this point, the triplets, who were supposed to be tormenting Vikir, had cold sweat running down their backs.

Although it is said to be ten minutes, if one were to actually count from one to six hundred in their mind, they would realize it was an incredibly long time.

During this time, Vikir blinked his eyes with a remarkably composed demeanor, observing the triplets.

...Along with the silence, like a grave.


Highbro forced a smile and gestured to Lowbro.

"...I-I'm bored. Let this guy go."

"Let him go."

"Let him go."

Just as Lowbro was about to remove his hand from Vikir's mouth...


A sudden noise erupted.

It wasn't the sound of Vikir gasping for breath or struggling. It was not that kind of sound.

Blood gushed from Lowbro's index finger.


After a few convulsions, Vikir spat out what had entered his mouth.

And he grinned at the triplets before him.

"You think your finger will shake me?"

Vikir smiled maliciously, his mouth covered in thick bloodstains.

At the sight, the triplets' faces turned pale in an instant.

Finally, Highbro shouted as if spitting out his words.

"...Hmph! It, it doesn't scare me at all!"

"...Doesn't scare me!"


The last retort sounded hesitant.

Highbro and Middlebro turned their heads, and Lowbro raised his palm and shuddered.

"My finger got cut off!"

The conversation among the triplets started to distort.

Seeing blood was a familiar sight for the Baskerville kids.

However, when the flesh was torn apart, bones were broken, and everything was their own, the story became a bit different.

The fellows who always moved together, like a trident, started playing separately.

The eldest, Highbro, scolded the youngest, Lowbro.

"C-Calm down, bro. Let's quickly go to the infirmary and ask the nurse to reattach the finger."


"Uh... Alright. Hurry, hurry!"

Middlebro lifted Lowbro.

When Highbro quickly reached out to open the door...

"Who said anyone can go?"

Vikir blocked their path.

Highbro's expression became fierce.


Of course, that distorted expression didn't return to normal.

With a swift motion, Vikir's fist smashed his nose and teeth.

Highbro fell to the ground, clutching his face.


Middlebro, who was standing there with a dazed expression, immediately received a kick from Vikir to his chin.



Sob, sob...

The triplets screamed, whimpered, and cried in different voices.

Vikir sat down in front of the door and spoke.

"You will be uncomfortable for the rest of your lives. If you don't receive proper treatment within the next hour, that is."


"But judging by the looks on your faces, it seems like you won't be able to leave this room today."


"When it rains and your teeth, jaw, or fingers ache, always remember this day."

In response, the triplets glared at Vikir as if they wanted to kill him.

The cruel nature they developed over the past nine years in the Baskerville Estate didn't just disappear.

"...But they're still just children."

Vikir smiled mischievously.

There is no existence that doesn't listen when defeated.

If there is an existence that doesn't listen even when defeated, then perhaps it wasn't fully defeated.

This was the child-rearing philosophy of Hugo Baskerville and, furthermore, the code of conduct for the entire Baskerville Estate.


Highbro, the eldest of them, gathers his courage and lunges again, holding a dagger in his hand.



Despite Highbro's dagger piercing Vikir's body directly, it couldn't draw a single drop of blood.


Highbro wears a dazed expression.

Vikir's chest, where the dagger made contact, briefly turns black before returning to its normal color.

Under the protection of the Styx River.

Vikir's body has reached the realm of invulnerability to swords at the tender age of eight.


A similar sound to when the dagger struck before.

But the outcome is entirely different.

Highbro, feeling all his remaining teeth shatter completely, collapses to the ground.

It happened with just two punches.

Clank... clank... swish-

Sounds of tears, mucus, saliva, blood, air bubbles, and teeth mingling inside the mouth.

Vikir's dark shadow looms over the trembling triplets as they clench their faces, jaws, and fingers, shivering uncontrollably.


The dagger is thrown towards the center of the triplets.

But no one dares to catch it.

It's an instinctive knowledge they all possess.

'...If we try to catch that, we'll face an even worse outcome.'

The triplets remain on the ground, unable to even lift their heads, only shedding tears, blood, saliva, and cold sweat.

At that moment, Vikir speaks.

"There's only one of you who can leave this room alive."

The expressions of the triplets, who have found a strand of hope, quickly change.




Vikir's answer is simple.

"That's something you brothers have to decide from now on."

Simultaneously, the triplets' gaze focuses on the dagger in the center.


The trident of Baskerville starts to split apart from the inside.

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