Iron Blooded Hound

Vikir examined his body and realized that he had no mana and was extremely weak. He also noticed that he had lost all the auras he had accumulated from his countless battles. He wondered if he had fallen into hell, but quickly realized that this place was even more desolate than hell itself.

It was the Baskeville family, a place where even hell would seem more welcoming. Vikir, who had spent the past 30 years as a hunting dog in this place, couldn't believe that he didn't recognize the atmosphere. The smell of blood, pus, and death filled the air. He had a feeling that he had been transported back to the time when he was just born.

He wondered what he should do now, but as a newborn baby, there wasn't much he could do besides turning over and signaling for food.

Just as he was contemplating his situation, he heard a familiar voice.

It was Hugo

Hugo Les Baskevilles,

the patriarch of the Baskevilles, standing in the nursery.

Vikir wanted to bow out of habit,

but he couldn't because of his infant body.

He clenched his teeth upon seeing the person who had executed him,

but since he didn't have teeth yet, there was no sound. He told himself to calm down.

In the past, in order to gain acceptance from his father and escape the shame of being an illegitimate child, he had to become a member of the Baskeville family. However, no matter what he did, he couldn't shake off the stigma of inferior blood.

He wanted to live a different life. He didn't want to end up like a hound being boiled if the rabbit disappeared.

And then, an opportunity arose that strengthened Vikir's determination even more.

"Move the children to the 'cradle of the sword'," I heard Hugo say.

As the nanny took the children away, Vikir's mind raced.

"Is this the first rite of passage?"

The Cradle of Swords was a journey to the River Styx, located near a small hill.

When they passed through the maze made of swords and dived into the River Styx, the Baskeville children would be reborn as warriors.

However, the blessing of the River Styx did not grant equal strength to everyone.

The weak would perish, while the strong would survive.

The strong would receive more than the weak.

The Baskeville children had to escape the cradle of swords as quickly as possible and dive into the River Styx.

You must immerse yourself in the river as quickly and for as long as possible to gain an advantage over your siblings.

So Vikir swiftly moved when he was thrown into the center of the cradle of swords.

...Bck!

He skillfully wielded the blade with his gentle hands.

It is said that children from prestigious families acquire things that will benefit them in the future, but children from the Baskeville family must grasp the blades that pose a threat to their future from their very first birthday.

Spit- Pot- Jjik- Jjik-

The blade sliced through his skin.

Each time he forcefully maneuvered between the blades, a searing pain surged through his entire body.

But it didn't matter.

This level of pain had become familiar to him after living as a hunting dog for several decades.

"Moreover, the deeper the wound, the better, so that the water of the Styx can penetrate the body more effectively."

Vikir was well-versed in all the secrets, legends, myths, and ghost stories of the Baskevilles.

That's why he knew how to make the most of the River Styx.

Eonggeum... Eonggeum... Eonggeum...

The child's tender body was guided to hell by the hound's hardened soul.

The blood flowing from his body and descending the ramp indicated the direct path and the shortest distance to move forward.

Vikir kept crawling while blood continued to flow from his wounds.

Finally, he arrived at the sacred ground of the Baskevilles.

The River Styx flowed through the swamp.

Being in this place made his body as strong as steel and his soul incredibly resilient.

He threw himself into the river, curling up in a ball.

With a splash!

The water was scalding, feeling like boiling iron.

It was so hot that it steamed up. Despite the excruciating pain from his numerous wounds, Vikir endured.

He waited as the Styx water seeped into his cuts and injuries.

Tsutsutsutsutsu...

His body began to transform.

The water of the Styx was changing him drastically, from one to ten.

"This is amazing," Vikir thought, surprised by the incredible transformation his body was undergoing.

The previous body was tough and seasoned, but small and thin compared to others.

Weak bones limited muscle attachment, and narrow mana paths restricted aura growth.

His brothers were different. Tall, thick bones, and wide mana veins.

Different in talent, quality, and starting point.

In his past life, Vikir almost always finished last in the Tower of Swords.

He couldn't fully enjoy the river Styx's effects.

His brothers had already absorbed that power.

As an illegitimate child with poor talent, he always ranked last.

While others had the best, he had scraps, dirty clothes, and slept in dirty places.

His achievements were taken by his brothers.

The same happened in the war with demons.

No matter how many he killed, the credit went to his father or brothers.

Little to no reward.

He had to kill demons, his father's enemies, and humans.

Spying, assassinating, espionage, ambushing, and intimidating the seven families, he raised Baskeville to the top.

The result? Execution.

Once the rabbit's gone, the hunting dog's no longer needed.

Accused of conspiring with demons, Vikir bore Hugo's sins and paid with his life.

His only crime? Knowing too much.

Vikir gritted his teeth, feeling them clash as they grew.

The Styx's water surged in, thickening bones, toughening flesh, and widening his mana reservoir.

Despite the burning pain, he drank, intent on fortifying his organs.

He recalled a Baskeville legend.

"Long ago, there was an invincible warrior, right?"

This swordsman remained unscathed until a poisoned arrow hit his heel, ending him.

The reason? As a baby, his nurse missed his ankles when dipping him in the Styx, leaving a vulnerable spot.

"It shouldn't have that kind of piece."

Vikir tried his hardest to move around in the river.

He twisted his body as much as he could, making sure every part of him touched the water.

Meanwhile, the wound kept opening up, but it was actually helping.

Because the water could seep into his body well.

Bubbling, bubbling...

The blood drained out and his body started to go numb.

He was running out of breath and wanted to reach the surface as quickly as possible.

But he couldn't.

The River Styx never accepts a child once it has left its embrace.

If only his head was above water, then at least his head wouldn't be in danger.

So Vikir desperately held onto a stone in the river.

He continued to move his arm so that the river water could touch the palm holding the stone.

At that moment,

I could hear faint voices in my ears.

"Young master! You need to come out!"

"If you stay submerged any longer, you'll die!"

"Oh my god! He might die like this!"

"Quick! We have to rescue him!"

It seemed like there was commotion from above. Well, that was to be expected.

Excessive greed becomes poison. It's good to strengthen the body, but it shouldn't suffocate and kill.

Even so,

"Son, come up now."

I could also hear the voice of Hugo Le Baskeville.

But that voice only fueled Vikir's anger.

Swoosh-

Vikir stood up.

But he didn't just stand up.

Gulp, gulp, gulp, gulp-

He drank the water of the River Styx in his mouth, until the very end.

And then,

"Phew-"

As soon as he emerged, he took in the air to his heart's content.

Vikir opened his mouth wide to breathe.

Seeing him, Hugo Les Baskevilles smiled brightly, which was rare.

"Hahaha, look at this guy! Didn't your teeth grow back then!"

Fangs were exposed as the hounds boiled in the bubbling water.

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