The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 256: Sword Tomb (2)

Crackle –

The old piece of parchment, dried to a crisp after being buried in salt, unfolded before Vikir’s eyes. Familiar handwriting adorned its surface.

“To dear C” – From your Brother Hugo.

Vikir first checked the sender of the letter. As expected, it was Hugo le Baskerville. The seal of the letter indicated that it was meant to be a highest-level military secret, handled only by the head of the family.

However, there was something peculiar.

“…C? And a Brother?” Vikir muttered to himself. Hugo was undoubtedly the eldest son of the Baskerville Clan. Was there anyone else worthy of being called an older brother?

That was a rare occurrence within and beyond the family.

At that moment, Vikir recalled something Hugo had said in the past.

“Age does make everything taste better, you know.”

“Hehehe. True. Even this old man worked hard to become the head of the family when he ascended to the position.”

It was part of a conversation Vikir had with Hugo, when he dealt with the triplets.

Initially, Vikir had questioned whether being the eldest son was something to strive for. But now, he understood.

Hugo, not the eldest son by birth, had ruthlessly killed or subdued his older brothers in a power struggle and ascended to the position of family head. In other words, he had become the eldest son through circumstances.

‘But still? Hugo had someone whom he humbly called brother?’

Vikir pondered while recalling memories from before the regression, then proceeded to read the full contents of the letter.

“I am pleased to inform you that my 15-year-old son has recently returned after surviving alone for two years in the Red and Black Mountains. I plan to arrange a modest dinner, and if conditions allow, please attend to brighten the occasion. It has been a long time since we last met. The return of my brother with the greatest strength among the seven Counts will undoubtedly bring great power to the family. I look forward to your reply.”

In essence, the letter was an invitation to Vikir’s feast, when he returned from the mountains.

Vikir rubbed his chin after reading the letter. It wasn’t as old as he had thought, and Hugo presenting himself in such a formal manner was a first.

Finally, Vikir speculated on who the recipient of the letter, “C,” could be.

“C. And the Count… Seven Counts…”

In the Baskerville Clan, there were only seven Counts who spent their lives in constant battle.

In common parlance, they were referred to as the “Seven Counts.”

The Seven Counts was an ancient title, that existed since the chaotic era known as the Warring States period, even before the establishment of the Loc Empire.

Back then, kings were mere lords, and the current empire had unified them into one empire and seven great clans.

For instance, the Baskerville Clan managed the tribes at the western front, and the wandering tribes of the seas were overseen by Donquixote clan.

One Clan, one nation.

An era where a single clan could play the role of an entire kingdom.

It was a time when everything gradually consolidated into one empire and seven great clans during the chaotic period of unification.

In fact, that was the heyday of the Seven Counts system.

The Counts could deploy the family’s military without the family head’s permission, engaging in battles across the western front.

Vikir realized who the recipient of the letter, “C,” and the title “Count” referred to.

“C…”

Monsters, savages, and other families—all feared the mad fangs of the Seven Counts that led to the golden age of the Baskerville Clan.

However, after the empire unified the continent, the vast-scale battlefields disappeared.

Local skirmishes continued, but the chaos of massive scale, where someone’s entire bloodline vanished and dozens of castles collapsed in a day, ceased to exist.

As the era of warlords waned, naturally, the influence of the Seven Counts also diminished. Occasionally, the elderly of the Baskerville family, members of the Council of Elders, reminisced about the “Seven Counts of that time.”

The chaotic era, where the seven counts, who dashed recklessly into the battlefield without caring for anyone’s opinion, their freedom, and their romance, disappeared when the age of warlords faded.

According to them, the current politicians engrossed in political strife were not worthy of being called Seven Counts.

“Indeed, back then, the authority and power of the Counts were as strong as the family head.”

Vikir recalled the past events. When Vikir returned to the Baskerville Clan after his stay with Ballak,

Hugo was delighted and hosted a grand feast. The ones invited at that time were the current Counts, the commanders with the next strongest authority after the family head and the young lord.

They were:

Isabella le Baskerville, the commander of the Doberman Knights;

German le Baskerville, the commander of the Shepherd Knights;

Metzgerhund le Baskerville, the commander of the Rottweiler Knights;

Cu-Chulainn le Baskerville, the commander of the Wolfhound Knights;

Boston Terrier le Baskerville, the commander of the Pit Bull Knights;

and Great Dane le Baskerville, the commander of the Mastiff Knights.

Only Boston Terrier, the Pit Bull Knights’ commander, and Great Dane, the Mastiff Knights’ commander, were able to attend the feast due to distance and time constraints.

‘…Later, according to Cindiwendy, it was said that six Counts had hoped to attend the feast at that time.’

Indeed, when Vikir returned from the Red and Black mountains, there were only six of the Seven Counts who wanted to attend the Great Banquet, not all of them.

That’s because one of the seven counts had disappeared from this world.

Contact had been lost for a long time, and despite numerous letters and messengers sent by the Baskerville family, there was no response. Even those who went to deliver the letters failed to return. So, in reality, there were only six Counts.

‘…The Count whose contact was lost. He must be the one mentioned in the letter.’

Vikir could now clearly identify the figure indicated by the letter—the one Hugo referred to as “C.” He was the only person among the current Counts who had a name among the old Counts.

In the tumultuous times of the era of warlords, he was the true veteran Count who had experienced the chaos.

Even Hugo, who killed all his older brothers and ascended to the family head, couldn’t manage to deal with him till the end.

That person was none other than “Cane Corso le Baskerville.”

* * *

Vikir could clearly understand why the unnamed Pit Bull had died while delivering the letter.

Whirrrr—

A dreadful storm enveloped the entire desert. The white salt grains, twisted by the wind, acted like gigantic ramparts, sweeping and engulfing everything in their path. In the extreme dryness, anything that came into contact with the air had its moisture stolen, becoming dry and brittle, eventually eroded by sharp grains of sand.

Vikir, wrapped in a black cloak, walked through the storm.

“It’s undoubtedly tough. Even a Graduator would be on the brink of death in these conditions.”

Just enduring this was challenging, and facing a Rank S monster like a Basilisk during it, would likely lead to nothing but accepting death.

Even if someone was a high-tier Graduator.

Kraaak—

A large vulture was flying in the sky.

It was eyeing Vikir, waiting for him to be dried to death by the storm.

However, even the vulture in the open sky couldn’t escape the power of the salt storm.

This giant bird miscalculated its flight and was soon broken, with its neck and wings twisted by the storm, suspended in the air before eventually being petrified by salt.

…Thunk!

The withered mummified corpse of the vulture fell to the ground. Though contorted and broken, it had died even before being struck by the rapidly dehydrating effects.

“…Welp.”

Vikir murmured as he pierced through the edge of the storm.

He was barely surviving, thanks to the enhanced body from the Styx River blessing and the regenerative power of the fog lizard.

…How much time had passed?

Upon penetrating the salt storm, he saw something unfamiliar in the once radiant salt field.

A tower. A crimson tower.

That was the only way to describe the bizarre and eerie structure. It looked like a spear protruding from the ground, simultaneously bathed in the black of the night sky and the crimson of blood.

The material forming the wall was an indiscernible cold metal, and the height was unimaginable. The only certain thing was that high-level spatial distortion magic was applied inside the tower, far beyond what was applied in the Mage tower.

“…This really existed.”

Vikir, for sure, had seen this tower before—not with his naked eyes, but during his childhood, just for a moment, during his early education in the “Cradle of Blades,”

It was a fictional existence, often mentioned on a corner page of the textbooks when studying the family mythology of the Baskerville. However, now it was standing here, real and tangible.

“…!”

Eventually, upon reaching the tower, Vikir found words engraved with a crude knife on what seemed to be the entrance.

‘Sword Tomb’

From cradle to tomb.

Certainly, it must signify someone’s end.

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