Iron Blooded Hound

The seven leaders gathered in the VVIP room were all sharp and ruthless.

The Montblancs, Pierres, Louis Vuittons, Chanels, Ferragamos, Hermeses, and Pradas, all influential families of the province, had lived unnoticed by anyone but the Baskervilles.

Even the Baskervilles, swayed by their wealth and public sentiment, had become friends with them.

Life had never favored them before, so they expected it would be the same this time.

Sure, I had been a little mischievous this time.

... but.

This time, the situation was different.

A shower of glass and champagne bubbles descended upon the VVIP room.

The shattered glass and bubbling champagne reflected the bright light of the chandeliers.

The seven leaders of the Seven Families, drenched in the sharp, hot showers, wore shocked expressions.

'Did you just explode the Champagne Tower with a mana resonance?

'Just by touching the table?

'And not from the bottom up, but from the top down?

Each of them had a basic understanding of martial arts, so they could see the absurdity of what Vikir was doing.

To channel mana into an object, make it vibrate with resonance, and then explode it at the right spot was not something that could be achieved with normal mana ability.

Moreover, the glasses shattered from above, not below.

It would take a master of the technique to shatter the glass on top of the table while the glass on the bottom is still intact.

And the fact that the direction of action is vertical, not horizontal, adds to the difficulty.

This means that you have to manipulate mana strands thinner and finer than microfibers, like limbs.

Ultra-difficult mana manipulation. The realm of the truly skilled.

There is only one thought on everyone's minds.

"Gradient!

Monsters who can slice through stones the size of their fists with their swords and knock down birds in flight with their momentum alone.

I wonder if these leaders, who are barely above the rank of Master, are not some vague, untouchable powerhouse.

"...."

Vikir's face remains expressionless.

However, the dark aura coursing through his shoulders is that of a grim reaper.

If death had a tangible form, wouldn't it look like this?

The leaders, soaked in a shower of champagne, began to shiver.

'He's crazy, he's a 15-year-old kid!

"Man, you're an Intermediate Expert, do something!

"Calm down! You won't last a second!

Amidst all the urgent exchanges of glances, one of the leaders muttered in a dazed voice.

"...That's right, Vikir, I think I've heard of you!"

At that, all eyes snapped to one side.

He spoke in a stuttering tone.

"Vikir van Baskerville. The supernova of House Baskerville! Dived for seven minutes before he was born, strangled two vipers in his cradle, hunted Cerberus at the age of eight, dueled and defeated House Morg's Madness Castle...."

The other leaders' faces change as if they've just heard some crazy urban legend.

But... But what if they were really true?

The gazes of the leaders now turn to Vikir again.

The symbol of the Gradient, the liquid aura.

Unless the urban legends are true, there's no way to explain the deathly aura that radiates from Vikir's entire body.

My God, what other 15-year-old kid in the world is already a Gradient at that age!

Even in Baskerville, the home of geniuses, this has never happened before.

Perhaps the same could be said for the Coliseum, the Imperial Academy, or even the entire Yellow City.

In the end, the leaders could only smile awkwardly and say something.

"We tried to pay for the ...."

I wonder if they realize that the grim smile they've always seen etched on other people's faces is now etched on their own?

Meanwhile. Vikir, hearing this, replied casually.

"Of course you will pay for the liquor you have consumed."

Hearing this, the seven leaders closed their mouths in disbelief.

"Oh, by the way. We haven't eaten yet.

He had inadvertently given away his plan to embarrass them.

Still, since I hadn't met Meg yet, I thought I could make a good excuse and get away with it.

... If only it weren't for Vikir.

He's only 15 years old, but his soul is already worn out.

Vikir saw right through what the seven leaders were trying to do.

"What, you're going to play with me and then blame me for the cost of your drinks?"

The seven leaders jumped and shook their heads at Vikir's question, which seemed to pierce their veins like a ghost.

"That, that would be impossible!"

"Who would do such an unscrupulous thing!"

"How dare anyone from the Baskerville family ask us to...."

The seven leaders felt.

The other party wasn't just strong in combat power. Their minds were also unstoppable.

In the end, they lowered their tails.

They had been arrogant enough to think that Baskerville was their dog, but now that they stood in front of Vikir, they could no longer afford to be so ruthless.

Apparently, the Baskervilles' hounds are not easily baked or boiled.

But a certain amount of pride, built up over the years as the second generation of the local holding family, has allowed them to save some dignity for last.

"Actually, we wanted to test you, Deputy Magistrate."

The Leaders composed themselves and spoke in a polite manner.

Vikir remained expressionless.

Taking the silence to mean 'let's hear it', the Leaders relaxed and continued in a polite tone.

"Honestly, Underdog City is quite corrupt, isn't it?"

"If you're going to purify a city like this, you shouldn't be able to resist such a temptation."

"You are indeed worthy to lead us, I will follow."

"Oh, let me take this great spirit as a lesson for the rest of my life!"

"I will express it to you today, in such a way that you will not be disappointed later."

They bowed once more to Vikir, and spoke in earnest voices.

Some of them even winked at Vikir in an attempt to appear casual.

And then.

"...."

One corner of Vikir's mouth slowly lifted.

A smile.

This small change completely changed the mood of the room.

Just a moment ago, it had been a creepy, graveyard atmosphere.

And that alone had been enough to terrify the Seven Leaders.

But now?

An almost maddening sense of gravity.

A suffocating pressure began to weigh down on the seven leaders, as if they were being buried alive in an earthen tomb.

Unable to breathe properly, they began to shiver, the smiles on their faces completely lost.

Vikir walked slowly to the front of the seven leaders, who were now cowering like frogs in a snake's stomach.

"A master can test his dog as much as he likes."

"...."

"But not the other way round. A dog can never test his master, under any circumstances."

It was a moment that reminded her of Hugo's teaching from long ago.

Vikir paced slowly in front of the frozen leaders.

"You have all this money and power, so you're not afraid, are

you?" he asked.

Unsurprisingly, there was no reply.

Vikir continued.

"It's just that I've never seen anything really scary."

So how dare you pretend to be expected, to be gentle, to be relaxed.

And the price of that "pretence" was heavy.

Vikir pulled a flimsy stick from his arm.

It was the very same stake that had won the girl a prize of ten billion not long ago.

...Billion!

A dull noise.

The stake bent for a moment, then flew out at a tremendous speed, smashing the face of the leader in front of her into a bloody mess.

The blow came from nowhere, with no end in sight.

Teeth gnashing, spittle, blood, and tears snorting.

In the time it took him to blink three times, Vikir struck him seven times across the face, head, neck, and shoulders, and then did the same to the others.

The next thing you know, they're all sprawled flat on the floor of the VVIP room.

Puck! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

Vikir didn't stop beating them for a long time after that.

"Do you know why you were beaten?"

"Ew! I don't know! I don't know! Why are you hitting me all of a sudden?"

"If you don't know, you must be beaten."

Vikir swung the stake in a nonchalant tone.

Looking at his expressionless face, the leaders thought he might actually die at this rate.

"Oh, I know, ugh, I think I know why you're hitting me!"

The dogs begged desperately through their busted lips, torn tongues, and broken teeth.

They pleaded with their torn lips, torn tongues, broken teeth, and the red blood that gushed like a fountain from every inch of their heads.

But the owner remained unimpressed.

"Sweeten the deal."

Vikir's flogging doesn't stop at the red light.

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