The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 34: The Social Club (3)

The rumours spread quickly.

A group of seven people who had been living high on the hog, indulging in extravagance and vice, had been arrested all at once.

The citizens of Underdog City always talked about it whenever they got together in groups of three or more.

"Well, they were trying to get in the way of the new Deputy Mayor, and they got caught."

"Oh, aren't they the ones who used to treat the common people like bugs, and now they're in charge?"

"But what do you think will happen to them? The new magistrate's personality doesn't seem normal, so they won't just be released, will they?"

"Aye, they're still the second generation of a native family, I'm sure he'll let them go with a moderate amount of humiliation."

The crowd naturally turned their heads away.

In the northern part of the central square, a banner was still fluttering in the wind.

<Article 00, paragraph 0 of the Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Baskerville. Law on the Prohibition of Illegal Trafficking in Persons... Penalty: Death>

<Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Baskerville, Article 00, Section 0. Law against illegal gambling... Penalty: wrist amputation>

<Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Baskerville, Article 00, paragraph 0. Law on the Prohibition of Illegal Private Banking... Penalty: Eyeball removal>

<Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Baskerville, Article 00, paragraph 0. Law on the prohibition of illegal brothels... Criminal offence: Facial tattooing

<Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Baskerville, Article 00, Section 0. Law against illegal lobbying... Sentence: extraterritorial deportation> .

.

.

As it was originally labelled.

There were no exceptions to the law.

There was no special provision for the rich and powerful to be forgiven.

The crimes of the seven masters could not have been clearer.

They were guilty of illegal sex work, illegal lobbying, illegal human trafficking, consuming and distributing drugs, and making ill-gotten gains in the process.

Tax evasion, assault, and sexual assault were obvious options.

So the sentence is clear.

Death.

No excuses, no mitigating circumstances.

People chattered.

"You're going to execute the sons of those seven indigenous families?"

"Fool, don't you know the character of the new deputy? He burned ten billion on a single stake!"

"If you kill those seven bastards, the repercussions will be devastating."

"Why don't we just give them a few good whacks and humiliate them?"

"Yes. I don't think they'll get the death penalty, though."

They all spoke in unison.

This is a power game between the new politicians and the indigenous tycoons, and if the latter would just bow out and keep their heads down, everything would be smooth sailing.

And just as people thought, Mont Blanc, Pierre, Louis Vuitton, Channel, Ferragamo, Hermès, and Prada offered their sincere apologies to the new deputy.

The local retainers bowed and entered.

The citizens did the same and clicked their tongues when they saw the carriages representing each family, laden with lavish tributes, making their way to City Hall in the dead of night.

The seven rascals who had been detained would now be released unharmed and would be given a good shouting match by their landlord father.

That was the end of it.

The local keepers will either avenge this humiliation in some way, or they will bow down and look the other way, and for a time the seven rascals will do their time and keep quiet.

The new, young deputy magistrate has scored a nice victory over the native wealthy.

The citizens will be moderately pleased, moderately outraged, and moderately forgetful of this obvious outcome.

They will.

....

...No, I knew it would happen.

Until this morning, when seven heads were hung in the centre of the main square.

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Seven heads, salted and disembowelled.

Bereft of their bodies, their heads were contorted as if they had been in terrible agony on the brink of death.

The notices beneath their heads detail the additional punishments they received before they died, before they were executed.

<Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Baskerville, Article 00, Section 0. Law on the prohibition of illegal brothels... sentences: Facial tattooing>.

*Executed in accordance with the above law, tattooing the word "colour" on the entire face.

<Article 00, paragraph 0 of the Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Baskerville. Law against Illegal Gambling... Sentence: Wrist amputation>

*Enforced in accordance with the above law, both wrists were cut off.

*This sentence is retroactive to the number of times he violated the law, so after his wrists were cut, he continued to cut them for a certain length of time.

This prisoner was sentenced to 72 wrist cuts.

<Article 00, paragraph 0 of the Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Baskerville. Law on the prohibition of illegal private finance... sentences: Eyeball removal>.

*Executed without prejudice, taking into account the pleas of the victims of these prisoners.

<Article 00, paragraph 0 of the Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Baskerville. Law against Illegal Trafficking in Persons... Sentence: Death>

*Executed according to law.

<Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Baskerville, Article 00, paragraph 0. Law against illegal lobbying... Sentence: Exile from the territory>

*Banishment outside the city walls, except for the head, as they are already exiles.

.

.

The citizens could only gape.

The law itself was always there, so there is no need to think of it as excessive or harsh.

The problem is that the prisoners who were subjected to the law were not ordinary prisoners.

It's not just a power game.

This is a war of attrition that will last until one of them is gone.

There was no one who didn't expect a bloodbath.

* * *

Not long before the sentence was carried out.

Vikir stood before the grate in the dungeon.

Inside the dungeon, he could see the seven Masters, bloodied and groaning, imprisoned.

"...Now, you shanki, wu abujihate, it's all over."

"Get out of here, Ba, how can I!"

"For the love of God, let them go!"

And before him stood Baskerville, the Chihuahua, restless.

"Oh, my lord, my lord. What did you do to beat them like this?"

He sounded more than a little pleased with himself.

Vikir, who had been standing beside him, expressionless, suddenly turned his head.

"Do you think what I did to these men was excessive?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course I do! A fashionista deserves a good beating, and if you turn people into meat patties like this, how are you going to pay for it later..."

Vikir smiled wryly.

"Don't worry about it. I haven't even started yet."

"...?"

Chihuahua asks, confused.

Vikir didn't answer, but thought about it.

Township offices were originally meant to check and supervise local maladministration, edify local society, and coordinate relations with the city hall.

But over time, they had become more and more like a red herring, and now they had surpassed even the power of the malevolent Baskervilles.

"Gamani no dew!"

"Two, leave it!"

"Huaangfei's bastardised family name!"

The way they growled, it was even more so.

But Vikir, soaking up their hatred, seemed unperturbed.

"I will execute them all at the end of the day."

...!

At those words, the masters in the cage fell silent.

Vikir spoke once more.

"While I'm at it, I'll exterminate them all, from the babes in the club to the demons in the streets."

The fearsome words were unmistakably true.

Everything would be done according to his word, 100% of the time.

A war on crime had been declared.

The masters looked dumbfounded for a moment, but now they grabbed the grate and began to shake it.

"Now, come on, good boy!"

"Haberma! Haberma bazusae!"

"Gazing all over the place!"

People who usually look at others like bugs crawl on the floor like bugs.

At this moment, the Chihuahua was feeling complex emotions.

He wondered if he would ever see anything like this in his life.

On the other hand, he feared the retaliation of the local indigenous leaders.

Their retaliation is both sleepy and deadly.

From now on, no spawn would come to any of Vikir's businesses, and attendance at his events would be very low.

The city would be at a disadvantage in trade with other cities, and tax revenues would dwindle.

But Vikir was nonchalant.

It was as if he had all his bases covered.

"There's nothing to worry about, sir."

"...ha, but."

"Their families won't be able to protest."

"Yes? Why?"

Vikir answered the Chihuahua's question with uncharacteristic ease.

"They're involved with criminal groups large and small in Underdog City."

"What? Zee, how does the Archon know that...."

Vikir remained silent, not wanting to say he'd seen it before the regression.

Then the Chihuahua looked concerned.

"But it's the proof that counts, isn't it? And even if we do get proof, what kind of retaliation they'll do next."

"Don't worry, there are plenty of them."

Vikir laughed.

We'll find the evidence. If we don't find it, we make it.

And everything that happened next was beyond Vikir's concern.

For Vikir was already thinking about moving on.

'I don't know who's going to replace me, but it's going to be tough.

I don't expect Hugo to stay on as deputy for long.

The world was about to change, and there was a good chance that he would be sent into actual combat in the near future.

So it didn't matter much to Vikir's future if he threw a temper tantrum here and now.

He would have to leave as soon as he was accepted into the Academy.

"So, while you're here as a deputy, you might as well get some discipline.

The answer was to prescribe medicines that were highly effective, even if they had some side effects.

This would soon become a reputation that would propel Vikir's career.

It didn't matter who came after him. Vikir hated members of his own Baskerville family the most.

... But a thousand miles a day.

To do that, I need to make these seven sixth formers... nay masters in front of me spit out all the evidence of their collaboration with the criminal element, and even their location.

Vikir stepped up to the bars and said.

"I will tell you what you are accused of."

"...."

"Illegal kidnapping and imprisonment of women, sexual assault, intimidation, forced administration of illegal drugs, human trafficking, and forcing them into the sex trade, as well as bribes, extortion, blackmail, and murder of government officials...."

The masters were outraged.

"That's the karma of the enemy! We'll punish you when we have proof!"

"We'll punish him when we have the evidence? Are you saying there's a crime but no evidence?"

"That's right, Gerson..."

The masters look at each other, puzzled.

Then a determined look crosses their faces.

"If I have to die here, I will do so without harming the family name.

If we blow it here, we can't expect revenge.

The clan would turn on them, and even if they did, Vikir, given the nature of that psycho, he might go further and use the sit-in system on the clan, tearing them down to the roots.

'Never, I'll never tell!'

The seven miscreants shut their mouths, ready to die for their family.

... but.

"Oh, now you're here."

Vikir waved towards an entrance in the dungeon corridor.

Apparently, he had been standing in front of the grate all this time, waiting for someone.

"...?"

The Seven Masters followed Vikir's gaze with curiosity and anxiety.

And there, walking towards them, was a gaunt old man carrying a large basket.

"Your customisation is complete, my lord."

The old man was a torturer who worked in the basement of City Hall.

And then.

Vikir overturned the basket and spilled its contents onto the shelf.

Clink-clink.

What emerged were hundreds of knives.

Each one grotesque and hideous, bent, twisted, distorted, blunt, and sharp.

The old torturer grinned, showing his yellowed teeth.

"Wow, I've been torturing people for the past 30 years, and I've never seen anything like this before. How did you come up with all these creepy devices?"

"I didn't invent them. They were commonplace where I was."

"Was the place you were before ... like hell?"

"Well, it was close. You want to learn a lesson?"

The instruments were gruesome, even for a torturer who had been doing it for thirty years.

Vikir picked them up and walked back to the grate.

"...gain!"

Instinctively sensing something, the Seven Masters crawled away from the grate.

But just as quickly.

...Thud!

Vikir brazenly pushed open the door to the cage and stepped inside.

Before he regressed, he remembered the faces of his old comrades.

'I remember, even demonic prisoners spat out military secrets before their torture techniques.

The tortures of the Age of Annihilation made even the demons from hell cry and shit themselves.

Vikir, who knows all about the future torture techniques that have improved by leaps and bounds in the short time he's been dealing with demons, can't help but find the sandals with their determined expressions cute.

"You're making faces like you're never going to blow."

Vikir says with a faint smile.

"...Please don't blow."

This was genuine.

He wanted to keep the memories and nostalgia alive for as long as possible.