The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound
chapter-76

Chapter 76: Night Hunter (2)

Saint Mecca. A famous resort town with a population of 160,000, nestled between lush forests and pristine seas. It was one of the central cities directly influenced by the Quovadis family’s power.

People walked solemnly and reverently on the streets paved with white marble. When the bells rang from the tall clock tower, everyone stopped in their tracks and prayed towards the emblem on the roof of the Quovadis family’s mansion in the distance.

Even if gold coins were scattered on the ground, no one picked them up. Order and security were strictly maintained by the citizens’ own sense of responsibility.

“…Where can one find a place to hide here?” Vikir stood atop the high tower’s roof, looking down below.

Women were completely covered in white cloth, with only their eyes showing. Men were the same. This strict control over lust and greed, driven by religious reasons, was evident.

A monochrome world, devoid of exposure or fashion, in stark contrast to the tribe of Balak, who lived freely in the wilderness with most of their bodies exposed. During the two years Vikir had lived there, Saint Mecca’s atmosphere felt stifling and suffocating.

Finally, waiting until darkness fell, Vikir headed for the outskirts, far from the city center.

Broken glass windows, crumbling walls, stagnant water in the lower areas, steep and rugged stairs, and dangerous zones.

The scenery in the slums was similar everywhere, even in a city influenced by the religious/faithful Quovadis family’s power.

Especially here, in Saint Mecca, where wrongdoers were banished to the outskirts by the Quovadis family, the people were particularly resentful.

They hadn’t committed serious crimes deserving of imprisonment, but they had committed minor offenses that prevented them from entering the city center.

Filtering them out were the checkpoints installed throughout the city and the dispatched Holy Knights.

Vikir climbed the steep stairs and entered the slum area located on the high ground.

This place was the most remote and darkest of the slums.

Finally, as the midnight bell rang from the dark side, Vikir took out a glass bottle.

“Red Death,” the essence of the plague collected from the blood, sweat, and tears of Ahul.

Vikir poured the liquid in the glass bottle into a well.

He had unleashed the Red Death in the heart of the Quovadis family’s territory.

“It’s an extremely contagious plague, so a response should come soon.”

The incubation period of the Red Death ranged from a maximum of ten days to a minimum of one day. Once it entered the body, it could manifest in as little as a day or, if it only touched the mucous membranes, about three days, while through respiratory or skin contact, it usually took about a week.

“It’s the territory of the Faithful Quovadis, so they should be able to provide relief before any fatalities occur.”

Vikir briefly pondered when to proceed with the next plan.

At that moment…

“…!” Vikir made eye contact with several children approaching from across the well.

The children seemed to be out to catch bugs, as they carried containers, butterfly nets, sugar water, and more in their hands.

The biggest child among them, who was in front, looked over this way and asked, “Who’s there?”

The children stopped in front of the well, bewildered. Vikir was barely visible in the darkness.

Moreover, it was a dark night with no moon, and Vikir was wearing a mask.

They had no reason to reveal their identity, but they still needed to be cautious.

Finally, Vikir emitted life from his eyes.

Fiery red pupils pierced through the gas mask’s lenses and flashed ominously.

“I curse this well,” Vikir warned the children.

The children trembled in fear and prostrated themselves on the ground, even wetting their pants.

Vikir sternly warned the children, “Anyone who drinks from this well will surely face death.”

In reality, this extreme measure was unnecessary, but in a way, it was a consideration.

It was to prevent the children from approaching.

“Hee-Heeekk! It’s a ghost! An evil spirit!”

“A curse has been cast on the well!”

“Waaah! We won’t drink it!”

The children fled in panic.

Vikir confirmed that all signs of his presence had disappeared several times and then buried something in the dirt near the well.

It was a mark left by intruders who had entered after the disaster had struck a while ago.

The mark of the Reviadon, an extremely ruthless family.

Vikir had realized long ago that they were responsible for unleashing the Red Death in the flood.

“What if they fought each other?” Vikir wondered.

For generations, the Quovadis, a religious family, and the Reviadon, a family with a long-standing feud, were antagonistic.

If the Red Death spread in the Quovadis’ stronghold, what would happen?

While the suppression would likely be instantaneous since it was the Quovadis’ headquarters, the aftermath was the problem.

“I need to act quickly.”

Some people were already seen drawing water from the well.

They needed to oust the Quovadis family before innocent civilians suffered.

Only then could he fulfill his promise with Aiyen.

The Night’s Hunter moved diligently and arrived at the center of Saint Mecca, the mansion of the faithful Quovadis family. Despite the late hour, several carriages were lined up in front of the mansion.

After all, they say illness does not sleep at night. At this very moment, those who wanted to cure their ailments by visiting the faithful Quovadis were abundant.

Most of them were nobles and wealthy individuals who had come in fancy carriages. They all knocked on the door of the Quovadis family’s mansion, dressed in extravagant attire that contrasted with their frail appearances.

“I heard that the Saint is here for rest! I would like to inquire about her well-being, so please open the door!”

“Oh, Saint! We came knowing that you are here! Please, just examine my condition once!”

“Please grant us the honor of meeting you, Saint!”

Rumors had secretly spread that Dolores, the Saint of the Quovadis family and a direct descendant, was present in the Saint Mecca mansion at the moment.

Dolores, the pride of the Quovadis family, was a model student at the current Empire Academy, a second-year student, and the vice-president of the student council.

Because of the rumor that she was resting here during the academy’s vacation period, nobles and adherents had come from far and wide. They all had high statuses, and abundant wealth, and were here for one purpose – to meet the Saint and seek her treatment.

They were shouting their impressive titles, but even so, no one, no matter how powerful or wealthy, could open the door to the Quovadis family.

Saint Dolores firmly kept the door closed, denying entry to anyone.

“Why should I open the door to you at such an ambitious hour, considering your status and wealth?” Her voice, gentle and soft but subtly powerful, could be heard from behind the door. It was probably the voice of the Saint.

Nobles and the wealthy, one by one, attempted to persuade her with pleas about how remarkable they were, how much they could pay for treatment, and what prestigious positions they held.

But…

No matter how powerful or rich someone was, they couldn’t open the door to the Quovadis family. Saint Dolores did not yield.

“Your titles and wealth do not seem to be a reason for me to open the door at this ambitious hour.”

Nobles and wealthy individuals, all of them exhausted from their fervent appeals, had to leave in disappointment.

Finally, as the night grew even deeper, all the lines disappeared, and Vikir, the last one standing, approached the mansion’s door.

In front of the door, it was so quiet that you couldn’t even tell if there was anyone inside.

Standing there, Vikir politely knocked on the door.

And just as before, Saint Dolores’s voice could be heard.

“Who is it that comes to visit me at such an ambitious hour?”

Vikir paused for a moment, considering.

The people who had just listed their own statuses one by one had all been shouting in vain.

“The Saint’s preferences are not like that.”

Vikir knew well who Saint Dolores was.

Before his regression, Vikir had seen her frequently on the most desperate frontlines of the war.

He remembered her determined figure, treating the wounded with blood-smeared clothes.

Her entire attire was drenched in the blood of those she was trying to save, and her ceaseless outpouring of white divine power.

Even from a distance, the scene was truly holy and sublime.

Finally, Vikir replied briefly, “I’m just a lost lamb.”

And then, for a moment, it fell silent beyond the door.

Vikir waited in silence.

Eventually…

Screech

The door to the Quovadis family’s mansion, which had previously been tightly shut and not opened to anyone, was now open.