Iron Blooded Hound

"So. Did you have a terrible day?"

Hugo Les Baskerville.

He summoned Vikir to his office as he emerged from his review.

He had adjusted his schedule to be free from waiting for Vikir's arrival, and he was clearly looking forward to it.

Aside from his first and second children, Vikir had never seen him care so much about his offspring.

But, that's no good reason to get out of hand or panic. The old Vikir had been nearly as old as Hugo is now.

"A tad."

"Ho-ho."

Hugo's eyes lit up.

He had only been in the library for a day, and he couldn't realistically have acquired anything.

Most of the other Baskervilles his age are just starting to dive into mana and haven't even had a chance to play a real game yet.

Under such circumstances, what could a child of just eight years old possibly get out of seeing a high-level sword book?

Yet, Hugo looked at the child before him, whose birth he didn't know, with an unexplained sense of anticipation that even he didn't know the source of.

"What did you feel and figure out in the library?"

"... It was, um... ... warm, and... ... sharp, and... ... sharp, and... ... soft, and... ... soft? Something like that?"

"...."

Hugo ran a hand through his hair briefly.

A child's response is always hard to understand.

But, could it ever be the instinct of a master? Hugo suddenly grasped something in Vikir's string of words.

"...No way."

Hugo shook his head weakly, even as he murmured to himself.

Aura.

A sign that one had truly entered the realm of blades.

A realm that no ordinary fighter could enter, not even in death.

A level that even the prodigies of Ironblade Baskerville could reach at fifteen years old through relentless training.

That is the realm of the 'Sword Master Fledgling'.

Hugo glanced again.

A child of just eight years old. What was he expecting now?

But.

Hugo couldn't take his eyes off his son's ethereal face before him.

What if.

The anticipation of what might be made Hugo restless and compelled him to open his mouth.

" ... ... Could you ever show this father what it is?"

All people in Baskerville are hesitant to reveal their true ability to each other.

It's almost instinctive, even among parents and siblings.

That's why Hugo adopts a cautious tone, even when dealing with his 8-year-old son.

But, Hugo's concerns are dispelled with such ease by Vikir's cheerful response.

"Of course."

Baskerville Road's exhibition hall.

A young child stands alone in the center of this vast open plain, surrounded by a crowd of people.

Vikir's eyes are closed as he holds a short sword long enough to match his size.

When Hugo decides to test Vikir's level, a crowd of people rushes to the stage to watch the demonstration.

"Did he say he was submerged for eight minutes in the Styx?"

"Yes, he choked two venomous snakes in their cribs."

"And for this practical, he's captured a Cerberus."

Surprisingly, Hugo didn't stop the spectators.

He just stares at Vikir in the center of the stage.

Steward Barrymore, standing next to Hugo, inquired.

"My lord. How do you intend to test the Expert's abilities?"

" ... ... I intend to pit him against a real beast."

Hugo's tone was deeply cold.

To unleash a beast against a mere eight-year-old.

Next. Vikir's opponent appeared.

The creature brought by the Watcher Knights was a massive, green-skinned beast.

<Orc>

Danger Rating: C

Size: 2 meters

Found in: Adversaries and the Dark Mountains Valley

A species designated as a pseudo-humanoid due to its human-like appearance and intelligence.

Due to their strong bodies, low intelligence, and prolific fertility, they live in groups and are no less dangerous than brutes.

Orc. A demonic creature with combat strength comparable to that of four or five unarmed adult men.

Their entire bodies are made up of lean muscle, and they are areas of strength both naturally and adaptively.

Captured alive by Baskerville, this orc was trained to hate and rage against the entire world, as he had once been a member of a warlike clan.

People around him began to murmur.

"Hmm. Surely, an orc is a bit... ... . for an 8-year-old."

"If it's an orc, you'd have to be at least 15 years old to handle it."

"Well, if there's really any trouble, the guardian knights will step in."

Even if they were Ironblooded Baskervillians, most of them didn't figure out this matchup.

"...."

But, Hugo said nothing, and the match went on.

And then.

...Clang!

The orc was freed from his restraints and released into the center of the field.

Pushed back by the spears and blades of the Guardian Knights, the orc advanced toward the center, drooling, teeth and gums bared.

There stood Vikir, sword in hand.

[Kaaaah!]

The orc charged at Vikir with both hands open.

An eight-year-old child, an easy kill, and it surprised him.

But, Vikir ducked low and dodged the orc's two hands.

It was a skilled move, taking advantage of the difference in weight and height.

"Huh?"

Hugo's eyes widened in amusement. The other Baskervilles' looks were similarly amused.

But, before the surprise could sink in, Vikir moved with his next move.

Bam!

He twirled around, sword in hand.

He may be an 8-year-old child, but he weighs a lot.

Vikir's full weight was on the blade, and it sliced right through the orc's wrist.

[Grrrrr!?]

The orc didn't understand what had happened for a moment.

It's understandable, as the opponent before him suddenly disappeared, and his wrist was severed.

But, before he could comprehend it, the next reality hit him hard.

After cutting off the orc's wrist and sidestepping to his crotch, Vikir proceeded to sever his ankle as well.

Thud!

By the time the orc realizes that his wrists have been severed, his ankles have been cut off and he's fallen to the ground.

A silence falls around them.

Everyone in Baskerville stared wide-eyed.

"... ... He's eight years old?"

"How is that guy really incredible? He looks like an old man."

"I can't fully believe that he can do that without raising his mana. What was I doing at that age... ... ."

The number of people surrounding the exhibition hall grows by the moment.

Even the guardian knights and servants have come to watch.

But.

"...."

Hugo is the only one who remains dumbfounded.

Of course, Vikir noticed Hugo's reaction.

'You haven't shown me what you've uncovered in the library yet, I suppose.'

'How you just dealt with the orc's wrists and ankles was purely physical.'

I haven't even shown you what I learned in the library yet.

And now.

Vikir took a deep breath and flicked his blade gently.

It's a fairly heavy short sword for a child, but in Vikir's hand, it swings like a pup.

As if that weren't impressive enough, Vikir pulled off another astounding move.

...Pow!

The tip of the blade glows faintly.

Everyone in Baskerville, recognizing the nature of the light, gasped as one.

"Emanation Blade!"

The ethereal aura that symbolized the Blade Master.

It was emanating from the tip of Vikir's sword like a ghostly flame.

The strength crackled as if blood was being burned for fuel.

An emblem of the Baskervilles, a concentration of life force.

The orc instinctively recoils in fear and steps back.

He tries to heal the wounds on his wrists and ankles with the orc's unique skill, Quick Recovery.

<Gorge Fly 'Beelzebub'>/Drill

-1 slot: Consume - Cerberus (A+)

-2 slots: Drain - Hellhound (B+)

Slot - 3: Quick Recovery - Norvegicus (F)

Unfortunately, due to the power of Lucifer within Vikir's body, this was impossible.

The Hellhound's Drain ability overpowered the Orc's Quick Recovery skill.

Now the Orc would feel the full human force of the Hellhound's teeth.

Superficial, minor wounds that would normally not bleed will definitely draw blood this time, and will bleed much more than usual.

If you cut your wrist or ankle, it's a guarantee.

Swallow... swallow... swallow... swallow...

The blood on the shortsword slowly disappears.

The Shortsword, infused with the power of Lucifer, thirsted for the Orc's blood like a ravenous lamprey, and the Orc had to offer it up as tribute again and again, unable to resist.

And in that.

Boom!

Vikir's sword swung.

And all those gathered in the hall saw.

A single, gruesome tooth emerging out of thin air.

The first ceremony of Baskerville.

A single 'stabbing tooth' appeared and plunged deep into the nape of the orc's neck.

Naturally, the orc's breathing was immediately cut off.

With the agony of burning in hell.

Vikir displayed the kind of prowess one could expect from a 15-year-old in Baskerville.

Naturally, words were exchanged around him.

"Insane. I didn't feel mana when I was eight."

"I could barely shape a ball of mana in the palm of my hand."

"That kid seems to be a perfect Master Fledgling, holy sh*t, is that even possible?"

Eight years old, when the youngest Blade Master ever was 14.

This was unprecedented even in Baskerville, a realm of blade prodigies.

Steward Barrymore said with a mixture of astonishment and amusement.

"... ... co, congratulations, my lord. An extraordinary genius has emerged, a blessing for the family."

"...Hmm."

Hugo nodded, blank.

But Barrymore looked. The corner of Hugo's mouth, hidden beneath his mustache, twitched upward.

He could never get enough of his son's accolades, so he indulged in a bit more.

"An orc who can fight four or five fully grown men and not be overwhelmed. My God, an eight-year-old killing an orc like that effortlessly. No family in the realm will ever have such a genius in the future... ... "

"Hmph. Enough, steward."

Hugo interrupted Barrymore as if he were a stranger.

Then he opened his mouth with an awkward expression.

"Apparently, the orcs are a bit odd."

"What?"

"Orcs are characterized by great regenerative powers, but that guy just lost a lot of blood. A sudden loss of blood in large amounts definitely dulls them. Was that Vikir fellow's blade poisoned or something?"

"Ah, that's unlikely, just a standard blade was checked and handed over by the Guardian Knights."

"Hmph. Then, the orc must have been weakened a lot."

The man was never one to lightly accept compliments.

But Barrymore smiled faintly and shrugged.

"Whatever. It was indeed the case that Baskerville had an interesting genius on its hands.

A young hero who, at the tender age of eight, had become a perfect Sword Master novice.

While everyone, including Hugo, was quite astonished by this feat.

"Wait a minute."

Vikir captured everyone's attention.

Hugo started to turn away, but stopped and glanced back at Vikir.

Their gazes locked together.

Vikir spoke in a soft tone.

"Is there anything bigger than an orc?"

He asks and backtracks.

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