The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound
chapter-109

Chapter 109: The Return of the Hero (5)

It was indeed a long-awaited reunion. As soon as Hugo Le Baskerville, the leader of the Baskerville Clan, heard the news of Vikir’s return, he moved personally. This was a reaction so intense that not even Vikir himself could have anticipated.

Even John Barrymore, the head butler, accompanied Hugo as they visited the Underdog’s headquarters. He went straight to the office and found Vikir.

“Where is my son?”

In response, Chihuahua briskly led Hugo into the office. Vikir had no chance to go out and greet him. Hugo suddenly opened the office door and came face to face with Vikir.

“…!”

Hugo’s eyes widened. Vikir’s eyes also grew slightly larger.

“You’ve returned.”

“I have.”

“Well done.”

“Thank you.”

Considering they were reuniting as wealthy relatives, their conversation was quite dry and brief. However, standing behind them, John Barrymore watched their conversation with a satisfied and moved gaze.

“The master seems genuinely pleased to see him after such a long time.”

It was only natural for Barrymore to think this way. Hugo hadn’t smiled once in the two years since Vikir had disappeared, not even a slight smile. Yet now, Hugo was looking down at Vikir and smiling, even though his face was extremely cold and composed, almost giving no hint of it.

Meanwhile, Vikir cautiously glanced at the side door of the adjacent room. Because Hugo had arrived in such a hurry, he hadn’t hidden Pomeranian properly. It shouldn’t be a big deal, though, as he had hastily placed Pomeranian in the adjacent room.

Then, Hugo tapped Vikir’s shoulder.

“So, how have you been all this time?”

Vikir tensed up instantly. His reason for cultivating power during his absence was to ensure that Hugo couldn’t discern his true strength. Vikir had honed his unique mana-hiding technique, a skill learned through surviving in a world on the brink of destruction.

However…

“…?”

Surprisingly, Hugo’s hand on Vikir’s shoulder exerted no pressure at all. There was no attempt to scan his internal mana or probe his thoughts. Even more unexpectedly, there was a faint warmth to Hugo’s touch, which didn’t match his voice at all.

“What’s going on?”

Vikir felt a little perplexed. Could it be that Hugo was simply asking out of genuine curiosity? Was he really interested?

Vikir looked back at Hugo’s gaze, but there was nothing he could read. If he had to pinpoint something, it was a mixture of surprise, happiness, curiosity, and relief. It was almost as if…

“He seems like an ordinary father.”

Vikir furrowed his brow slightly. It could be one of two things: either Hugo’s intentions had become even deeper and more sinister to the point where Vikir couldn’t perceive them, or his own feelings had softened.

Back before the regression, on that night when the rain poured relentlessly, Vikir could never forget the sensation of countless teeth piercing his body. How could he forget the one who falsely accused him of collaborating with demons and sentenced him to death?

The owner of the hunting dogs and the king of all hunting dogs. Wasn’t that Hugo Le Baskerville?

Vikir sharpened his dulled fangs once more. With each passing moment, his tone became even softer.

“During my time adrift in the mountains, I focused on healing the wounds I suffered from the demon. I also established friendly relations with some of the indigenous people.”

Hugo’s complexion brightened a little.

“I see. You established friendly relations with the savages?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.”

Hugo nodded. His reaction was somewhat unexpected, considering his strong dislike for the indigenous people of the Mountains.

But soon, in response to Hugo’s words, Vikir could only nod and think, “That’s right.”

“While you were getting friendly with the savages, you must have gathered information about their positions and strengths, right? That should make it easier to wipe them out on a large scale,” Hugo said, still regarding the indigenous people as something akin to monsters.

Vikir replied, concealing a sigh, “What I learned from being with them is that their power is more significant than I thought.”

“Hmm, I see. Especially the ‘Night Fox,’ She’s a threatening presence.”

“But I found a way to control them.”

“Oh? What is it?”

Hugo asked, clearly trusting Vikir to always provide a good answer. It seemed that’s how he saw Vikir.

Vikir lived up to Hugo’s expectations once again.

“The indigenous people of the Mountains are susceptible to the Empire’s goods.”

“Goods?”

“Yes. I found that the Industrial Clan Bourgeois’ merchants were secretly smuggling in and trading with the indigenous people.”

Hugo’s expression stiffened, and he growled softly.

“Money-minded traders. Now they’re colluding with external enemies? I’ll have to eliminate those bastards soon…”

“Don’t worry, Father. I’ve already exterminated them.”

“What?”

“They were the deputy governor’s subordinates of the Underdog City. I executed them promptly under the deputy governor’s authority. There were no witnesses, of course.”

Hugo’s eyes widened once again. Then, his gaze, as he looked down at Vikir, transformed from surprise to an incredibly affectionate and proud one.

“That’s my son. That’s how Baskerville should be.”

Then, Hugo’s eyes gleamed, and he asked, “So, the Bourgeois guys were luring the savages with minor goods, right?”

“That’s correct. In the Empire, things like cheap glass beads, thread crafts, or even vegetables and grains were considered valuable to them. By using this, we can efficiently control them and gain significant diplomatic advantages.”

“Hmm… But isn’t this more like a trade than subjugation?”

“It’s a way to win without fighting.”

At this, Hugo’s expression briefly turned sour.

“It’s meaningless if there’s no fight. We exist to draw blood from the bodies of the savages, just like the monsters.”

A true war enthusiast. Vikir rolled his eyes internally but didn’t show it.

“Of course, the savages will shed blood.”

“Hmm? But earlier, didn’t you say it was trade?”

“My point is, it’s not about living peacefully with the savages.”

“Then?”

In response to Hugo’s question, Vikir, with a gleam in his eye, replied, “It’s about using them as the front-line troops for hunting monsters.”

To manipulate and utilize the indigenous people for his strategies was a tactic Hugo often employed.

Hearing this, Hugo’s expression became rather intrigued.

“Hmm, let’s lure them with cheap goods to provoke them to hunt monsters. Not bad. After all, the monsters are our targets too.”

“Yes. I’ve already set up the infrastructure, so you can make use of it as it is.”

Vikir didn’t want the indigenous people of Ballak to suffer because of Baskerville’s actions. With Madam Eight Legs, who had been pressuring Ballak from the west, now gone, Ballak would likely move deeper into the Mountains’s depths, away from Baskerville. Then, there would be no reason for Ballak and Baskerville to clash.

Baskerville could easily expand into the vacated territory. Hugo was unaware of Madam’s existence, so he would likely interpret Ballak’s move to the West as fleeing from Baskerville. From Vikir’s perspective, it was a win-win situation – preventing war and securing trade deals.

Finally, Hugo nodded.

“Very well. I’ll leave the trade with the savages to you. Can you handle it?”

“If you order it, I will accomplish it.”

“Good.”

Hugo, satisfied with his loyal son, who had become even more dependable than two years ago, smiled contentedly.

For Vikir, it was a profitable situation in more ways than one.

At that moment,

“Wait!”

Hugo interjected.

“There should be a tribe among the savages called ‘Rokoko’.'”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“No trade with them. Promise me you’ll annihilate the Rokoko tribe without fail.”

Hugo’s demeanor suddenly turned fierce again. This was an area where he would absolutely not compromise. Vikir simply nodded quietly, as arguing would risk undoing all the previous discussions.

After that, a few minor matters were discussed, mostly similar to what Vikir had told Chihuahua. Hugo sat on the couch and listened to Vikir’s report, mostly with satisfaction, occasionally with surprise.

Eventually, Hugo spoke to Vikir.

“After you rescued Morg’s daughter and disappeared, we were able to gain significant diplomatic advantages in Morg. Even the royal family praises Baskerville’s knights for it.”

“…”

“But all of this must have been pointless for a father who lost his son.”

These words were becoming increasingly unexpected.

Even butler Barrymore seemed to be wide-eyed and well representing Vikir’s feelings.

Finally, Hugo concluded, “Nevertheless, now that you’ve returned, everything feels like it’s back in place.”

“…”

“For a while, resign from your position as deputy governor of Underdog City and take a good rest. We should also discuss an appropriate reward for you at the family level.”

Vikir gave a brief response and ended the conversation respectfully.

Suddenly, he had a dilemma.

“…The portrait in the pendant found inside Pomeranian. Should I report it or not?”

Vikir assumed the original owner of the pendant was Roxana, Hugo’s first wife. He believed that Hugo’s character had turned aggressive after Roxana died and their daughter Penelope, who had been kidnapped by the indigenous people of the Mountains in an unknown accident, became an adult. This information was reliable, as it had been shared by the pre-reversal Butler Barrymore.

Perhaps he should return this memento to Hugo? What about the existence of Pomeranian?

“No, it’s better to leave it alone. Scratching that icy heart won’t do any good. I can’t expect anything from that cold-blooded man.”

Vikir lightly shook his head.

If Hugo had had a sister or a daughter, Vikir might have been able to gauge how he treated female kin. But in Baskerville, there wasn’t a single female, so he couldn’t deduce Hugo’s attitude.

“Women are weak, so they’re not needed, or something like that. He’ll probably say that mixed with savages’ blood, they shouldn’t even touch a sword.”

Considering Hugo’s usually cold disposition, it was better not to mention anything related to Pomeranian.

Vikir made his decision.

…However,

Two events completely overturned Vikir’s expectations.

“Ugh! Uncle!”

The side door suddenly burst open, and Pomeranian rushed out.

“Wah! Uncle! Outside, rain! Thunder! Bang bang! Waaah-”

With tears and a runny nose, Pomeranian clung to Vikir, who had just finished his conversation.

This little fellow was the first variable.

And then…

“…!”

Vikir couldn’t help but widen his eyes.

A second variable was even more alien than the first.

It was Hugo’s expression upon seeing Pomeranian.

“…! …! …! …! …! …! …! …! …!”

Perfectly round eyes.

A mouth that had never opened like that before, not in all the time Vikir had known him, spanning two lifetimes.

This was a face Vikir had never seen before, in either of his lives.