The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

The source of this c𝐨ntent is 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝘯𝘰𝘷ℯ𝘭.𝑐𝘰𝑚

It's been a long time since I've been in Hugo's office, and it still smells cold and dingy.

Dust from old books, stale cigarette smoke, stale coffee, and a faint scent of blood.

Like a seasoned hound, Vikir reads the atmosphere through scent.

Then a middle-aged man sitting behind the desk, in a swivel chair, staring out the window, turned and faced Vikir.

Hugo Les Baskerville.

The iron-blooded patriarch of House Baskerville.

His face bore a slight resemblance to the face of Hugo in Vikir's last memory before his regression.

Suddenly. Vikir noticed a single, relatively recent scar across the bridge of Hugo's nose.

It had been there before the regression, but Vikir had no idea how it had come to be, and his eyes lit up.

"Greetings."

"Mm."

Hugo answered briefly, then nodded.

Vikir continued his casual conversation in a nonchalant tone.

When Vikir asked about the scar on the bridge of his nose, Hugo shrugged it off as nothing.

"I was struck by an arrow while slaying the enemy and the barbarians of the Black Mountains."

Vikir was a little surprised.

The mighty Hugo Baskerville could be wounded by an arrow.

There was no way a man of Hugo's stature as a Swordmaster could have been struck by a blind arrow; there must have been a sniper targeting him.

Hugo smirked.

"There's a woman who can shoot a bow."

"Did you catch her?"

"No, I didn't. But I did carve one of those same things into the fox thing's face."

A swordsman of Hugo's caliber would have been able to scatter the aura of the blade's tip to intercept even the most distant foe. freewebno(v)el.com

Hugo touched the bridge of his nose for a moment, feeling the scar across the bridge of his nose still throbbing.

He paused for a moment, then spoke.

"Anyway. Congratulations on completing your training."

"Thank you."

"From now on, it's harder."

At Hugo's words, Vikir nodded.

As Guardian Knight Staffordshire Baskerville had told her at the end of her training, the real work begins now.

Three and a half years of basic training to learn the theory of warfare, build physical strength, and develop an eye for opposition.

Another three and a half years of practical training, including combat training against real demons and humans, and wilderness survival skills.

But the enemies they're about to face, and the deep waters of the Black Mountains, are a hell that will negate everything they've learned about survival.

You can only survive if you have a good bloodline, or if you are willing to die for it.

'For the next twenty-one months, we'll be working with the enemy to open up the Black Mountains.

Vikir thought as he recalled his pre-regression memories.

If things had gone according to plan, he would have become an apprentice knight of the Pit Bull Knights at this point and been sent to the Red and Black Mountains, crossing countless lines of fire over the next 21 months.

He would have been thrown into the fray like a hunting dog to be used a few times and then discarded.

... But.

Hugo has a rather unexpected proposal for Vikir.

"You should be a member of the House of Representatives."

It was a surprise indeed.

Hugo would train Vikir in the ways of the court.

Of course, the Baskervilles are a family of seasoned warriors, so being a bard doesn't mean you can't fight.

However, it is not uncommon for younger Baskervillians, especially those who are particularly gifted and skilled, to take the path of an unaffiliated warrior after serving as an officer.

Hugo's nemesis and second son were on the same path.

"A man must be strong. As with the sword, so with power."

Vikir nodded at Hugo's words.

While the other expendables were dying on the battlefield, the elites were learning about politics and administration, both within the family and outside.

And when an elderly elite finally draws his sword and goes into battle, he'll have the seasoned expendables to assist him.

The elite may start out a bit late, but he or she will build up his or her skills and accomplishments, and grow into an even bigger giant with the political and administrative experience he or she has learned.

'...And only the elite can learn more than the Baskerville Five.'

This is why consumables are not taught higher level swordsmanship beyond Baskerville 5.

It's so that the elites, who are late to the game, can catch up to the expendable hounds with little effort.

It's the same reason why the higher-ups in the country don't teach the people to write.

"As you say."

Vikir bowed respectfully.

He'd meant to move away from Hugo's side, but instead he'd grown closer.

It didn't matter much, though, as he hadn't yet shown much in the way of hidden skills, and this was good for Vikir in more ways than one, as it allowed him to get closer to the center of power.

Hugo explained Vikir's new position as an MP simply.

"The House of Representatives assists the Baskervilles in the executive, legislative, and judicial branches of the House of Baskerville's territory, as well as attracting business for the House and running the affairs of the House, in short."

Successful House members are promoted to Senator, which allows them to deal with matters outside of the House, which is not something Vikir is currently interested in.

Drac-

Hugo opened a drawer and pulled out a few papers.

Deacon Barrymore quickly stood beside him with his seal and sigil.

"Your new position is Deputy Magistrate of the City of Underdog."

Underdog City, Vikir knew well.

The busiest town in the vast territory ruled by the Baskervilles. No, it was more of a metropolis than a town.

The Archon is the one who oversees the legislative and judicial affairs of the city, and the Deputy Archon is responsible for assisting the Archon in various ways.

Vikir looked at his appointment letter and said.

"So it's about making and enforcing laws."

"Yes, and there are currently vacancies for both the Archon and Deputy Archon positions."

There was a reason why the positions of one magistrate and several deputy magistrates were all vacant.

Originally, Underdog City's ruler was Hugo's second son, and the second son's relatives who took the Baskerville surname were the deputy rulers.

But now Hugo's second son was long gone, and the deputy magistrates who were supposed to take his place had been fired or suspended en masse for bribery.

And Hugo intends to hand over all the powers and duties of those vacant posts to Vikir.

"It's a city that's become a state-free zone. Can you do a good job?"

Vikir nodded.

Deputy magistracies are usually held by men in their thirties, but occasionally a prodigy, a genius among geniuses, will hold the position in their early twenties.

And it was likely that these young elites would one day take on important positions representing their families.

'... For example, they would be admitted to the Academy.'

And after four years of studying at the academy, they would return to the family and immediately become a magistrate.

An elite course for the elite.

What Hugo proposed to Vikir was an equally unconventional appointment.

"I think you're giving me too much power."

"And a great deal of responsibility."

Hugo said with a dry laugh.

"Your achievements are at least ten years ahead of the children who are considered geniuses within the family, so I will treat you accordingly."

Treatment includes both rights and duties.

The greater the power, the heavier the duty.

Or, to put it another way, the heavier the task, the greater the power.

"I will endeavor to live up to my lord's expectations."

Hugo nodded wordlessly.

And then.

...the land!

A piece of paper was stamped with Hugo's seal.

With that, Vikir became the deputy magistrate, the de facto magistrate, of a metropolitan underdog with a population of half a million.

'This is good.

Vikir thought.

'If I use the power of the Deputy Magistrate well, I can train my skills much more safely than if I go straight into the fray.

His hidden teeth and claws would be sharpened.

And then. Vikir opened his mouth.

"My lord."

"...?"

Hugo looked up.

There was a glimmer of warmth in his eyes that had been absent since the end of the mission.

Vikir seized on the threadbare warmth.

"I'd like to tell you about the ruby mine in Morgawa."

Seven years ago, an eight-year-old Vikir had done something daring against Morg's envoys that had made Hugo's stomach turn.

Hugo had been so pleased that he had promised Vikir a reward, though he hadn't asked for exactly what it was.

And now, Vikir was asking for a reward for his behavior in a very clear way.

"I was wondering if I could borrow ...."

Hugo looked a little troubled at that.

"Hmmm. Yes, I did, and I made it clear then that I would reward you. You said you'd tell me if you wanted something."

"You don't have to listen if you don't want to."

Hugo's thick eyebrows arched at that.

"It won't be difficult."

He nodded, then pulled another piece of paper from a drawer and stamped it with his lordship's seal.

"I trust you won't do anything stupid. Son."

No matter how many times I hear him say "son," I never get used to it.

And in truth, Vikir was more surprised by Hugo's willingness to grant his request than by the title.

"I would never have dared to ask you for a favor before ....

Perhaps things will go more smoothly than I thought.

* * *

Stepping out of the guest room, Vikir walked down the long hallway.

Behind him, Deacon Barrymore smiled gently.

"Master."

"Yes."

"My lord is very fond of you."

Vikir remained silent, not saying anything.

Then Deacon Barrymore spoke.

"I can see that you're not going to put him in the field right away, but you're going to give him the position of de facto ruler. Isn't that the art of imperialism? You're going to use him big and heavy."

Literally, if you're going to raise a hound to be used and discarded, you should send it out into the battlefield right now to die.

While the hounds are seasoned by their encounters with death, their would-be masters are armed with ideas and knowledge from a safe place.

And from this foothold, the hounds leap to the heights of the untouchable.

In the end, the lower life cannot overcome the higher, even if it dies and rebirths. Neither by words nor by martial arts.

It's a bitter pill to swallow for Vikir, who is feeling it all over again.

"That's if I do a good job as Deputy Magistrate."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine, Master, and if you do anything more than passably well there, you'll be the next one to enter the Academy."

Deacon Barrymore had noticed that Vikir was interested in the Academy as well.

... although he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

Meanwhile.

Vikir's mind was racing with the policies and exploits of the famous bureaucrats he had seen and heard about before his regression.

The letter of appointment to the position of Deputy Magistrate, stamped with the seal of Hugo le Baskerville, Lord of Ironblooded Baskerville, slipped deep into the pocket of Vikir's arm.

"You'll have to prove yourself quickly."

There were many ways to prove oneself and move up the ranks in a short period of time.

Vikir chose the quickest and most obvious one.