The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 41

Episode 41 Morg’s United Front (2)

“Farewell, I’ll leave you to your administrative duties!”

Vikir left the city hall of Underdog City with a chihuahua salute.

Leading a single black horse toward the outskirts of the estate, Vikir was followed by another black horse, Phil.

“Good to see you again, Master.”

He was Lord Baskerville of Staffordshire, a knight of the Knights of the Pit Bull.

He’d been in charge of Vikir’s training once, and had stood by his side when they’d taken down an illegal slave auction house.

“How is Uncle Boston Terrier?”

“Yes, he’s still alive, and ever since that day at the slave auction, he’s been urging me to bring Master Vikir into the Pitbull Knights. He’s also insisted that I do the same.”

“What?”

“To never let the Wolfhound Knights take him away from me, never!”

Staffordshire chuckled as he finished.

Vikir nodded in agreement.

They led the servants, supplies, and other entourage that followed them to the Red Awl Mountain on the outskirts of the estate.

As the name suggests, a red mountain juts out steeply from the ground.

At its base was a wide, flat basin that accentuated the mountain’s pointedness.

Here, near the trunk of the great tributary to the Red and Black Mountains, the river is rich in sediment and the land is fertile, and farming is quite profitable.

Crops of sugar cane, cotton, and tobacco were growing, and these were the main products of Baskerville’s estate.

And as you make your way across this vast expanse of farmland, you’ll see strata lined with reddish veins ahead.

Here and there in the seismically fractured sections of the strata is a glint of red light: the ruby veins.

There, men from the Morg family were digging for rubies.

Simple forts of wood and stone rose high above the ground.

From now on, the Baskervilles would have to be vigilant, as the Morg had leased the area to them.

Vikir’s sharp eyes scanned the farmland to the rear and the mining fields to the front.

He didn’t see anything illegal going on.

Just the usual scene of slaves tending and harvesting crops, or digging with pickaxes.

The Morgas hadn’t violated any treaties, either, perhaps because of the Baskervilles’ emissaries.

Staffordshire explained to Vikir in a low voice.

“This mission is nominally an inspection of our lands and goodwill, but…….”

“I know. That it is an outpost for the extermination of the barbarians behind the mountains.”

Otherwise, there would be no reason for Baskerville’s knights to be following so closely behind.

The Baskervilles had entered Morg’s territory, disguised as a routine manor inspection party.

The Morgans, of course, were aware of this.

For some time now, Morg’s armed forces have also been gathering here, disguised as miners.

Now Morg and Baskerville will join forces to crush the barbarians.

The barbarians, unaware that a large force of swordsmen and wizards from both houses has gathered here, will rush in as usual, plundering crops and slaves, and that will be the beginning of the end.

Staffordshire said.

“I hear that there are one deputy and twelve senators from the Light Party in Morgga, and one deputy and nineteen senators from the Dark Party, and it seems that there are other wizards who are not senators.”

“The Morgas have put their money where their mouth is.”

While the Morgas have made this much of a commitment, the Baskervilles have, at best, brought a few dozen lay knights, with Vikir, a member of the House of Representatives.

It didn’t matter, though, because the real elite of the Baskervilles were lying in ambush on the other side of the mountains, and that had also been agreed upon with Morgue.

Vikir was really here to inspect the estate and socialize.

‘Well, if Hugo’s right, it would be nice to be able to examine the ecology of the barbarians.

Soon, the Baskervilles began to traverse the mining district.

Everywhere they looked, they saw coal mines, and they saw palisades, stockades, and watchtowers rising high above them.

Just then.

“Hmm?”

Vikir slowed his horse as he spotted something.

His nose caught the scent of burning.

The smell of meat roasted to the limit and then charred to blackness.

As if on cue, the horses are frightened and hesitate.

Ahead of me, I see something perpendicular to the ground.

It was long and pointed, sprouting vertically from the ground and reaching for the sky.

And in the middle of it was something.

Vikir kicked his hesitant horse in the back and pushed forward.

The identity of the strange sculptures was now clear.

It was a giant skewer of iron.

Only one being could have created such a thing, an iron skewer forged from the trace elements of iron contained in the soil.

“A mage.”

It’s not surprising to see something like this in the grounds of the Morg family, who are known for their mage sect.

However, the things pierced by the skewers and nailed to the ground are quite alien.

Skulls. And charred flesh.

The bodies impaled on the skewers had all been burned to death.

The bodies were mixed and matched, demonic and human alike, and some of them had been burned to the bone, leaving nothing but empty skewers.

Whirling.

With each gust of wind, the skewered corpses crumble into black powder.

…Gross!

A lump of charcoal, unknown to the barbarians or the demons, falls from the skewer and scatters ash on the ground.

“You’ve been warned.”

Staffordshire said, looking up at all the things that had been impaled on the skewer and burned to death.

This must be a warning to the demons and barbarians of Morgoth.

And Vikir already knew of one person who did this.

‘……You must have grown up, then.

Vikir was reminiscing in his mind.

“Who’s there!”

“Stand down!”

“Identify yourself!”

Ankaljin shouts came from the watchtower up ahead.

Vikir looks up and sees three women descending from the top of the watchtower.

Elderly women, treading on thin air as if it were a staircase.

Fiery red hair, dresses out of place in a murderous fortress.

Viktor already knew their identities from his knowledge before the regression.

“Highsis, Middlesis, and Lowsis, triplets of Morgoth.

Sixteen wives of the year.

Each a master of water, grass, and earth magic, and the synergy of the three of them together?

Born on the same day and at the same hour, they were called the Three Flowers of Morgoth.

However, the world called them something different.

Samhwa (??).

It means “three plagues.

Each one of them was said to have an insane personality, and together, they were said to be unstoppable.

They were notorious in Baskerville for their pride and arrogance.

It’s no wonder they’re the ones who ruin the friendly competition every year.

To top it all off, they have strong magical skills that make up for their nasty personalities.

And here they were, the three sisters of Morgoth, guarding the gateway fortress to Morgoth territory.

Vikir stepped forward and spoke.

“We are emissaries of House Baskerville.”

Heisis, at the head of the line, smirks.

“So?”

“So, we’re here to inspect the estate and exchange goodwill. Open the gates of the fortress.”

“Not now. I’ve sent a report to those in charge, so wait.”

The horse said wait, not wait and see.

Vikir asked.

“How long do we have to wait?”

“I don’t know, maybe tomorrow? Ho-ho-ho-”

It was more than a plea, it was an argument.

Vikir’s eyes narrowed.

“In what name are you preventing Baskerville from entering Baskerville’s land? You are arrogant for a tenant.”

“What? You call me a tenant? Don’t you know the Tenant Protection Act? That’s a law of your own making? Don’t you even know your own family’s laws?”

“If that’s the law, I’ve already changed it. I’ve already amended it to allow me to evict true tenants.”

“…….”

Vikir urged his horse forward a little more while Hyssis was speechless.

“I am the deputy magistrate of the city of Underdog. I am here by appointment, and this is the last time I will speak to you.”

“…….”

“Open the door.”

Hearing Vikir’s words, the three Morg sisters exchanged glances for a moment.

Then the eldest, Hyssis, smirked.

“I’ve heard that there’s a younger one in the city of Underdog.”

“Oh, but what are we going to do about it?”

“If it’s a young rascal, we’ve had enough of them!”

The three sisters drew mana into their palms.

And then.

…Quack, quack, quack!

Water, grass, and earth magic unfolded, and Baskerville crashed down in front of them.

Vikir frowned slightly and reared his horse back.

The three sisters’ laughter rang out from beyond the billowing mushroom cloud.

“Giggle, giggle-we’ll wait for you, you ignorant swordsmen!”

“Not even Baskerville dares to enter Morg’s land!”

“Shall these sisters see what a supernova a Baskerville is?”

Then Staffordshire came to Vikir’s side and said.

“I don’t think we should tell them.”

Vikir was thinking the same thing.

Just then.

“How dare you bitches who don’t even know the subject speak in front of anyone!”

“You’re a fool!”

“You’re a fool!”

Three shouts erupted from the Baskervilles’ emissary.

Soon, three familiar faces emerged from the dirt.

Highbrow, Middlebrow, and Lowbrow.

The Baskervilles’ triplets, who had been at the back of the delegation, stepped forward.

They stood side by side, now friendly again, and glared at the three Morg sisters as they descended.

They snorted.

“Don’t you know the subject?”

“So you guys are higher up than us?”

“Don’t you dare.”

But the three brothers denied their words.

“Not us.”

“Not us.”

“Not us.”

“Then who?”

“Who?”

“Who?”

The three siblings turned their heads in unison at the question.

“This is our Baskerville street sign!”

The direction the three brothers stare in awe and fear.

That’s where Vikir was standing.