Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Chapter 472: The Battle for Tochka\'s Annihilation (2)

Amidst the swirling dust, dark shadows flickered.

The hunting hounds of the Baskerville clan charged forward.

But blocking their path were the war dogs of the previous generation.

Clank... Clatter... Rattle...

The skeletal swordsmen of the Baskerville clan marched forward.

With each step they took, the sound of rusty metal clanging, decayed teeth, and jaws colliding reverberated loudly.

Chaaang!

Facing them were Isabella, German, Boston Terrier, Great Dane, Cu-Chulainn, and Metzgerhund. The six counts of Baskerville, each holding their beloved weapons, prepared for battle.

Count Boston Terrier was the first to leap forward.

Count Great Dane followed immediately after.

"Hahaha! Why do these toothless old dogs think they can act like they\'re still in service?"

"…Hey, show some respect. These are our ancestors."

"Exactly! If they\'re dead, they should lie quietly in their graves and wait for offerings!"

The two clashed violently with the poison humans of the Baskerville clan.

Boston Terrier\'s wide, sweeping slashes pushed back a large number of poison humans at once.

His wild, storm-like strikes were erratic and chaotic, but equally destructive.

In contrast, Great Dane\'s slashes were thinner and more precise but highly dense.

One of the massive poison humans, relying solely on his bulk, charged forward but was quickly cut in half by the immense force of Great Dane\'s attack.

Isabella and German then joined the front lines.

"Why don\'t you head over there instead of charging in my direction?"

"Hmph! Trying to hog all the glory for yourself?"

"…With such a difference in numbers, there’s no room for greed."

These two often heard comments that they seem to have their gender roles reversed.

German, with a mix of rivalry and a sense of inferiority, relentlessly tried to catch up to Isabella.

Isabella, true to her nature, moved her sword with extreme efficiency and precision as if placing stones on a Go board.

With minimal movement and aura alone, she had already taken down dozens of poison humans.

German’s swordsmanship, too, was on par with Isabella’s, not allowing her to get ahead.

The poison humans, with strength comparable to hundreds of the regular undead, crumbled like scarecrows before them.

Meanwhile, Metzgerhund and Cu Chulainn stuck close to Vikir, the leader of the special unit, almost as if they were guarding him.

"Show me your Sixth Style! I want to see it!"

"Let\'s settle this with Fourth Style!"

Both of them, filled with pride in their respective sword styles, were bordering on arrogance.

But given their level of mastery, such craftsmanship is only natural.

Whirr—Snap!

Feeling the piercing gazes from behind, Vikir has no choice but to unleash his Sixth Style.

Six fangs mercilessly pierced through the poison humans.

The Sixth Style, honed over countless years in the abyss tree, undoubtedly placed Vikir among the masters.

Bang bang bang!

Of course, the Fourth Style was just as effective.

The four fangs, sharpened through a lifetime of intense battles in his past life, now demonstrated their power in this battle without fail.

The four fangs extended naturally, like breathing, tearing apart the poison humans in front of him.

"…Oh!"

"…Impressive!"

Metzgerhund and Cu-Chulainn were in awe, watching Vikir unleash both the Fourth Style and Sixth Style almost simultaneously.

Their competitive spirits were also ignited by the sight.

Crash—Buzz!

Metzgerhund\'s Sixth Style and Cu Chulainn\'s Fourth Style crushed through the poison humans\' defenses like millstones grinding wheat.

The seven counts broke through the fiercest part of the front line as if it were a deserted land, while the Baskerville clan\'s war dogs steadily closed the distance.

And at the very front of them all was Vikir.

Bang bang bang!

Whenever Vikir raised the cursed sword Beelzebub, it never failed to send a dozen heads flying into the sky.

Whoooosh—

The humid southeast wind swept away the stench of blood from the distant battlefield.

At that moment, something caught Vikir’s eye, far ahead, as he led his special unit through the front lines.

"…!"

Emerging through the red mist and dust were, towering, skeletal giants.

Oooooh…

These were massive poison humans, standing over ten meters tall.

Their immense height was the result of an obsession with maximizing stature, resulting in weakened muscles and skeletal structures. However, their bizarrely elongated arms were long enough to reach the top of Tochka\'s walls.

These giants exuded a red death aura from every pore as they slowly advanced from beyond the front lines.

‘It seems they were specially crafted to breach Tochka\'s high walls.’

‘…If we allow those things to approach the walls, the defense will become much more difficult.’

Although Orca will likely handle them well, it would still be better to minimize the burden on Tochka\'s main defenses, especially since there were refugees to protect there.

‘Fortunately, their weak skeletons make them slow. It’s better to cut them down before they reach the walls.’

Vikir quickly made a decision.

“Special unit! Target those giant poison humans over there first!”

“Yes, sir!”

The seven counts sheathed their swords and redirected their steps without hesitation, following Vikir’s command.

The seven hundred knights under them also followed suit.

Vikir, leading the special unit as they prepared to cross the battlefield, suddenly heard a deflating laugh from beside him.

“Pffft—Where are you off to in such a hurry? Ah, the envy of youth.”

Turning his head, Vikir saw an old man standing atop a jagged rock formation beside him.

It was Marquis Sade. He appeared like a ghost, without a trace of his presence.

Behind him were the Nouvellebag All-Stars, including D’ordume, Souare, Bdissem, Flubber, and Kirko. Even the demonized Sadi was among them.

Vikir asked in a tone tinged with disbelief.

“…What kind of group is this? Are you being arrested?”

“Pffft—Not at all. I borrowed them from that old bastard Orca. It’s better to have a small, elite team for a counterattack.”

Marquis Sade laughed it off casually, even while commanding the very prison guards who once held him captive.

Of course, D\'Ordume and Souare, standing behind Marquis Sade, had completely sour expressions.

Especially Souare, who used to manage Marquis Sade’s solitary confinement. Her expression was quite a sight.

Marquis Sade asked Vikir.

“Anyway, were you heading to the wall?”

“Yes. It’d be troublesome if those big ones reach it.”

“Pffft—You’re quick to judge. And accurate, too.”

The tactical assessment of Marquis Sade and Vikir aligned perfectly.

At that moment, as Marquis Sade turned to leave, his gaze shifted to the six people standing behind Vikir.

"Ho— I was wondering where this fresh bloodlust was coming from, and it turns out you’re the new Seven Counts of the Baskerville clan?"

The six people collectively furrowed their brows at the mention of "fresh."

Boston Terrier, Great Dane, Isabella, German, Metzgerhund, and Cú-Chulainn all directed sharp glares filled with competitive spirit towards Marquis Sade.

"Well, aren\'t you a bit too old to be on the battlefield, senior? You seem more suited to be with those poison humans over there."

"Hey, show some respect to our senior from the previous generation. It must have taken a lot of courage for someone his age to come out of retirement."

"I have nothing to say to you, a war criminal classified by the Empire. Once this civil war is over, I’ll make sure you’re thrown back in prison."

"It\'s disgusting to see prisoners trying to rehabilitate their image. Count yourself lucky, old man."

"Marquis Sade, the old monster from the previous generation, huh? Seems like a good opponent to test my newly refined Sixth Style on."

"…A strong one. I want to fight."

As the Counts prepared for battle, Marquis Sade let out a chuckle.

"Puppies bark the loudest, after all. There’s no one remarkable in this generation of the Baskerville clan. Only that old Cane Corso stood out…"

Just then—

Boom! Boom! Boom!

A series of deafening explosions echoed from the direction of the wall.

"…!"

Both Vikir and Marquis Sade stopped in their tracks as they turned toward the source of the sound.

The towering poison humans, who had been reaching for the ramparts, were suddenly collapsing one after another.

Below them, a dark storm was severing the ankles of the poison humans, protecting the base of the wall.

"Oh-ho—looks like there’s someone pretty capable over there. Who could it be?"

Marquis Sade showed interest as the army that had been cutting through the poison humans began approaching.

Soon, the figure leading the dark storm revealed itself in front of Vikir.

"I heard the sound of the red whistle, but I’m a bit late to the assembly. I don’t want to blame my age, but time is unforgiving… However."

The moment Vikir heard the voice, he couldn’t help but be surprised.

A neatly tailored suit, a distinguished mustache, and a courteous bow.

"…Indeed. You’ve grown up so well, young master."

Standing there was John Barrymore, the head butler.