Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Chapter 166

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[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

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Chapter 166

Title: Sins and Punishment (5)

The sack of love opened wide, and what emerged from it was a face—the face of the person Vikir loved.

“…!”

The moment she saw that face, Dolores could only wear a bewildered expression.

“There’s no one?”

That’s right; the sack was empty. It contained nothing, absolutely nothing. This left Dantalian even more confused.

[It can’t be! I’ve heard that humans are creatures that live through love! Not only humans but all animals have emotions like love! But you…!]

However, Dantalian’s words did not reach a conclusion. A vicious blow struck his chest, delivered by Vikir’s sword.

[Ghuh!?]

Dantalian coughed up black blood as he staggered back.

36 faces distorted in disbelief at the unbelievable situation.

Was it possible that the magic hadn’t worked? Is it possible that no faces appeared in the sack because the spell failed?

Unfortunately, Dantalian’s hope was in vain. The magic had functioned correctly, and with it came a significant depletion of mana, accompanied by a massive backlash of damage to Dantalian’s body.

Furthermore, Dantalian had become vulnerable when he cast the spell, which allowed Vikir to continuously thrust beelzebub into him, each strike potentially lethal.

…Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!

An aura so thick it could be solid washed over him.

It pierced flesh like a savage beast’s fangs, shattered bones, and tore through organs. It erupted like molten lava, devouring souls along the way.

Even though it was a demon supreme’s body, it was a helpless situation.

[G-gh…!]

Dantalian, in a moment, was reduced to a bloodied heap of tanned leather. Flesh, skin, organs, and body parts rained down on the ground, covering it like asphalt.

[It can’t be! It’s not possible! It’s said that every person loves at some point in their life! There’s no such thing as a human who hasn’t loved!]

“I’m a living example right here.”

Vikir replied briefly and dryly.

Raised from a young age to suppress all emotions, Vikir had grown up to be a cold, unyielding killing machine. A soulless hound of death, he obeyed commands with unwavering loyalty.

Yet, for some reason, even though his upbringing had caused him to be cold and unfeeling, he hadn’t twisted or bent.

He didn’t know it back then, but that unbending nature might have been a form of deviation.

In a time when everything was disintegrating into nothingness, could he have afforded the luxury of love? Was there someone to teach him about love?

“…?”

Watching Vikir, Dolores could vaguely understand his circumstances.

She could sense the scent of life and the resonance of his soul as he unleashed his power.

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Priests pray for others, heal them, and bestow blessings in a way that deeply connects them to others’ souls. It sometimes influences their emotions and even transforms them.

Dolores remembered a phrase she once heard from the Night Hound.

‘Theology is the study of understanding people.’

She didn’t fully grasp the true meaning of that phrase back then, but now she felt like she did.

At this moment, Dolores found herself empathizing deeply with Night Hound’s emotions and circumstances more than anyone else.

‘What kind of life did he live? How heavy a burden has he carried on his own? How long has he persevered through solitude and loneliness?’

Just a short while ago, she had regarded Night Hound as a criminal and even come up with a villain name for him in her school’s newspaper club.

…But that wasn’t the case. He was a warrior, fighting the world’s evil more fiercely than anyone else.

A prophet persecuted by the world, misunderstood by everyone, and a man who hadn’t experienced love in his entire life. He wasn’t a criminal; he was a seer.

How far had he gone ahead? How far was he looking ahead?

How lonely, how difficult, how painful, how wounded had he been throughout his life?

Suddenly, a warm moistness welled up in the corner of her eyes.

Dolores desired to walk alongside him rather than simply follow him. She wished to lend her strength to him. She wished to be by his side, holding his scarred soul close and offering comfort.

She wanted to embrace his injured feet after the journey through the thorn-filled path.

She wanted to hold his hand, injured by the sword.

She wanted to let him know he wasn’t alone, no matter how far he went.

…However, Dolores also knew the truth.

Night Hound would never rely on anyone. He wouldn’t expect or depend on anyone.

He would stand firm, alone, forever advancing.

Even if it meant traveling on a treacherous path filled with thorns, blood, and flesh.

Although Dolores had come to understand this truth due to her partial empathy with his soul, it only made her even more disheartened. Knowing that the person you want to rely on will never rely on you is a painful and melancholic feeling.

…But there was another presence besides Dolores who felt the same way.

[AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!]

Dantalian. He was truly in pain and agony.

The mighty demon, who had been sitting arrogantly, mocking humans, was now howling in pain while his 36 faces contorted.

And Vikir, still holding Dantalian’s hair, continued to slash his blade haphazardly.

A hunting dog never lets go once it bites. That’s what he had been taught.

Even though Vikir’s body was being torn apart by the mana waves emitted by Dantalian, he stubbornly tried to engage in close combat.

“Guh!”

Dantalian was torn into shreds. His skin, flesh, and organs rained down on the ground, covering it like asphalt.

[…Jeez, what kind of life has this wretched human led?]

Dantalian, whose hand had become like tattered rags, reached into Vikir’s memories.

Vikir’s memories were filled with frigid and razor-sharp fragments. Picking any one of them was a perilous endeavor. Even for a demon like Dantalian, touching them was dangerous enough to cut his hands.

It felt like rummaging through a bag filled with sharp shards and pieces of glass.

[Look at this! This is the face of someone who once cared for you! Can you still wound me like this!?]

It was Seth Le Baskerville.

Seth had trained within his family to the extent that even the family members forgot his face after years of secluded training. So, even when Dolores looked at the face, she could only tilt her head in confusion.

‘Who is this?’

Seth had pale skin, dark eyebrows, and a handsome face that was oddly cool, yet somewhat unsettling due to his lack of a healthy complexion.

‘Could this person be related to the Night Hound?’

But before Dolores could examine Seth’s face closely and commit it to memory, she didn’t have time.

“Thank you. You’ve ignited my enthusiasm.”

Vikir’s response was much faster.

Seeing the look on Seth’s face made him even more enraged than he actually was.

So what was supposed to be one slash became two.

Puff! Puff-puff-puff! Pooh-pooh-pooh-pooh!

Seth’s face explodes from the frenzied barrage of blows.

At the same time, the entirety of Dantalian’s body began to be shredded into smaller and smaller pieces.

[Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!]

Dantalian can only scream in misery and try to parry the blows using his razor sharp purple tongues.

Then.

[……aahhhh! Don’t bully me!]

One of Dantalian’s many faces changed.

Beautiful blonde hair. Fair skin. Slightly sunken eyes that looked somewhat sad.

An old, crude gold necklace around her neck with the word ‘Nymphet’ written on it.

Suddenly.

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[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

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“……!”

Vikir froze.

Dantalian didn’t know what made Vikir pause, but he figured this was his chance.

[F*ck you!]

Countless faces shouted, purple tongues rolled out at once.

Dantalian sticked out his blade-like tongues, indeed a demon of discourse.

But.

Kurrrrr!

Dantalian’s attack failed again.

Dolores, enraged by the look on Nymphet’s face, intervened with another burst of white flames.

“You shall DIE.”

Dolores scorched the tip of Dantalian’s tongue and immediately leapt to the Night Hound’s side.

In a moment of crisis, she became even more poised and calm.

“?”

Vikir scratched his head, not sure why Dolores had suddenly become so brave.

Then, Dolores looked back at Vikir and said with a determined air.

“If it gets difficult, you can lean on me. I’ll be waiting.”

“??”

“I’ll always wait for you.”

“????”

Vikir tilted his head in confusion once more.

…Pow!

The white light that Dolores had just emitted instantly enveloped Vikir’s entire body.

“……!”

“……!”

At that moment, both Vikir and Dolores felt it.

Soul resonance.

It’s the kind of feeling you get when you’re walking down the same path together.

It was the kind of connection that can only happen between ‘soul resonance’.

And the moment it happened.

…A flash!

The light emanating from Dolores’s body exploded tenfold.

The Awakened Saintess’s buff.

And the one that had the greatest impact on a saintess’ soul.

The only being that caused the Saintess to awaken.

A person who possesses a soul of the same magnitude.

Night Hound.

Whether consciously or unconsciously, she liked the feeling of being connected with him on a spiritual level.

“…Aah?!”

Dolores felt all the strength drain from her body.

Divine power exerted with all her might to the point where she could not even stand.

The enormous buff of power that had been unleashed was instantly absorbed into Vikir’s body.

Dolores, who was naturally gifted, had an enormous amount of divine power.

Now that it had exploded tenfold, the resulting buff was no ordinary buff.

The moment Dolores’ buff entered his body.

Boom!

Vikir felt as if the wall above his head had been breached with a single blow.

The high, solid wall that had appeared impenetrable for so long had been demolished, and he could now see beyond it.

The pinnacle of strength…

The Realm of Swordmaster.

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[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

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