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HEL SCANS
[Translator – Clara]
[Proofreader – Lucky]
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Chapter 353: Outside the Tower (3)
…Thud!
Vikir landed on the ground.
From the tip of his sword, a solid aura still emanated, and at its end, a massive sun was rising. It shone conspicuously in the midst of the Colosseo Academy, illuminating the scene where the Abyss tree had sunk into the abyss, visible to all students, parents, and professors.
Silence fell upon them all. Faced with such surreal and nonsensical spectacle, everyone was left speechless.
Finally breaking the silence, Professor Banshee, the Vice Principal of the Colosseo Academy, barely managed to speak. “V-Vikir? Is that you? H-How do you possess such power…?”
The solid aura unique to a Swordmaster, emanating from Vikir. Professor Banshee, trembling gestured towards the aura with his fingers.
But Banshee neither finished his question nor heard an answer.
Crash!
Gradually, the fragments of the Abyss tree, which had soared high into the sky, began to rain down to the ground. And looming over everyone’s heads was something enormous.
Amdusias!
A corner of Amdusias’s eyes blazed with a fiery yellow, as he shook his mane with fiery glints, perStyleing his threatening postures.
Winston’s physical Style had long since vanished. Vikir, in his original Style rather than him in his Inner world asked Amdusias with a dry voice, “Isn’t it too burdensome to manifest without getting a host? Are you considering self-annihilation?”
[It doesn’t matter! I want to kill you no matter what!]
Amdusias glared at Vikir, his words sharp.
[You are an existence that must not be allowed to live, especially now that the great work is at hand.]
“Are you referring to the Gate?”
[…So you know that too. Then I cannot afford to let you live any longer!]
Amdusias steadied his crumbling body, focusing his magic at the tip of his horn.
Boom!
An aura took the Style of a gigantic horn and shot forth. It aimed not only at Vikir but also at everyone behind him, sweeping them all away.
“Get back, everyone!”
“Lie down on the ground!”
Cerventes and Roderick were the first to react. The two absolute powerhouses, attempted to stop Amdusias.
However.
Before them, a faster, more powerful intervention took place.
…Flash!
Vikir drew beelzebub, lengthening it. Soon, a massive counterattack rose like a tidal wave, confronting Amdusias’s assault.
Crash!
[…!?]
Amdusias recoiled in terror at the much stronger force of Vikir. But it was only natural. Vikir had reached level 100 within the Tower, gained additional stats, acquired talents he was not born with, honed them to the limit until he could no longer grow in the River of time, and regained his original strength upon leaving the Tower. All the powers accumulated within the Tower were added to him, doubling his strength and more.
Gradually, Vikir’s sword began to trace the intricate patterns of complex possibilities.
One fang. Two fang. Three fang, four…
Slowly, the number of fangs emerging increased to seven.
And then, the eighth fang.
Crunch!
It was far larger than any of the seven fangs that had appeared so far.
Baskerville’s Eighth Style. And not just any Eighth Style, but the complete mastery of it.
Everyone who witnessed it felt a breathless shock. Especially Cervantes, Roderick, and Osiris, the Young Patriarch of Baskerville, whose expressions were truly that of sheer astonishment.
“My word! The swordsmanship of the Ironblooded Clan! And it’s the Eighth Style!”
“It’s not just the Eighth Style! It’s the mastery of the Eighth Style! Masterful!”
“…Astounding.”
According to official reports, Hugo Le Baskerville, the head of the Baskerville family, had mastered the Seventh Style, and Osiris, the Young lord, had just reached the early stages of the Seventh Style.
But now, here appeared a user of the flawless Eighth Style, never before heard of in the world, a boy barely nineteen years old!
Whirr!
With the most powerful eighth fang leading the way, a total of eight attacks slowly began to carve a spiral trajectory towards Amdusias’s horn.
And soon enough…
Thunk!
With a loud crash, the horn snapped off and fell apart.
Earth-shattering.
The clouds in the sky were blown away by the pressure, and the ground trembled madly.
Vikir single-handedly fended off the berserk dive of a demon of Demon Lord caliber. And not just any demon, but one known for one-on-one combat to an unprecedented degree!
[Arrrgh! How dare you!]
Amdusias roared with pain, humiliation, and rage at the breaking of his horn.
Crash, crash!
Chains of rocks and trees were scattered in all directions by his frenzied hoofbeats.
“Protect the citizens first!”
“Secure the students!”
Cervantes, Roderick, and Professor Banshee were busy shielding people from falling rocks and other debris.
Meanwhile, Amdusias charged relentlessly with his crumbling body.
Moving so fast that his body was almost on fire with speed.
At the end of his charge stood Vikir.
[I will not yield to mere humans! Especially not in one-on-one combat!]
Amdusias, who was boasted to be the strongest individual combatant, couldn’t accept this defeat.
So, was that why?
Amdusias squeezed out every last bit of his life force and exerted more power than ever before.
His body burned like a shooting star, gradually disintegrating.
Yet, despite everything, Amdusias had only one goal in mind: to kill Vikir.
…However.
“I already know that you excel in one-on-one combat.”
Vikir gracefully stepped back. Despite mastering the Eighth Style, risking his life in a one-on-one battle against Amdusias was burdensome.
Vikir opted for a slightly more certain approach.
“There’s no need to play into your opponent’s strengths.”
If Amdusias specialized in one-on-one combat, there was no need to engage in such a fight.
…Before Vikir could finish his sentence, a voice suddenly interjected from the side.
“Well said, Honey~!”
A familiar face, a girl with a bright smile, was rushing towards them.
Camus. She looked quite worn out, having spent several days here.
“Nice to meet you so soon this time. I guess it’s been a few years for you, huh!”
As soon as Camus burst onto the battlefield, she summoned a wall of fire and iron chains, blocking Amdusias’s path.
Thunk!
Amdusias, halted in his charge, growled in frustration.
[Sere! Y-you dare to betray me!?]
“Look properly. Who tf is Sere? You big mouth.”
[But I could clearly feel Sere’s energy…?]
“If you mix 99.99% water with 0.01% beer, what do you call it? Beer?”
Camus snorted as if she was very pleased with herself.
In fact, the powerful magic she was exuding had once belonged to Sere, but that was no longer the case.
Sere now hung on Camus’s shoulder, greatly diminished, even smaller than a fairy.
She was like Camus’ little servant rather than the equal partnership they once had.
While Decarabia, hanging on Vikir’s chest, chuckled.
[Hahaha! Look at the sorry state of the mighty Sere! What a joke!]
[Why are you laughing?! You’re not even worth the cheap necklaces they sell in the roadside shops…]
[But still, I’m better than you! We’re not master and slave, but equal partners! Hahaha!]
While Decarabia and Sere bickered, Camus completely blocked Amdusias’ charge with her flaming iron chains.
Just then,
“Lord Vikir! I’ll assist you!”
Another voice chimed in.
Dolores. She stood by Vikir’s side with a determined expression, emitting holy power.
The lingering wounds on Vikir’s body vanished, and his mana began to replenish.
Meanwhile, flames flickered in Camus’s eyes as she witnessed Dolores’s action.
“Hey! Who do you think you are, sticking by someone else’s husband all the time since last time!”
“W-What are you talking about? Sticking around!? Who are you to speak so rudely!”
“Since I don’t know your name, just buzz off! Stop messing around with someone else’s fiancé!”
“How insolent! When did you see me…!”
“At the festival!”
“…The festival?”
Dolores’s pupils trembled slightly. Come to think of it, that voice sounded familiar. Dolores’s expression turned to shock.
“Surely you weren’t the necromancer who crashed the festival back then? The Corpse Queen!?”
“…Oops. Uh-”
Camus realized her mistake and momentarily shut her mouth. Dolores also looked at Vikir, seemingly demanding an explanation. But…
“…Now’s not the time for that,”
A voice lightly settled next to Vikir, passing over the heads of Camus and Dolores.
Osiris.
With his black cloak billowing, he faced Amdusias with his red blade extended. Having recently achieved the level of Swordmaster, he lightly tapped the solid aura emanating from the sword’s edge. Then, he turned to Vikir and spoke in a respectful yet firm tone.
“Acting Patriarch. Your orders?”
Osiris’s action of bowing his head lightly, but with utmost courtesy, astonished not only Dolores but also everyone behind them. What a shocking gesture for a figure as significant as the Young lordd of the Ironblooded Clan Baskerville to address a commoner boy in such a manner!
…Moreover, Acting Patriarch?
However, Vikir accepted Osiris’s greeting as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Thud-
Shortly after, Vikir took a step forward towards the looming Amdusias. Camus’ chain mesh seemed as if it might only hold up a little while longer. Amdusias’s body seemed ready to explode as he charged toward this place.
Facing the fiery charge of Amdusias, Vikir spoke briefly towards the angular figure blazing with a fiery aura.
“Hounds! Assemble.”
Simultaneously, something emerged from within Vikir’s embrace.
A fang-shaped wistle.
It emitted a quiet yet profound clang.
The moment it resonated…
Chills…
Everyone within the chamber shivered uncontrollably in an inexplicable coldness. Fluttering…
The sound of a cloak hem billowing came from somewhere.
Flutter, flutter, flutter, flutter, flutter, flutter, flutter…
It wasn’t just one or two.
Shadows wielding black crimson gusts began to reveal themselves one by one atop the walls of the academy. Hunters adorned with droplets of viscous, sticky aura dripping from their elongated blades. They formed groups, each consisting of one hundred gladiators. And there were seven such groups.
Pitbulls. Mastiffs. Dobermans. Shepherds. Rottweilers. Wolfhounds…
Altogether, seven hundred.
Leading them were six counts. They were the mightiest hounds of the Ironblooded sword Clan, spending their lives solely in combat. All six, except for Cane Corse who was guarding the Sword tomb, had gathered here.
The crimson fang whistle symbolizes the entirety of the Ironblooded Sword Clan’s military authority. The token of the Acting Patriarch was handed over by Hugo to Vikir to save Pomeranian from peril.
All the hunting dogs of Baskerville, drawn by that sound, had assembled here.
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HEL SCANS
[Translator – Clara]
[Proofreader – Lucky]
Join our Discord for release updates!
https://discord.com/invite/dbdMDhzWa2
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