The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 33: The Social Club (2)

The seven masters gathered in the VVIP room were all smart and ruthless.

The House of Montblanc, the House of Pierre, the House of Louis Vuitton, the House of Channel, the House of Ferragamo, the House of Hermes, the House of Prada.

The seven indigenous families of the province in which they work have lived unnoticed by anyone except the Baskervilles.

Even those from the Baskervilles have been persuaded by their wealth and the public sentiment behind them, and have become friends.

Life had never gone their way before, so they assumed it would be the same this time.

So, it's true that I was a little naughty this time.

... but.

This time, things were different.

Hoo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo

A shower of glass and champagne bubbles rained down on the VVIP room.

The glass and boiling champagne reflect the brilliant light of the chandeliers.

The seven masters of the Seven Families, whose entire bodies were drenched in the sharp, hot showers, wore dazed expressions.

'Did you just blow up the Champagne Tower with a mana resonance?

'Just by touching the table?

'And not from the bottom up, but from the top down?

All of them had a basic understanding of martial arts in their own right, so they could see the absurdity of what Vikir was doing.

To be able to channel mana into an object, cause it to vibrate with resonance, and then explode it at exactly the right spot was not something that could be achieved with normal mana proficiency.

Moreover, the glasses shattered from above, not below.

It would take a master of the technique to shatter the glass on top of the table while the glass on the bottom is still intact.

And the fact that the direction of action is vertical, not horizontal, adds to the difficulty.

This means that you have to be able to manipulate mana stalks that are much thinner and finer than microfibres, like limbs.

Ultra-difficult mana manipulation. The realm of the truly badass.

There is only one thought on everyone's minds.

"Gradient!

Monsters who can slice through boulders the size of their fists with their swords and knock down birds in flight with their momentum alone.

I wonder if these masters, who are barely above the rank of Expert, are not some vague, untouchable powerhouse.

"...."

Vikir's face remains expressionless.

However, the black aura coursing through his shoulders is that of a grim reaper.

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

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

The masters, soaked in a shower of champagne, began to shiver.

'He's crazy, he's a 15-year-old kid!

"Dude, you're an Expert Intermediate, do something!

"Shut up! You won't last a second!

In the midst of all the urgent exchanges of glances, one of the masters muttered in a dazed voice.

"...That's right, Vikir, I thought I'd heard of you!"

At that, all eyes snapped to one side.

He spoke in a stuttering tone.

"Vikir van Baskerville. The supernova of House Baskerville! Dived for seven minutes before he was born, strangled two vipers in his cradle, hunted Cerberus at the age of eight, dueled and defeated House Morg's Madness Castle...."

The other masters' faces change as if they've just heard some crazy urban legend.

But... But what if they were really true?

The gazes of the masters now turn to Vikir again.

The symbol of the Gradient, the liquid aura.

Unless the urban legends are true, there's no way to explain the deathly aura that radiates from Vikir's entire body.

My God, what other 15-year-old kid in the world is already a Gradient at that age!

Even in Baskerville, the home of geniuses, this has never happened before.

Perhaps the same could be said for the Coliseum, the Imperial Academy, or even the entire Yellow City.

In the end, the masters could only smile awkwardly and say something.

"We tried to pay for the ...."

I wonder if they realise that the grim smile they've always seen etched on other people's faces is now etched on their own?

Meanwhile. Vikir, hearing this, replied nonchalantly.

"Of course you will pay for the liquor you have consumed."

Hearing this, the seven masters closed their mouths in disbelief.

"Oh, by the way. We haven't eaten yet.

He had inadvertently given away his plan to embarrass them.

Still, since I hadn't met Meg yet, I thought I could make a good excuse and get away with it.

... If only it weren't for Vikir.

He's only 15 years old, but his soul is already worn out.

Vikir saw right through what the seven masters were trying to do.

"What, you're going to play with me and then blame me for the cost of your drinks?"

The seven masters jumped and shook their heads at Vikir's question, which seemed to pierce their veins like a ghost.

"That, that would be impossible!"

"Who would do such an unscrupulous thing!"

"How dare anyone from the Baskerville family ask us to...."

The seven masters felt.

The other party wasn't just strong in combat power. Their minds were also unstoppable.

In the end, they lowered their tails.

They had been arrogant enough to think that Baskerville was their dog, but now that they stood in front of Vikir, they could no longer afford to be so ruthless.

Apparently, the Baskervilles' hounds are not easily baked or boiled.

But a certain amount of pride, built up over the years as the second generation of the local holding family, has allowed them to save some dignity for last.

"Actually, we wanted to test you, Deputy Magistrate."

The Masters composed themselves and spoke in a polite manner.

Vikir remained expressionless.

Taking the silence to mean 'let's hear it', the Masters relaxed and continued in a polite tone.

"Honestly, Underdog City is quite corrupt, isn't it?"

"If you're going to purify a city like this, you shouldn't be able to resist such a temptation."

"You are indeed worthy to lead us, I will follow."

"Oh, let me take this great spirit as a lesson for the rest of my life!"

"I will express it to you today, in such a way that you will not be disappointed later."

They bowed once more to Vikir, and spoke in earnest voices.

Some of them even winked at Vikir in an attempt to appear casual.

And then.

"...."

One corner of Vikir's mouth slowly lifted.

A smile.

This small change completely changed the mood of the room.

Just a moment ago, it had been a creepy, graveyard atmosphere.

And that alone had been enough to terrify the Seven Masters.

But now?

An almost maddening sense of gravity.

A suffocating pressure began to weigh down on the seven masters, as if they were being buried alive in an earthen tomb.

Unable to breathe properly, they began to shiver, the smiles on their faces completely lost.

Vikir walked slowly to the front of the seven masters, who were now cowering like frogs in a snake's stomach.

"A master can test his dog as much as he likes."

"...."

"But not the other way round. A dog can never test his master, under any circumstances."

It was a moment that reminded her of Hugo's teaching from long ago.

Vikir paced slowly in front of the frozen masters.

"You have all this money and power, so you're not afraid, are you?" he asked.

Unsurprisingly, there was no reply.

Vikir continued.

"It's just that I've never seen anything really scary."

So how dare you pretend to be expected, to be gentle, to be relaxed.

And the price of that "pretence" was heavy.

Vikir pulled a flimsy stick from his arm.

It was the very same stake that had won the girl a prize of ten billion not long ago.

...Billion!

A dull noise.

The stake bent for a moment, then flew out at a tremendous speed, smashing the face of the master in front of her into a bloody mess.

The blow came from nowhere, with no end in sight.

Teeth gnashing, spittle, blood, and tears snorting.

In the time it took him to blink three times, Vikir struck him seven times across the face, head, neck, and shoulders, and then did the same to the others.

The next thing you know, they're all sprawled flat on the floor of the VVIP room.

Puck! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

Vikir didn't stop beating them for a long time after that.

"Do you know why you were beaten?"

"Ew! I don't know! I don't know! Why are you hitting me all of a sudden?"

"If you don't know, you must be beaten."

Vikir swung the stake in a nonchalant tone.

Looking at his expressionless face, the masters thought he might actually die at this rate.

"Oh, I know, ugh, I think I know why you're hitting me!"

The dogs begged desperately through their busted lips, torn tongues, and broken teeth.

They pleaded with their torn lips, torn tongues, broken teeth, and the red blood that gushed like a fountain from every inch of their heads.

But the owner remained unimpressed.

"Sweeten the deal."

Vikir's flogging doesn't stop at the red light.