The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound
chapter-473

Chapter 473: The Annihilation of Tochka (3)

The battle grew more intense.

The hands of the clock, marking Tochka's fate, slowly settled at four in the afternoon.

Slash!

One of the giant poison humans was sliced in half.

As Marquis Sade cracked his whip, shaking off the blood, Butler Barrymore clapped his hands and said,

“Your skills are as impressive as ever.”

“Hohoho— as ever? Do you recall my past prowess?”

“To be honest, I’ve read more about it in books and papers than seen it with my own eyes. But it surpasses the records.”

John Barrymore, who had served the Baskerville clan loyally for four generations, continued to speak as he cut down numerous poison humans with the sword in his hand.

“It’s quite strange.”

“What do you mean?”

“That all of us gathered here, who once fought each other for the rise and fall of the Empire, are now united under your command.”

Even as he responded to Marquis Sade’s question, Butler Barrymore struck down the poison humans with unwavering precision.

Meanwhile, Vikir, watching this, slightly parted his lips in surprise.

“I never imagined the butler had such exceptional swordsmanship.”

“Hohoho— Believe it or not, I've been hardened by years of brutal fighting. When I was younger, I often brawled with Master Hugo himself. Back then, I had a slightly better win rate.”

Indeed, Vikir recalled overhearing some of the Baskerville elders mentioning Barrymore, saying, ‘That former wild beast has finally become a man.’

‘Could it be that age has mellowed him out?’ Vikir thought, splitting the head of a massive poison human in front of him as easily as cracking a watermelon.

Meanwhile, Barrymore looked at Vikir with a gaze filled with emotion.

“You’ve grown up well, young master. I still vividly remember the day you were picking out chocolates in the food storage… The master will undoubtedly be pleased as well.”

“…”

At the mention of the master, Vikir quietly turned his head.

With the full strength of the Baskerville clan present here, where could Hugo be?

Noticing Vikir’s gaze, Barrymore naturally smiled.

“The master is gathering all the troops and is on his way here directly. He’s a bit delayed compared to the other forces that took a detour, as he’s breaking through the civil war zone.”

Just then—

Boom!

A deafening explosion interrupted Vikir and Barrymore’s conversation.

A poison human was torn apart in a bizarre direction, and frustrated voices clashed from both sides.

“Where do you think you're swinging that sword, you crazy lunatic!”

It was Sadi. With her demonic Majin transformation through Belial's eye, she was shouting sharply.

And in the direction of her fierce glare stood another woman.

“Oh, my bad. I didn’t realize you were human. With all that demonic energy you’re oozing, watch out for stray blades.”

The one half-heartedly apologizing to Sadi was none other than Isabella la Baskerville.

Isabella, the captain of the Baskerville clan’s Doberman Knights, swung her sword again, cutting down the poison humans without a care for Sadi’s presence.

Sadi, who barely dodged Isabella’s sword by tilting her head back, growled with gritted teeth.

“Oh-ho, trying to get rid of me with a stray stab? You wicked wretch, still the same old dog, aren’t you?”

“And you, still haven’t learned how to talk properly. Well, I guess a traitor’s blood won’t change.”

“Hohoho— Then why did you recommend this traitor’s blood to the Imperial Capture Squad? As your replacement, no less?”

“Passing on to someone like you is the greatest regret of my life. A blemish.”

In the midst of the ongoing chaos, Isabella seemed to be trying to erase a stain from her life.

Of course, Sadi was equally eager to kill her former superior.

At that very moment—

Slam!

A spear of rock suddenly shot up from the ground, splitting the space between Sadi and Isabella.

A poison human, who had been falling from the sky, was impaled mid-air before it could even touch the ground.

A mocking voice reached the two, who had each lost a few strands of hair and retreated.

“What a pity. It would’ve been great if both of you had died.”

Souaré stood where both Sadi and Isabella’s gazes had turned.

The three women’s eyes met at a single point.

“Hohoho— What is this, a Temiscyra Women’s College reunion? Three of our classmates all gathered here?”

“Classmates? Don’t you dare let trash like you utter the name of my alma mater.”

“It’s nice to see my old dorm roommates again. Life in the deep sea was lonely and dull.”

Sadi, Isabella, and Souaré—three classmates who graduated with honors from Temisquira Women’s College, each taking a different path.

One became a notorious villain who shook the Empire, another became a count, and the last became the pillar of Nouvellebag.

…But.

The three, who thought they would never see each other again after their paths diverged, were now gathered in the same place, engaged in the same task.

That task was none other than struggling to survive.

Slash!

The giant poison humans fell one by one, and their places were filled by smaller poison humans.

As the corpses piled up, the ground rose higher, and the red death became even more formidable.

The clock hands now pointed to 6, and the number of poison humans grew even larger.

Or perhaps, it only seemed that way because their allies had dwindled.

“…”

Vikir, even at this moment, was at the very forefront, silently cutting down the poison humans.

How long the priests’ blessings would hold out was now uncertain.

At that moment, Vikir spotted a familiar face not far away.

An older Baskerville, someone he had encountered a few times before and after his regression.

A hound who was the same age as the master, Hugo.

‘Wasn’t his name Pavlov?’

He remembered him because, among those with the same middle name, Pavlov had managed to survive for quite a long time.

Pavlov Van Baskerville.

With a sword that had become jagged and worn like saw teeth, Pavlov struck down a poison human.

Crack!

The sword, now more of a blunt weapon, didn’t slice the poison human’s head but caved it in.

Did he have no mana left to even muster a bit of aura?

Just as Vikir was about to move to help Pavlov—

Thud!

A spear flying from the front pierced Pavlov’s abdomen.

“Hey!”

Vikir hurriedly ran over to support Pavlov’s limp head.

“Don’t lose consciousness!”

Vikir urgently shouted, but Pavlov only looked at him blankly.

Eventually, a faint smile curved his lips.

“You’re a good person. You are.”

“…”

“But it’s fine. I’m leaving while doing my duty. You do yours.”

With those words, Pavlov took his final breath.

And with all the strength he could muster, he exhaled his last breath.

“He is here at the front!”

It was a thunderous shout that reached the ears of everyone on the battlefield.

“...!”

Everyone, including Vikir, focused their attention on the front.

A thick, blood-red mist was spreading more densely than anywhere else in front of them.

Emerging from the fog was a figure Vikir recognized all too well.

It was ‘Phlorosya the Deceiver’, also known as the "Lying Leopard."

With a grotesquely elongated left hand, Phlorosya grinned down at Vikir.

It was clear that the monster who had thrown the spear at Pavlov just moments ago was Phlorosya.

[This is the end for you.]

Leading an overwhelming number of poison human soldiers, Phlorosya looked past Vikir, focusing on the walls of Tochka.

[You’ve survived this long without a drop of water—that itself is a miracle. But no matter how much you whine to the gods, there are limits. The time has come to face reality, you disgusting vermins.]

Had it not been for that final insult, perhaps many of the humans might have agreed with Phlorosya.

And then, an immense wave of poison human soldiers began to surge forward, pushing the front line.

"Retreat! Everyone, fall back! Get inside the fortress and lock the gates!"

For once, Marquis Sade shouted with urgency.

Orca, who had been defending the walls, clenched his teeth as well.

And then—

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The massive poison human soldiers began to cling to the ramparts, pulling themselves up.

The smaller poison human soldiers climbed over the bodies of the larger ones, scaling the walls.

"Pour the oil! Light the fire! Use every last bit of gunpowder! Archers and fire troops, throw everything you have left! There's no point in holding back anymore!"

Orca and Sade’s orders were in perfect alignment.

Everyone in Tochka stood their ground, trying to fend off the approaching poison human army.

...But it was a losing battle.

The poison humans, relying on sheer numbers, climbed the walls and created a massive ramp of corpses.

The walls had now transformed into a gentle slope.

"...It's over."

From atop the watchtower, Cindiwendy muttered in a cracked voice.

She hadn't had a sip of water in days and could already sense defeat.

Of course, this was something everyone fighting on the front lines felt even more acutely.

Thud!

Tudor staggered as a stream of blood gushed from his forehead.

Even the Tears of the Saintess were losing their power.

The flags that once fluttered proudly had long since been torn to shreds.

A dark shadow loomed over the faces of the knights.

The priests, too, had begun to replace their prayers with sobs.

Red death surged over the walls like a wave of specters, with poison humans' heads popping up one by one.

"...Is this really the end?"

No matter how glorious and radiant the tale of a great hero might be, it must eventually come to an end.

With his vision fading, Tudor let out a faint smile.

Facing a world drenched in black and red, he began to think that a final, heroic end might not be so bad after all.

…And then, it happened.

Thwack!

A small sound caught Tudor's ear.

Amidst the cacophony of explosions and tearing sounds, this noise pierced through, clear as a miracle.

Thwack!

Another sound followed.

It was the noise of a small stone striking.

A pebble, flying through the air, had hit the forehead of a poison human soldier, who was peering over the wall.

"...?"

Tudor turned his head.

He had to squint his eyes painfully to make out what he was seeing.

There, trembling like a leaf, yet not backing down in the slightest, was a young girl.

Tudor recognized her face and name.

"My name is Shammua! Could you please tell me your name, kind savior?"

"My name is Tudor. I have no clan name."

The girl he had once saved in a small rural village.

Shammua—a name that means "God has heard."

Now, that girl was standing atop the wall, hurling stones at the poison humans.

"Tudor, I'll help you!"

Tudor blinked in disbelief at her cry.

Beside him, Bianca sneered.

"When did you manage to win her over?"

"It's not like that! I need to get her to safety—huh!?"

But Tudor couldn’t act on his words.

He was suddenly struck by the sight of a determined clan standing behind the girl.

And behind that clan was an entire village.

And behind those villagers were all the refugees who had flocked to Tochka, standing there with defiant expressions.

"Let us fight too!"

"We can't just be protected anymore!"

"We can pull our weight!"

"I may be retired, but I was once a soldier!"

"We’ll repay the kindness of the food and water you shared with us!"

"Protect the Night walkers!"

The enormous number of refugees who had been inside Tochka all began to pour out.

The men grabbed whatever they could—clubs, spears, even the rubble scattered on the ground.

The women tended to the wounded and, despite their intense thirst, carried the precious water they had saved.

Tochka, a fortress designed so that even a single girl could hold off a hundred soldiers, now stood bolstered by the determination of the masses.

A hailstorm of stones rained down on the poison humans trying to climb the walls, causing them to tumble back down.

"...! ...! ...!"

From atop the watchtower, Cindiwendy, who had been overseeing all supplies and logistics, saw a spark of hope return to her eyes.

A flame, thought to be completely extinguished, was rekindling.

It was the beginning of an unexpected counterattack.