Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound Chapter 373

Chapter 373: The Lava Shark (1)

Three months later.

“Hoho- What’s this? You’re alive?” With Souaré’s exclamation, the concrete of the solitary confinement cell shattered.

Crash! Bang! The hardened prison walls broke, and within them, Vikir opened his eyes. His body was emaciated, with only bones and skin remaining, yet there was still a clear vitality in his eyes.

Souaré stroked her mustache and said, “Well, if I knew you’d be so lively, I would’ve let you out a month or two ago. Being in my room is better than in the cell, right? Especially since my nights have been lonely lately.”

“No complaints.”

“Hoho- Quite the cheeky little guy, aren’t you? I like it. If you ever end up back in isolation, I’ll take good care of you. See you again!” Vikir bid farewell to Souaré and staggered out.

Glancing back, he saw a heap of concrete and asphalt, likely the isolation cell where the old man, Angagoumang, was imprisoned. “It was a dreadful time.” Vikir muttered, recalling the noisy days of Angagoumang’s constant rambling and gibberish.

Returning to his original cell in Level Nine, Vikir prepared himself for the imminent labor duty that awaited him at dawn. With a creak and a thud, the door closed, enveloping him in darkness. He knew he’d be dragged to the labor yard in a few hours.

To prepare, Vikir decided to conserve his strength. He reached into Andromalius’s ring, which stored a considerable amount of provisions, and slowly consumed the food within. ‘Eating this might help me regain some strength,’ he mused, looking at the ring. Since he hadn’t fully recovered his powers after creating a large barrier in the academy, he could only use the ring for small necessities like food, which was disappointing.

[Human. What’s your plan now?] Decarabia asked.

“I’ll do the labor duty. At least now I have a reason to work hard,” Vikir replied.

“I suppose. Other humans might think you work hard because you’re afraid of the isolation cell.”

“Yeah. The Level Ten construction needs to progress quickly. That’s the only way I can find what I’m looking for.”

Decarabia persisted, [But seriously, what are you looking for in this deep shit hole? Is there treasure hidden under the dead volcano?]

Vikir remained silent for a moment. What he was searching for held immense importance now, with only four remaining of the corpses.

‘Three of the ten corpses have joined forces. There will likely be some upheaval,’ he thought.

‘They might even hasten the era of destruction, and if that happens, even I, as a swordmaster, can’t escape unscathed.’ A gruesome war awaits humanity, a war of annihilation. The final battle with the Decade is upon us. Vikir must be prepared to lose and gain.

“Perhaps we can end the fight in one fell swoop.”

And so, Vikir had descended to Nouvellebag in search of a weapon to confront the Decade’s ultimate weapon.

[The Corpses’ ultimate weapon, huh? You’re probably referring to ‘The Storm of Dreadful Calamity,’ aren’t you?]

“You know of it?”

[Indeed. I was once their comrade, after all.] Andromalius blinked in agreement before continuing his inquiry.

[But, does the human side have a weapon capable of countering ‘The Storm of Dreadful Calamity’? As far as I know, there isn’t one.]

“The demons might think so,” Vikir replied, his eyes gleaming. “But there is. Deep within the depths of Nouvellebag’s volcano, in a place even the demons’ eyes cannot reach… lies an ancient weapon unknown to present humanity, ‘The One that Rings with Thunder and Shakes the Earth.’ *Posdeion* undoubtedly exists.”

The demon’s ultimate weapon, ‘The Storm of Dreadful Calamity,’ and the only thing capable of subduing it is humanity’s ultimate weapon, ‘Poseidon.’

Vikir personally descended to Nouvellebag to find it, sacrificing all the bonds he had built with his friends and family.

“Those friends were just schoolmates from our teenage years. I’ll probably forget about them soon enough.” Vikir briefly recalled the faces of Tudor, Sancho, Figgy, Bianca, and Sinclaire before dismissing them. What mattered now was the daily life in Nouvellebag. Progressing the construction as quickly as possible was crucial to not falling behind the demons’ movements.

“The ones who joined hands were surely Chimera the fourth corpse, Andrealphus the third corpse, and Phlorosya the second corpse, right?” His speculation echoed what he had heard from the majins before entering Nouvellebag.

Chimera seemed integrated into the Donquixote family, Andrealphus into the Usher family, and Phlorosya into the Reviadon family.

‘The last one (The first corpse) is probably within the imperial family.’ Vikir started doubting even the emperor before killing that thought.

Thus, Vikir contemplated infiltrating the palace on the day of his escape from Nouvellebag. ‘If necessary, I’ll have to slit the throats of all the nobles…’

At that moment, a voice shattered Vikir’s contemplations of rebellion. “Everyone, rise and shine! It’s time for labor!” It was the wake-up call from Lieutenant Bastille.

All prisoners in Nouvellebag worked from 4 AM, even those returning from solitary confinement.

Thunk! Clang! Creak!

Vikir, with layers of BDISSEM shackles and chains, tirelessly swung the pickaxe, digging into the earth. The guards muttered as they watched him, never resting for a moment.

.

“I’ve never seen a Level Nine prisoner work so diligently.”

“Isn’t it suspicious? Could there be another motive?”

“What motive? That guy resisted doing labor last time and ended up subdued by Major D’ Ordum and dragged to solitary confinement.”

“Oh, right. Wasn’t he locked up for three months? How did he survive? He’s quite something.”

“Indeed. There was a guy who was only locked up for half a day, and when he came out, his hair had turned completely white. The guy who was locked up for just one day died of a heart attack when he came out.”

Neither the prisoners nor the guards found it strange that Vikir was working so hard. From then on, Vikir became known as the most diligent worker among the Level Nine inmates.

“Alright! It’s mealtime! Take a 10-minute break!”

Soon enough, as lunchtime arrived, guards throughout the area announced the cessation of labor.

Vikir sat down heavily and ate half-cooked salted fish and rock-hard black bread. Even after biting it with all his might, the bread didn’t break.

The fish, soaked in salt, emitted a sour odor despite the seasoning. Yet the prisoners devoured the meal eagerly, even though it resembled food scraps.

The construction work in Level Ten was grueling labor. Whoever called this place a volcano wasn’t kidding. Just digging a little into the dried-up crust released a scorching heat.

Lava flowed incessantly from lava waterfalls, drying everything to a crisp. It felt like turning into jerky if you stayed here for too long. An ordinary person wouldn’t last a few seconds.

Turning his head, Vikir saw some prisoners peering into a pit spouting lava. They seemed desperate for something other than the hard black bread soaked in salt.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, just saw a shadow.”

“Let’s try fishing it out.”

“Quick, before the line and hook melt!”

Soon, the prisoners used makeshift fishing lines made of iron chains (losing them meant death) and hooked something out.

Snap! It was a lava shark, a monster over 8 meters long and weighing over a ton, dwelling in the lava.

“I got it!” As one prisoner shouted, others nearby rushed in with a whoosh.

The lava shark, already nothing but bones and skin, had no chance against the onslaught of prisoners’ hands and teeth. It was quickly torn apart into pieces.

The prisoners searched for other sources of food, but Nouvellebag was not a hospitable environment for hunting. Faced with hunger, they had no choice but to look elsewhere.

“Ugh, ugh.”

Vikir observed a prisoner sitting far away, gasping for breath. Unlike the harsh labor environment, his skin was pale and smooth, and he had gained some weight.

Other prisoners were taking care not to let him work. “Don’t work. We’ll do it for you.”

“Don’t move. Just lie down.”

“Why are you moving? You’ll lose weight if you move.”

Soon, the most influential prisoner in the room approached the obese prisoner, drooling.

Crunch-

The prisoner began to eat the flesh of his fellow prisoner. Despite the screams of pain, the victim eventually resigned himself to tears.

“Keep him alive. We need him for a while.”

“It was smart to have some food rations.”

“I’ll take my turn tomorrow.”

“His wounds need to heal quickly.”

The expression “eating someone alive” was often used when exploiting others, but here in Nouvellebag, it was quite literal and common.

Of course, Vikir had plenty of provisions stored within Andromalius’ ring, so he had no reason to partake in such ruthless food wars.

“They really live like worms,” Vikir marveled.

At this point, it was hard to tell who was human and who was demon.

Just then, a third method for prisoners to obtain food caught Vikir’s eye. Surprisingly, it was the most normal and sensible approach, neither hunting nor eating fellow man.