The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound
chapter-220

Chapter 220: That Day’s Story (1)

3 Years Ago –

In the grand mansion of Morg Clan, whenever three or more people gathered, they would share ‘that day’s story.’

“Did you hear about it?”

“I heard.”

“Are there still people who haven’t heard the rumor?”

“Some say Morg’s wizards and Baskerville hounds formed a party.”

“Wasn’t it to rescue Lady Camus?”

“She did come back safely in the end. Thankfully.”

“But why doesn’t Lady Camus come out of her room?”

“It must’ve been terrifying. Because of the horror of that day.”

However, a maid who had gone out for the expedition duties that day provided a new testimony.

“…What I heard is a bit different, though.”

The reason why Camus, who returned from the black and red mountains, locked herself in her room and hadn’t come out for days.

“It’s because of love.”

“Love?”

“Yes. The man Lady Camus has liked for a long time disappeared during that expedition.”

“What? Was he from Baskerville?”

“Yes.”

“If he disappeared that night…”

“Yes, he must have died. What else could it be? Moreover, they say a gigantic monster appeared at that time.”

“He must have died for sure.”

“Poor Lady Camus.”

The maids were genuinely concerned about Camus.

“Lady Camus was always rough, but she treated us servants well.”

“She needs to eat something. It’s been days since she had anything.”

“It seems she hasn’t slept either. We keep hearing sobbing sounds.”

“But it seems she’s not crying today. Did she finally fall asleep?”

“No, I listened at the door, and I could faintly hear her sobbing. She might have cried until her voice gave out.”

“Oh no, her voice might completely change if she keeps like this.”

“I’m really worried.”

“Is all this over a man from Baskerville?”

“I don’t know. Lady Camus was quite discreet about it. But even if Lady Camus fell in love, what kind of man was he?”

“Regardless of the man, would he be a match for our lady? Ugh, she should shake it off and get up quickly. What’s the big deal about a man… huh?!”

Three maids huddled in a corner of the corridor, gossiping quietly.

Just then, the face of the maid who had spoken last turned a ghastly shade of pale blue. The others, curious, turned their heads and soon wore the same expression, mouths agape.

Why?

Because at some point, a man had appeared before the maids.

A man with a long, red beard.

Exuding a subtle force towards the maids, he was none other than Count Adolf Morg of the Morg Clan.

The maids quickly bowed their heads.

“Forgive us, Count! We were just worried about the lady…”

“That’s right! I absolutely had no other intentions!”

“Just out of sadness…”

Adolf, usually indifferent to the maids, would have likely passed by without much notice if things were normal. But this time, it was different.

“Are you the ones who casually spread rumors about the private lives of those you serve?”

When Adolf flicked his finger, the tongues of the three maids simultaneously shot out of their mouths.

Splat!

Their tongues quickly glued to each other, merging into one.

“Gulp gulp gulp!”

“Ugh ugh! Uwp!”

“Eeuuuu…”

The three maids were forced to stand in a circle, cheek to cheek, as the tips of their tongues came together.

Adolf made a clicking motion with his tongue.

“The virtue of servants should be to keep their mouths heavy. Yet, you use worry as an excuse to carry the master’s gossip without hesitation. Since these tongues are as light as a bluebird, I thought I’d give them a bit of weight.”

Their tongues would remain stuck together for about a month.

To survive, they would have to rely on someone for sustenance, fetching water and finely ground food. Otherwise, they might have to cut their tongues.

Afterward, Adolf passed through the corridor and headed towards Camus’ room in the deep recesses of the mansion. Before knocking on the door, he listened intently for any sounds from within.

On the surface, the room beyond seemed quiet, but for someone of Adolf’s caliber, it was not.

…… …… …… ……

As if on the verge of breaking, a faint whimpering sound could be barely heard. It resembled the lamentations of a wretched soul trapped in a grave, not yet dead but tormented by the sorrows of life.

“……Huu.”

Adolf let out a heavy sigh. After a moment of contemplation, he finally knocked on the door.

Knock, knock, knock…

A sound light as a feather, contrasting with the heavy movement of his hand.

Adolf, trying to be as gentle as possible, opened his mouth with a soft voice, “Camus, it’s your uncle. I’m going to come in.”

But there was no response, and with no choice, Adolf had to speak again, “I’m entering.”

Once again, there was no reply.

Interpreting it as permission, Adolf, very cautiously, slowly opened the door.

Creak…

As Adolf entered the room, the dimly lit bed in the center became visible. The blanket protruded like a grave mound. Adolf sat at the head of the bed, and then, a small voice emanated from beneath the covers.

“The maids didn’t do anything wrong. Please, undo the magic.”

Hearing these words, Adolf was taken aback.

“Yo-Your voice?!”

Carefully, he lifted the blanket.

In the dimness, he saw Camus lying with a ghostly face.

Adolf pulled the blanket a bit more, revealing a sight akin to uncovering a shroud from a corpse.

“Why is your voice like this?! Huh?”

Adolf asked, poking Camus, who weakly closed her eyes. In a fading voice, she replied, “First Rosie, now Vikir. It’s all because of me.”

Adolf remained silent for a moment. Though he couldn’t speak the unspoken words, considering his character, he said, “Yes.”

And knowing her Uncle’s personality, Camus, with a faint smile, closed her eyes.

It was evident to anyone that the flame of life within her was dwindling.

Adolf lacked the talent for comfort, but his love for his niece was that of a remarkable man. Despite the situation, he tried to offer some words of solace.

“You can’t let it go like this, Camus. That would be unacceptable to Rosie and Vikir. You should not give up in this manner. Can’t you see that the weight of their burdens has added to the weight of your life?”

To survive, one had to live not only for themselves but also for those who had died.

Despite his lack of comforting abilities, Adolf spoke with sincerity.

…However?

“!”

Gradually, Camus’s eyes, which had been dimming, suddenly widened. As if propelled by a spring, she sprang up from the bed and looked at Adolf.

“Uncle! What did you just say!?”

“Uh, well? T-That you shouldn’t give up.”

“After that!”

Surprised by Camus’s sudden outburst, Adolf, unable to recall exactly what he had said, hesitated for a moment before providing a somewhat similar response.

“Uh… ‘To live, one must also bear the burdens of the dead?'”

“That’s it!”

Camus’s eyes, which had been cloudy and dim, once again sparkled. Like throwing another log into a dying flame, a glimmer of light reignited.

Camus forcefully got up, her body, emaciated from days without eating or sleeping, wavered unsteadily. Adolf hurriedly Rosie to support her.

“Camus! What’s going on? Why all of a sudden?”

In response to her uncle’s concern, Camus smiled mischievously. The smile held the same vitality, curiosity, and hope as before.

“People who are alive carry the burdens of the dead to survive, right?”

“Huh?”

“Just as you said! That we must live bearing the burdens of the dead. So, I shouldn’t give up!”

“Oh, right. Yes.”

Adolf quickly nodded, believing his soothing words had had an effect. Camus, on the other hand, appeared to reach a completely different conclusion than Adolf had anticipated.

“Then, if the burdens carried by the living are returned, the dead may be resurrected!” They’ve reclaimed their fair share!”

“Huh? “Does it actually work?”

“Of course! Whatever happens, the total number of shares remains the same!”

Heat began to emanate strangely from Camus’s eyes, now showing a peculiar glow.

“Yeah, life’s thermodynamic state function is constant. Magic, in the end, is a method of calculating that value. Changing the calculation method and sequence slightly may yield different results. If you can make a connection to the negative dimension and draw entropy from there… And in an equivalent exchange format, substitute the share and remainder of the positive dimension…”

Hearing his niece’s muttering, Adolf had a gut feeling that something was wrong.

“Camus, wait a minute. What are you thinking right now…?”

But before Adolf could intervene, Camus forcefully opened the door and rushed out.

“Food. Give me food!”

The maids, who had been observing Camus’s behavior, took less than a minute to prepare the dining table. The dinner at Morg’s estate had commenced.

It was a remarkable event that even Lady Respane, the Matriarch of Morg Clan, who was participating in a crucial meeting addressing the issues of the Red Castle and the Ruby Mine, set aside her noble duties to personally join the meal.

Slurp, slurp…

Camus devoured her food as if possessed, disregarding the utensils and pushing the dishes until her cheeks bulged. Suddenly, something caught her eye.

It was a potato.

‘Do you not have these at home?’

For a moment, Camus’s eyes became moist. The moisture, seemingly impossible to produce after days of desiccation, now flowed through her eyes.

Camus forcefully stuffed the potato into her mouth until her cheeks were about to burst.

“…Tastes muddy.”

And then, she swallowed it whole.

Camus, who had rapidly eaten all the food on the table, shouted at the maids, “More!”

As much as she wanted.

Lady Respane, looking at her daughter eating so much food, brought out more dishes. Camus continued to devour the food as soon as it arrived.

“More!”

As much as she wanted.

This time, Respane instructed the maids to bring even more food, enough to feed a family of 8 for a week.

…And Camus, even after devouring all that was brought to her, demanded more.

“More!”

…As much as she wanted.

Respane, now with a slightly stern expression, reluctantly brought out more food. Camus devoured everything once again.

“More!”

…This time, it wasn’t an option.

Respane placed the food on the table with a somewhat rigid expression. Camus consumed it all.

“More!”

…This wasn’t an endless demand.

Respane tried to resist Camus’s excessive eating, but she didn’t listen.

“More! I have to eat more! I have to store strength… Ugh!”

Camus continued the cycle of eating, vomiting, eating, and vomiting. She kept repeating the process, tears, and madness evident in her eyes.

Frozen in front of the dining table, Respane and Adolf couldn’t utter a word.

After several cycles of eating and vomiting, with the remnants of the meal all inside her stomach, Camus abruptly stood up. She looked at Lady Respane with shining eyes and said, “Transfer Morg’s Military authority to me. Allow me to search the forest.”