Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound Chapter 381

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

Chapter 381: The Hound of Nouvellebag (5)

That night was noisy due to a riot caused by a prisoner on level 8.

Numerous guards were injured and taken to the infirmary, while some were stranded in the rugged terrain of the labor camp with injuries, conducting search operations.

Even the uninjured guards ended up hospitalized in droves after complaining of itching and fever symptoms, having been exposed to Sakkuth’s mist of blood. Therefore, an emergency was declared for night duty.

The guards skipped the evening and dawn roll calls and continued their rotating shifts incessantly due to too many vacancies.

“Tch, major must be pissed.”

“Major D’Ordume must have misjudged. Rushing construction like this was not a good idea.”

“Could this all be because of that blue egg found in the Level Ten zone?”

“By the way, is Nouvellebag really a dormant volcano? What if it’s an active one?”

“Well, if it erupts, the whole Nouvellebag prison will be gone. But could that really happen?”

Two guards yawned as they exchanged shifts. Neither of them was originally assigned to this area, but due to vacancies in the duty roster, they had no choice but to take up makeshift shifts.

…And Vikir seized the opportunity that arose then.

Vikir poured the stolen green marker from the guards into a puddle of seawater on the cell floor. The thick ink spread in the water, turning the entire puddle green. He submerged the prisoner uniform he was wearing there. Drip, drip, drip. After several dyes, the prisoner’s uniform was completely dyed green. Although the distinctive black stripes of the prisoner’s uniform were faintly visible, it was difficult to distinguish under the dim lighting of Nouvellebag.

Vikir examined beyond the iron bars and, confirming that the guards were engrossed in other conversations,

He slowly exerted force with his hands.

Snap!

The BDISSEM handcuffs broke off too easily. Vikir felt mana returning to his body and nodded to himself.

‘But how could restraints made of BDISSEM break so easily?’

The exact material making up BDISSEM was unknown. But it seemed clear that Vikir was influenced by the title “Bloodsoaked jade flower lumberjack” he obtained from the Abyss Pool.

Finally, Vikir completely shattered the BDISSEM restraints clinging to his body and even broke the iron bars, then stepped outside.

And he began to walk down the corridor slowly.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

At that moment, a guard who had been on duty ahead spotted Vikir and widened his eyes.

“…Huh? Why is a doctor here?”

He seemed to mistake Vikir for a medical personnel due to the green attire he was wearing.

After all, it was unimaginable to think of someone as a prisoner at this hour, wearing green clothes and wandering around without handcuffs or chains.

Vikir replied casually, “I’m the doctor in charge of disinfection in the Level Nine area. I was conducting a final inspection because ‘Sakkuth’ of Level 8 had splattered blood and saliva everywhere.”

“Oh, really?”

The guard sent a slightly suspicious glance, but it was apparent that he couldn’t fathom the idea that his counterpart might be a prisoner.

“Looking at the duty log from a while ago, there’s no record of your entry…”

“Is that so? It’s been a while since I came in. I got so absorbed in disinfecting that I lost track of time. Have the other team members already left?”

“Haha, you’re quite dedicated. Looking at the earlier duty log, there was indeed a disinfection task listed. It’s recorded that everyone left at that time… but it’s been chaotic lately, so perhaps someone was missed.”

The guard surprisingly smiled satisfactorily at Vikir’s words. Apparently, knowing that he had thoroughly disinfected the area he was guarding made him feel relieved.

“Sure, go ahead. Please make sure not to spread the plague to us.”

“Will do.”

Vikir nodded in greeting to the guard and continued down the corridor.

“…Alright. I’ve smoothly passed stage one.”

The discovery of Poseidon at the epicenter, Major D’Ordume’s guard redeployment, and the riot of the noisy crowd—all three outcomes intertwined seamlessly.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

Walking the corridors of Nouvellebag at this late hour felt exhilarating. The boundless freedom and liberation seemed to elongate Vikir’s limbs by a few centimeters. But that was short-lived. Vikir quietly made his way to a corner of the corridor.

It was where the supplies were kept. A supply warehouse containing uniforms, gear, military boots, weapons, and such for the guards.

“The prisoners’ supplies are meticulously managed, but surprisingly, the guards’ supplies are rather neglected.”

A quartermaster sitting on guard duty in front of the warehouse was lazily flipping through a novel, pages worn out from being turned over hundreds of times.

“‘Worn-out Newbie’… I must’ve read this 200 times already. Ugh, so boring. I want to read the spin-off already.”

Then, something caught the quartermaster’s attention.

Burn marks covering the forehead and face.

It was Vikir, wearing a guard uniform torn and bloodied in places.

[You got balls of steel, huh? Burning your own face. Well, with basilisk’s hyper-regeneration ability, you could heal anytime.]

Muttering incoherently, Decaravia’s voice echoed from Vikir’s chest.

Vikir pretended to feel suffocated, then silenced Dekaravia by punching his chest with a fist.

Then, adjusting his hat low over his face, he spoke up.

“Good evening, quartermaster. I’ve come to see if there’s a spare uniform available.”

“Huh? You got torn up in the riot today too? Quite a few came in with torn uniforms today.”

“Yes. I was stranded under the crevasse in the canyon and just returned. I tried to mend my uniform, but it seems impossible with sewing… ”

“Well, in that case, it might be better to just get a new one. Wait here, I’ll find one for you.”

The quartermaster closed the book he was reading and rummaged through the warehouse.

Eventually, he emerged with a perfectly fitting guard uniform for Vikir, along with military boots, gear, rank insignias, badges, and all accessories.

“What was your name again?”

When the quartermaster asked, Vikir promptly replied.

“Garam Nord, if you please.”

* * *

[Garam Nord] / ◆

A nametag with a diamond and a rank insignia drawn on it.

Vikir pinned the rank insignia to his chest and shoulders. Having observed the guards closely for some time, he could mimic their actions and behavior flawlessly. However…

“This is not the time to wear this yet.”

Vikir put the nametag with ‘Garam Nord’ written on it into his mouth.

It was the moment when a lower-ranked guard named Garam Nord came back into existence.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

From the moment he put on the guard uniform and rank insignia, everything went smoothly. He could pass through doors and corridors that were otherwise off-limits to anyone but guards without raising any suspicion.

Then, a guard called out to Vikir as he walked down the corridor on an ambitious night.

“Hey, there.”

A mid-ranked guard summoned Vikir.

Vikir paused for a moment. Was he suspected because he wasn’t wearing the nametag? But no…

“Do you not see the trash on the floor there? Pick it up and take it away.”

The guard deliberately instructed Vikir to pick up trash closer to him before going his own way.

“Thank goodness. Society tends to value rank over name.”

Humans are the same everywhere. They prioritize rank over a person’s name, deciding whether to show interest, remember the name, or not. In that regard, rank insignias were perfect camouflage to avoid suspicion. No one cared about the name tag of a lower-ranked guard like Garam Nord, so there were no questions about whether he had a nametag, what his face looked like, how tall or short he was, or what impression he made.

Vikir smoothly ascended the central staircase to the 9th, 8th, 7th, and 6th floors, heading towards his final destination on the 5th floor. Just as Vikir was about to leave the 6th floor and open the door to the 5th floor…

“…Garam?”

A voice from behind stopped Vikir in his tracks. For the first time, someone recognized Vikir’s face and physique rather than his rank. Vikir slowly turned his gaze to where the familiar face stood.

It was Kirko Grimm, she stood there with bandages on her arms and legs, leaning on crutches.

“Garam, right? What are you doing here at this hour? You weren’t there during roll call earlier, so where have you been…?”

Suddenly, he was faced with excessive attention.

Vikir briefly pondered inwardly.

‘Do I need to eliminate her?’

However, Vikir wasn’t particularly inclined to do so. Normally, he would have acted without hesitation, but… considering Garam, and remembering Garam’s final wish, it seemed acceptable to overlook this.

‘It’s nothing compared to what will happen on the 5th floor anyway.’

Vikir’s escape plan, painstakingly crafted over a long period, was flawless. And even though it wasn’t apparent now, that woman would undoubtedly be a valuable ally in the future.

“…”

Without responding to Kirko’s call, Vikir simply entered the room.

“Huh? Hey, Garam!”

Kirko was surprised by the unexpected turn of events. It was an unusual attitude from Garam, who usually laughed foolishly whenever she saw him.

“What’s up? Are you heading to another area for patrol?”

Kirko was also on a busy schedule, having just returned from duty, so she didn’t have much time to linger. She gave a slight smile and headed on her way.

“…Well, whatever. I wanted to thank him for the Level 8 riot incident.”

But it was Garam after all, that ‘foolish Garam.’ Kirko soon stopped caring about him. That timid guy wouldn’t cause any trouble wherever he went, even at this ambitious hour. A thank you could wait until they met properly next time.

Thud, thud, thud.

Just like Vikir, Kirkro also gradually melted into the dark corridor. Vikir ascended while Kirko descended.

They each went their separate, opposite paths.

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]