Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Chapter 471: The Battle for Tochka\'s Annihilation (1)

The freshwater ran out.

A solemn atmosphere pervaded Tochka Fortress.

Cindiwendy, spreading out the map, spoke with a grave expression.

"We managed to draw water from the crater area, so we can hold out for three more days. But we can\'t keep doing this."

Although the influx of refugees had noticeably decreased after the battle at the water source area, the population inside the fortress was still immense.

As the one responsible for the food and water entering their mouths, Cindiwendy was understandably distressed.

Meanwhile, Osiris, sitting closely next to Cindiwendy, also had a serious expression.

"The Reviadon bastards are coming at us hard this time. They\'ve spread out their forces over the rock formations below the mountain peaks. They outnumber us three to one."

Although Tochka Fortress is an impregnable stronghold favorable for defense, this advantage only applies to small-scale battles. When both sides deploy large forces, the situation changes.

Cindiwendy and Osiris spoke in earnest tones.

"We\'re already short on water. Tomorrow\'s battle will be the limit; we need to resolve this by then."

"A full-scale battle, then. There\'s no other way. Given the number of troops, there will be numerous small and large skirmishes outside Tochka Fortress. The silver lining is that we have excellent commanders."

Brilliant commanders like Orca and Sade, and also the valiant warriors from various families were leading elite units.

Despite the despair, the situation called for a bold attempt at a breakthrough.

"What do you want to do, little brother?"

Osiris looked up at Vikir standing there.

"……."

Vikir didn\'t answer for a while. He was just gazing out the window, counting the stars in the night sky.

"Counting stars? Come up with a plan. You\'re the one who said we could hold out here!"

Cindiwendy urged him.

Normally, Osiris would have calmed her down, but even he showed a rare sign of impatience today.

It was only natural, given the situation.

Just then.

Whooooosh—

A night breeze blew in through the open window.

"What?"

"What\'s with the wind…."

Cindiwendy and Osiris shielded their faces with their hands.

It\'s natural for such winds to blow in if the window is open.

But.

"……!"

Vikir\'s expression, silent until now, suddenly changed.

He lightly wetted his index finger and held it up.

"……A southeast wind."

Vikir opened all the other windows to check the direction of the wind.

Afterward, he returned to the southeast window where he usually stood, observing the constellations hanging in a corner of the night sky.

"One… two… three… four… five… six… seven…."

The seven stars, commonly known as the guiding stars, form a constellation visible only from a specific direction. This special constellation has been a guide for countless travelers throughout history.

Whooooosh—

The night wind blew again, this time also from the southeast.

Only then did Cindiwendy and Osiris realize something unusual.

\'…Come to think of it, has there ever been wind coming through this window before?\'

Vikir, who always stood by this window, had never felt a breeze from it until now.

Realizing this small fact, Cindiwendy and Osiris felt an inexplicable sense of excitement welling up inside.

"One… two… three… four… five… six… seven…."

Vikir continued counting the stars.

Everyone in this region, even the young kids, knew that the guiding stars in the northern night sky were seven in number.

…However.

"One… two… three… four… five… six… seven…."

The number of stars Vikir counted for the third time had changed slightly.

"…Eight."

At the very end of the guiding stars, there was one star shining blue.

The eighth star, appearing behind the seven guiding stars, shone brilliantly in Vikir\'s eyes.

Finally, Vikir, who had been silently counting the stars, nodded.

"Good. One more has finally appeared. It\'s securely in place."

"…?"

Cindiwendy and Osiris only tilted their heads in confusion at Vikir\'s cryptic words.

Then, Vikir, who had remained silent despite everyone\'s urging, moved.

"Tomorrow at noon will be the final battle."

Although it seemed like a sudden declaration, Cindiwendy and Osiris could sense it.

They could sense that tomorrow\'s battle was the stage Vikir had been planning and designing for a very long time, the true finale.

---

At noon, under the scorching sun.

The enemy troops surrounding Tochka began to move.

Orca, preparing for the final defensive battle, had a more resolute expression than ever before.

With the last drop of water gone, there was no hope for tomorrow.

"I\'m not even sure we\'ll make it to midnight."

"Heh, an old man trying to survive another 12 hours."

Next to Warden Orca, Marquis Sade snickered.

However, unlike his usual smirk, his eyes were not laughing.

"Heh, no more troops and no more water. Truly a dire situation. I haven\'t seen a battle like this in a long time. Maybe 50 years ago? It was when I fought that old dog Cane Corso with my troops."

"Shut up, you escapee. No one cares about your tales."

"Eh, it might be the last time, and you\'re still so rude."

Marquis Sade pursed his lips and fell silent.

The two sat in silence for a long time on the parapet, far apart from each other.

Finally, Orca spoke first.

"…Die without shame."

"Huh?"

When Sade frowned as if wondering what he meant, Orca continued.

"I hate to admit it, but you and I are from the same generation. Other than me, you\'re the only one still active."

"So?"

"Whether we like it or not, you and I represent our generation. Don\'t make our end disgraceful."

"Heh, worry about yourself, you old codger."

"…Damn escapee. I gave you advice out of goodwill."

The two old comrades didn\'t look at each other until the end.

They only stared at the enemy forces darkening the horizon.

Eventually, the troops split into two groups led by Orca and Sade.

Orca took command of the defense, while Sade led the counterattack.

The Morg and Quovadis clans, specialized in defense, followed Orca to defend Tochka\'s outer walls. The Baskerville and Bourgeois families, specialized in offense, followed Sade to strike at the enemy\'s weak points.

"O-ooohh!"

The massive poison humans began to surge towards the fortress walls.

"…!"

Orca\'s brow twitched.

The poison humans currently appearing on the front lines were all clad in familiar attire.

The black cloaks of the iron-blooded sword clan Baskerville, the red robes of the mage clan Morg, the white priestly garb of the Quovadis religious clan, and the golden capes of the Bourgeois clan.

These worn and tattered garments unmistakably resembled funeral shrouds.

"…They\'ve looted the ancestral tombs of each family."

The ancestors of the Baskerville, Morgue, Quovadis, and Bourgeois families.

Their corpses had been turned into poison humans, or rather, undead soldiers.

It was the revelation of the culprit behind the grave robbing incidents that had once shaken the entire empire.

Rumble, rumble, rumble…

The swordsmen of the Baskerville clan, reduced to bones, flesh, and malevolence, stood at the forefront.

Facing them were the Abyssal Spiders on Tochka’s walls, their fur bristling.

Baby Madam, the matriarch of the Spiders, glanced sideways.

There, she saw an independent detachment moving without Sade\'s orders.

Vikir. The one operating the special forces.

"…"

Vikir silently observed the undead poison humans emerging on the distant front lines.

Instead, it was the detachment behind him, poised to pounce, that growled with ferocity. This detachment was commanded by the Seven Hunting Dogs.

The commander of the Pit Bull Knights, \'Boston Terrier\' le Baskerville.

The commander of the Mastiff Knights, \'Great Dane\' le Baskerville.

The commander of the Doberman Knights, \'Isabella\' la Baskerville.

The commander of the Shepherd Knights, \'German\' le Baskerville.

The commander of the Rottweiler Knights, \'Metzgerhund\' le Baskerville.

The commander of the Wolfhound Knights, \'Cu-Chulainn\' le Baskerville.

These commanders stood ready, their forces growling in anticipation.

They stood still behind Vikir, awaiting his command.

Except for two who had been bickering loudly.

"Killing many is the best."

"Killing the big ones is the best."

Boston Terrier, the commander of the Pit Bull Knights, and Great Dane, the commander of the Mastiff Knights, had been arguing nonstop.

Isabella, the commander of the Doberman Knights, who had been watching them with disdain, stepped between them and whispered to Vikir.

"Turning the ancestors\' bodies into undead was a miscalculation. It\'s only fueling our anger, boosting our combat strength. Our short-term firepower will increase dramatically."

Isabella\'s assessment was both cold and precise.

German, the commander of the Shepherd Knights, also showed a rare agreement with his rival Isabella\'s opinion.

"I agree. In a prolonged battle, it would have lowered our morale, but with our water supply gone, the burning thirst will be temporarily forgotten by the even hotter flames of our anger."

Meanwhile, Metzgerhund, the commander of the Rottweiler Knights, turned his head as if uninterested in such matters.

His gaze remained fixed on Vikir.

"Nephew, I\'ve heard your mastery of the six techniques is extraordinary. I won\'t ask how you achieved such skill, but I want to see your abilities clearly in this battle."

"I feel the same. The fourth technique is the one I consider the greatest sword technique. If I didn\'t have the competitive spirit of an artisan, it would be a lie!"

Cu-Chulainn, the commander of the Wolfhound Knights, also kept his eyes fixed on Vikir.

Both experts in their respective techniques, they seemed eager to compare their skills with Vikir\'s in this opportunity.

Their tightly coiled muscles bulged, and their sinews pulsed with power, ready to spring into action at any moment like tightly wound rubber bands.

In this tense atmosphere, Vikir pulled something out from his robe.

It was a red whistle, the symbol of the Baskerville family\'s command.

…! …! …!

As the sharp whistle sound pierced the dry sky,

Bang!

Countless war dogs of the Baskerville Clan launched forward.

Black shadows raced through the dust, an image starkly different from a gentle breeze blowing through a barley field.

The final battle had begun.