Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound (Novel) Chapter 36

C36: Slave Auction (2)

The appearance of the slave boy on the stage instantly silenced the audience.

His cheeks still rosy with youth, yet his jawline sharply defined.

A slender nose and firmly closed lips, a vibrant shade of pink. Thick, straight eyebrows and long eyelashes.

And to top it off, black hair that contrasted with his captivating red eyes.

Though his entire body was tanned a healthy shade of brown, there were scattered traces of white undergarments, suggesting that his skin was originally flawless and fair.

Even with just the basic makeup applied to the slaves on stage, the boy's beauty radiated.

Vikir. Vikir Van Baskerville.

He stood on the stage.

The auctioneer spoke.

"Well, well! Here we have the final item of the auction! With such high-quality merchandise, we can expect an exciting competition!"

Unsurprisingly, the stillness continued beneath the stage.

Even the wild girl who had been causing a commotion behind the bars after being rejected in the auction fell silent, captivated by Vikir's appearance.

Then, someone raised their bidding sign.

"600 million!"

A noblewoman wearing a butterfly mask exclaimed.

"600 million! No, 650 million!"

In response, a middle-aged man on the opposite side stood up as if he couldn't lose.

"800 million!"

"What!? You're a man!?"

"What does being a man have to do with 8 billion?"

"It's not about that! What does a man want with that kid?"

"Hmph, hmph! Do you even know? He wants to use him as a gladiator!"

"Are you kidding me? Do you think that skinny kid can even hold a sword properly?"

"Alright, calm down, both of you. If you want to fight, go home and fight. I'll bid 9 billion."

"I bid 10 billion!"

"11 billion 5 thousand!"

"13 billion!"

"15 billion!"

The price competition escalated with blood boiling. Now, the prices were jumping by billions.

Just as the auctioneer was calculating the commission, caught up in the excitement, something remarkable happened.

"60 billion."

A bombshell amount was stated.

All eyes turned to a plump man, whose appetite seemed to have returned.

"...Hmm, who is that?"

"The Count Gambino from the Singing District! He's a rare sight."

"That crazy guy really went all out."

"He recently absorbed underground funds and his wealth skyrocketed. He truly has immense resources."

The people around turned their heads with bitter expressions.

Some wealthy ladies who had been eager to compete, even pooling their money, realized that it was a daunting task to go against Count Gambino, who was currently making a name for himself in the dark underworld.

And then...

"...Count. Isn't this excessive spending?"

The secretary standing next to Count Gambino spoke up.

With her short-cut greenish blond hair and cat-eye glasses, she exuded a cold and arrogant demeanor.

Count Gambino frowned slightly at the secretary's remark, then let out a hollow cough.

"Well, even so, a slave with such unique looks can fetch a higher price in the Imperial Capital. Once I have him, I can sell him later at a profit."

"While the boy possesses exceptional looks, 60 billion seems excessive. Moreover, selling him afterward would only bring trouble, as it may be linked back to you."

"Hmm. Cough, cough!"

Count Gambino seemed aware of the surrounding gazes and cleared his throat before bursting out.

"Shut up, you wench! I took you in when you had nowhere to go, and now you dare to arrogantly rise above your master's head?"


"I like that kid! I'm buying him with my own money...!"

As Count Gambino shouted back, the secretary sighed and lowered her head.

Shortly after that...

Having paid a tremendous amount and successfully won the auction, Count Gambino grinned and brought Vikir along.

Soon after, he raised his plump hand and started patting Vikir's buttocks.


Vikir looked at Count Gambino in surprise and then at the hand that was alternately touching his own buttocks, with a bewildered expression.

Seeing such a face from Vikir, an expression he had never seen before, Count Gambino laughed contentedly.

"Why? Feeling awkward? You'll get used to it since it'll happen often from now on."


"Hehehe, don't worry. I'll let you touch my buttocks fairly as well. Tonight..."

Count Gambino looked at Vikir's body with an ominous expression.

And at that moment...

Vikir raised both of his hands.

Just as Count Gambino chuckled and was about to lift the key to unlock the handcuffs.

...Crack! Snap!

The handcuffs in front of him were torn apart in the blink of an eye.

Steel handcuffs torn apart like a piece of paper. And the chains.

With the sheer strength of his grip, Vikir shattered the restraints clinging to his wrists.

Then, at a loss for words, he extended both palms toward the stunned Count Gambino.

"Spank me."

There was no time for resistance or anything else.

Vikir effortlessly flipped Count Gambino's plump body and immediately grabbed hold of his ample buttocks with his hands.

Thud thud!

A terrifying sound echoed, and Count Gambino began squealing like a pig.


A splattering fountain of blood soaked the surroundings.

Witnessing a person being torn apart while still alive, the onlookers collectively started screaming.

Soon, mercenaries who had taken on the role of guards began rushing in a panic.


Crack! Squelch! Slice!

The necks and torsos of the guards rushing forward were instantly separated, each falling to the ground in separate pieces.

Somehow, Vikir was holding a sharp, protruding blade that extended from his wrist.

Whirr whirr whirr...

The demonic sword Baalzepub began to howl as it absorbed blood.

"Strike! Kill them all!"

The nobles called upon their personal escorts.

Whether it was mercenaries or knights drawing their swords, they charged with an aura.

...Tsst tsst tsst tsst tsst.

Vikir, too, emitted an aura.

And then, the unfolding sword technique was Baskerville Style 5.

Five hidden assassins simultaneously flew in, tearing into the throats of their enemies.

Thump thump thump...

A downpour of blood ensued.

The decapitated bodies were kneeling and collapsing.

The swordsmen who narrowly escaped the catastrophe from behind could only be astonished.

An aura as red and sticky as blood. The Sword Graduate!

The ultimate weapon representing the national power, a killing machine designed solely for slaughter.

With each step Vikir took, he would always sever one person's neck.

One step, one kill. One person dies with each step.

Though Vikir's path was short, merely a distance of ten or so steps, a downpour of blood was already falling around him.

The only thought in everyone's mind was the same.

"There's no chance against the Sword Graduate!"

Upon seeing Vikir's aura dripping like liquid, the swordsmen immediately abandoned resistance and started retreating.


"You miserable bunch! Even if he's a Sword Graduate, he's no match for a dog!"

"If you flee now, you'll all become slaves!"

"Hey, so you won't make any money!?"

"Think about your families!"

The cries of nobles and henchmen resounded throughout, turning some swordsmen's feet around.

Eventually, the chaos in the auction house subsided to some extent.

Properly armed mercenaries suddenly flocked in the hundreds, surrounding Vikir.

"W-What the heck is this little kid?"

"How can he be a Sword Graduate at that age?"

"And his swordsmanship... is it Baskerville Style?"

"Is he even human!? What's his identity?"

Everyone was in a state of confusion, but the enemy's intentions were clear.

Countless swords, spears, arrows, and magic encircled Vikir layer upon layer.

No matter how strong the Sword Graduate might be, it seemed impossible to survive in the face of such concentrated firepower.


"You! Drop your sword and surrender now! Otherwise, your companions' lives are forfeit!"

A jester on the stage was holding Vikir hostage, threatening him.

The one attempting to stab Vikir's neck with a raised sword was none other than Chihuahua Baskerville.

Chihuahua, with his elongated goatee, trembled while looking at Vikir.


Vikir paused for a moment and stood in place.

At that moment, the mercenaries surrounding them aimed their swords and gradually closed in.

Just then.

"Subcónsul! I'm fine! Please take care of yourself!"

Chihuahua shouted with a determined expression.

Immediately, he grabbed the jester's arm and pulled it toward his own body.

The jester was even more surprised by Chihuahua's attempt to stab himself with someone else's sword.

"You crazy fool! What are you doing!"

"Let go! I won't compromise with injustice in my dictionary! Besides, dying is better than holding the superiors back!"

"Does such a treacherous face suit such lines!? Let go!"

The jester and Chihuahua began a back-and-forth struggle between life and death.

Observing their exchange, Vikir let out a subtle smile.



Vikir, piercing the jester's forehead with a drop of aura, caught the falling Chihuahua and completely descended below the stage.

The surroundings were filled with intense vitality.

Countless mercenaries and knights of local barons, armed with swords, spears, arrows, and magic, were aiming at Vikir and Chihuahua.

"S-Subcónsul. Are you sure you're alright? Even though Subcónsul is skilled in combat, this number of opponents... and with me as a burden."

Chihuahua's concern was justified.

However, Vikir remained nonchalant.

"Don't worry. When we left Baskerville Mansion..."

He slightly tore his thigh flesh and pulled out something he had hidden inside.

It was a small horn with a red fang-like design.

"...I have a hidden card given to me by the family boss."


Vikir brought the blood-stained horn to his mouth and blew into it.


A loud, ripping sound echoed.

The onlookers, unaware of what Vikir was doing, anxiously focused only on the center of the encirclement.


The real disturbance began from the ceiling of the neglected mansion, where nobody had been paying attention.


Shadowy figures broke through the tattered canopy and infiltrated through the cracks.

Countless black wind spirits descended from the sky.


Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Wherever they landed, blood showers followed, and people's lives were taken away.

"Aaaah! What are these things!"

"There must be over a hundred of them!"

"And they're all graduates!"

All one hundred of them are graduates. They are the assassins adorned with an aura as blood-like as the tip of a sword.

After annihilating everyone in the front line in an instant, they politely positioned themselves behind Vikir.

Finally, the few survivors who managed to escape because they were in the rear could guess what the group of one hundred graduates led by Vikir was.

"T-They couldn't be..."

"They must not be! They can't be, please, no!"

"Oh, right. Who else could have those markings besides them!"

It was evident from the crimson fang-shaped badges worn on their chests.

The "Pitbull Knights," affiliated with the Baskerville family.

Not only within the Baskerville family but also throughout the empire, they were known as the most ruthless "sweeping specialist" knightage.

Wearing black cloaks, Vikir quietly ordered the obedient and fierce dogs towards their opponents, giving concise commands.

"Take them all down."

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