Iron Blooded Hound

Chapter 89: Resurrection and Retribution

The blade timberlands of the Red and Dark Mountains are horrendous. Each leaf on each tree is a dangerously sharp edge, and there isn't anything that isn't lethal, from the prickly bark to the roots. Furthermore, presently, amidst this diabolical wilderness, two men were battling for their lives: Vikir and Ahheman. They confronted each other with blades at their hips and bows lashed to their backs. A horde of observers shaped a wide circle around them. However darkened by the thick foliage and plants, the Balak champions with great eyes and ears could see the battle many meters away.

Ahheman gritted his teeth. "You've just been running for two years."

Vikir had just been accustomed to the depths for a considerable length of time. He, then again, was accustomed to managing the landscape, a body that had lived here for almost 70 years. A portion of the more youthful trackers were off by a long shot.

"I'll make you lament picking the wilderness for the Iliad rather than the fields."

Ahheman moved rapidly through the wilderness. He dodged into a tree-pull plant for cover and nocked a bolt to his bow.

"Hooray. Here is a decent one." He hunkered down and tracked down something underneath the roots. It was a huge centipede with a red body and dark legs. He took out a bolt and nocked it in the centipede's head. The centipede's head broke, spilling its venomous cerebrum matter onto the sharpened stone. Ahheman has additionally spread out plants on the ground that are clear and difficult to see, however solid and sufficiently able to slice through. If your rival bounces on one, they're certain to get cut, and assuming they're fortunate, they could try and get their lower leg cut off. He likewise spread dry sand and fallen leaves over the sloppy pit, where the ground is delicate and you will undoubtedly stall out, and dropped a couple of honeycombs, where the savage honey bees are resting, prepared to awaken them without warning. "Simply sit back and watch."

Ahheman held the harmed bolt in his grasp firmly, trusting that Vikir's figure will rise up out of the thick foliage. All of a sudden.

"Who are you hanging tight for?" The virus voice contacts his ears and he freezes. A shiver undulated through his body. He turns his head, scarcely clutching his falling heart, and sees Vikir's bland face approaching behind him.

"How!" How could he get this far without uttering a sound? Be that as it may, Ahheman can't force himself to pose the inquiry without holding back. Vikir has cut the borer in his grasp aside. Hit. Bikir cut through all the lower leg cutting plants that Ahheman had set up. He scrambled in reverse to move away from it, stepped in a puddle of mud he had stowed away, and ultimately depended on his midriff in water, dropping a couple of colonies of bees simultaneously. The destitute wasps vented their annoyance at Ahheman in the mud pit. Vikir discreetly stepped back, while Ahheman thrashed his hands in the mud, attempting to smack the honey bees away. Ahheman barely gets away from death by jumping into the mud for quite a while. Be that as it may, his body was at that point enlarged with honey bee stings.

Meanwhile, Ahheman had quite recently crept out of the mud when Vikir scaled a tree trunk and yawned.

"What on earth!" Ahheman draped the bolt in fight. The centipede toxin had been washed away when he fell into the mud, yet the sharpness of the pointed stone was sufficiently threatening. Boom. The mud on the bowstring takes off every which way. A strong bolt shot upward, focused on Vikir. But. Boom. A red slice flew out, cutting Ahheman's bolt in two. Before he could respond, Vikir evaporated like a phantom and arrived on Ahheman's back. Ahheman's eyes were gouged out, draining plentifully. Vikir's speed was a certain something, yet... ... on the off chance that there was something seriously astounding. "No sound!? Vikir was moving so quick, at this point there was no strong. Clearly, Vikir was moving at a gigantic speed before me, yet I was unable to hear anything. His feet working through the grass, sprinkling through the mud, breaking branches, stepping over stones and logs. These sounds are indiscernible. Or on the other hand assuming they did, they were weak to the point that they were overwhelmed by the humming of grasshoppers around them. "Mu, what stunts are you playing, you jerk!" Ahheman terminated a large number of bolts, yet they simply figured out how to hit a couple of Aman orangutans in the trees. Then, Vikir's enchanted sword, Lucifer, started to let out a dark emanation. The fluid emanation, tacky as honey and rotten with blood, was an indisputable sign of the Graduator's high level. Ahheman was dazed by the degree of quality that even Balak's most prepared veteran fighters couldn't without much of a stretch manifest. 'This youngster was areas of strength for this!' A battling power doesn't match his age by any means. Ahheman was very much anxious to withdraw in reverse. Yet, the dog's six teeth never let go of its prey. Savage, Baskerville. Six snare teeth prowled and jumped out, tearing at Ahheman's whole body. Furthermore, any place the edge's teeth brushed, a burning sting followed. Besides, a hot consuming aggravation generally visited where the teeth of the cutting edge brushed past. The diabolical blazes, apparent just to Bikir's eyes, were consuming straightforwardly into Ahheman's spirit. "Aaaahhhh!" Ahheman shivered in confused torment. It was normal to feel torment when one's tissue is cut by a sword, however the torment from Bikir's sharp edge was strangely extreme. He had been struck by swords, lances, and bolts on many times in his almost seventy years of life, however he had never felt such agony. Maybe he had been cut open with a blazing blade, tissue by tissue, and, surprisingly, presently the flares were consuming his skin, consuming his tissue and fat.

Obviously, the Balak heroes watching the scene knew nothing about any of this, and could screech at the smallest cut, showing their hatred for Ahheman. "Ugh!" Ahheman ultimately dropped the affectation. Honor, pride, custom, absolutely no part of that matters now. Balak's heroes booed as Ahheman escaped in shame, having tested the more youthful fighter first. Woo-woo-woo! The chorale of allegations and scoffs from across the thick foliage caused it to appear as though the whole wilderness was denouncing him. He stepped back irritably and went to fire one more bolt at Vikir. However, he hadn't thought about that. Vikir, as well, had gone through the most recent two years concentrating on toxophilism with Aiyen, and had become a seriously talented bowman. Ping-! A bolt flew in an illustrative bend. ...P

uck! The bolt struck squarely into Ahheman's crotch.

"Ugh!" Ahmed's eyes flew open. He strained his eyes so hard that the tissue around his eyes was torn and tears of blood streamed. Then, grasping his crotch, he fell, and the leaves before him dissipated. Rustle.

Vikir left, his face vacuous. "You desired an oxbear's privates, and presently you deserve it."

Quite a while back, Vikir had requested a decoction of the privates of his pursued prey. Recollecting that it, he chomped his lip until it drained.

"You're playing with me!"

"I didn't intend to, you're not adequate to be my toy."

"Ugh... ... Ugh!"

With that, Ahheman lurched to his feet, dropping the blade and bow in his grasp.

"...!"

Vikir felt things get really ugly. The breeze moved. Dull mana was gathering around them. They snapped forebodingly, merging on a solitary point. The centers of Ahheman's hands!

'...Good. A shaman, I see.

Vikir had been anticipating a stunt at his disposal. The man drew a number with his blood-stained palms and recited a peculiar chant. The following second, a dim current moved throughout the area, reaching out from his hands. Snap, pop, pop! Vikir snapped back as he felt several people going for his lower legs. Amazingly, several figures held him up. They were orangutan remains with decaying tissue and uncovered bones. Ahheman had utilized black magic to restore the bodies of the orangutans he had shot with his bolts before.

"This is how things have been. ... ... Right. Was Ahhemman from the Ornate clan?"

Vikir recalled everything Aiyen had said to him before they had started the Iliad. Ahheman was basically a pariah, yet it diverts out he was from the Rokoko, a clan of shamans. Referred to the locals of Depht as black magic, and to the Realm as a type of dark sorcery, this unusual act of reviving the dead is one of them. It was likewise the specialty of the shamanic Rokoko individuals.

In his scramble, Ahheman raised the newly dead orangutan zombies and skeletons to accompany him.

"Heh... ... heh heh, the Iliad is strange battle, it doesn't mean you need to battle with swords and bows!"

Yet, in the genuineness arranged climate of Balak, Ahheman's way of behaving was disapproved of by a lot of people of the heroes. It appeared to be that while every one of the fighters cared barely at all about spells, he had been steadily contemplating and dominating them all alone.

"Go! Go stop him! Get personal opportunity to recuperate him!"

Ahheman required the orangutans to impede Vikir's way. Orangutans are nearly essentially as tall as people and can gauge as much as 100 kilograms, which ought to be sufficient to delay as meat safeguards. Ahheman suspected as much.

But. "Hmmm. Not quite so great as I naturally suspected."

Vikir stepped his foot, actually sounding disinterested.

"...?"

Ahheman opens his mouth, needing something.

Puh-lease!

Something quiets down in a moment.

A colossal effect thumps him off his feet and onto his back! The effect ripped the skin away from him, broke his spine, and ousted the entirety of his inner organs. Of course, the orangutan remains close to him were likewise decreased to a pool of blood and squashed to the ground in a moment.

Vikir remained back, rather than uttering a sound, not taking action.

"????"

Ahheman looked into, spit trickling from the side of his mouth. Beside the aggravation, he is speechless. His vision flips, and a monster shadow looms over him.

[Grrrr... ... ]

The bulky animal listened up to check whether it could see. An old female oxbear pushes her gigantic forepaws at Ahheman.

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