Iron Blooded Hound-Chapter 161 - : Pursuit of Truth

Geront.

A skinny magician.

Her long red hair falls from beneath the black bag that hangs over her face.

Dolores said it with a stern expression.

``She's a relatively young Guilty recruit, and judging by her figure, she looks quite young...''

``...''

Vikil gulped instead of answering.

Then Geront stepped forward.

A storm of dark magic began to erode her entire body.

... Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

A complex magic circle was drawn in the air, followed by crackling flames and small black thorns.

Spikes pierce the ground and glow from the flames.

Anyone who touches her will be burned and cut at the same time.

Dolores was speechless due to the huge amount of mana released by Geront.

"For a wizard of this class, he must be at least 5th or his 6th. He must have been an incredibly talented magician in his lifetime."

Flaming iron spikes flew everywhere. It was.

Vikir drew Baalzebub long enough to block the flying spikes.

Crackling!

A wall of fire swirled around, blocking Vikir's movement.

Every time Vikir hesitated, more spikes shot out from the floor, walls, and ceiling.

Red and black. It was a familiar sight.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh...

Vikir recoiled from the flames that clung to his shoulders, back, sides, and toes.

Meanwhile, the central lobby of Building 1 had been transformed into a blast furnace.

A cauldron of molten iron, the tip of a tooth-red flame.

Crackle, crackle, crackle...BOOM!

Geront continued to summon fire and spikes from the other side of the furnace.

The flames continued to engulf the mass.

Each of the sharp iron spikes that came out of it was very threatening.

The air is hot enough to burn your lungs when you breathe it in, and visibility is limited by the thick smoke and bright flames.

Dolores was pushed to the edge of the gate and called out to Vikiel, who was standing in front of him.

"Nighthound, we can't even get close to you like this!"

"..."

But Vikir didn't answer.

Instead, he gazed through the goggles attached to his mask at his enemy, the black landscape, and the red-haired mage standing behind him.

Then he said it in the growl of a dog in the night.

``...I want to see your face.''

``What?''

``I want to see your face.''

Vikil leaves Dolores with a questioning look on his face. I took a step forward.

The ground was already a furnace of sharp metal spikes and blazing flames.

Vikir ran towards it.

Scream! Crunch!

With each step Vikir took, metal spikes shot up.

They pierced his instep and heel, reaching up to his knees.

The pieces protruding from the walls and ceiling were consumed by the flames, slowly melting into boiling lava.

...POP!...POP!...POP!...POP!

The metal spikes sticking out of the ceiling melted away, and molten metal began to drip down the hallway.

Below, new spikes continue to sprout, and the flames grow stronger, raining fire and molten metal from the ceiling.

"..."

Vikir pushed through the thorny path, soaking in molten metal and spikes.

Puff, puff, puff!

Dozens of spikes flew towards him, impaling every inch of his body, but Vikir remained unfazed.

"Face."

Anger rose in his throat, hotter than bubbling mud.

"Let me see your face."

The smell of burnt flesh and boiling blood.

Dolores was horrified to see Vikir enduring this torture alone.

Why does he go to such lengths? Did he know the magician? If so, what kind of relationship did they have?

The unanswered questions made her dry mouth and throat even more sore.

"...Hmm!"

Dolores narrowed her eyes and followed Vikiel's example.

Divine light has no effect on elements other than darkness.

But still, Dolores followed the path blazed by the Nighthound and threw herself into a forge of blazing fire, molten metal, and spikes.

Despite the stinging, cutting, and searing pain in every part of her body, she continued her actions undaunted.

"Night Hound has a harder road ahead of him, but I can't complain about following him!"

Dolores gritted her teeth and followed Vikir, but his body was beginning to be covered in burns and cuts.

At this point, Vikir had reached the edge of the oven.

During. Geront ran out of mana and stumbled backwards, unable to generate fire or spikes.

And before him stood Vikir, upright.

Iron spikes pierce his body, and flames sear his veins.

But Vikir didn't care and reached out his hand.

``Please remove your mask.''

Geront's throat was clamped down, and Vikir removed the black bag covering his face with his other hand.

Dawn.

The moment the black bag was removed from Geront's head.

[Rurr!]

Geront fought with a blood-curdling sound.

The magical power inside my body becomes chaotic.

Vikir realized what it was and immediately let go of his hand and stepped back.

"Oh my god!" Dolores screamed, barely able to catch his breath.

Quack, quack, quack!

The mana inside Geront's body instantly turned into a gigantic bomb, destroying everything in its path.

...BOOM!

Geront's body, burned from the neck up, fell backwards.

Flutter.

The explosion left only one black bag on the ground, intact.

``...looks like a bomb was planted in her head.''

Dolores grimaced.

On the other hand,.

"..."

Vikir stands speechless.

He looked at Geront's body lying on the ground in front of him.

The body of a woman in a black robe.

After a moment of silence, Viquir moved.

Dolores' eyes widened slightly.

"Nighthound, what are you doing...?"

It was no wonder she panicked.

Viquir had just been undressing Geront.

Boom, boom, boom!

The strong robe was torn apart by a strong force.

The white-skinned woman became naked.

But there was nothing obscene. Her head was ripped off, and she was left as a corpse.

Her body was covered in patch marks made from assembled and sewn-together iron, leather, and other materials.

The absence of intact flesh and bones suggests that her body parts were not fully assembled when she was resurrected as an undead.

That means she didn't leave her body behind when she died, and she died before she became undead.

So she died a very painful and cruel death.

"..."

Vikir stared at Geront's corpse for a while.

Well then.

"No,"

He added shortly.

Dolores asked, confused.

``Did you know her?''

``...I thought I did, but I don't think so.''

Vikir remembered Morgue Camus.

Actually, Vikiel thought that Geront might be Camus.

We were the same age, height, and build, and we used similar magic.

Her hair color and length were the same as when I last saw her.

Moreover, not only was Camus expelled from the prestigious academy for no reason, but she also entered a dark mansion known for black magic and had even recently been training behind closed doors.

However, when I checked for myself, Geront was not Camus.

Geront was a little smaller than the last Camus I saw.

There were also some differences in secondary sexual characteristics, with Geront being slightly less developed.

Represents the age difference.

Crucially, Vikiel had seen Camus naked as a child. Camus was eight years old when he burned her clothes during a joint training exercise.

"There were indeed bruises on her chest and under her collarbone."

However, there are no such marks on her body in Geront.

Her red hair, powerful magic, and skills with iron and fire make her look like one of the women of the Morgue, but she is very different from Camus in many ways.

"The question is, why is she here as an undead?"

Morg is not alone. The Baskervilles, Don Quixote, and the young members of the Quobadi family were also turned into undead.

How far do the devil's roots extend?

Vikir realizes that he needs to step up his demon hunting.

Well then.

``Recently, I heard that the graves of some large houses have been frequently stolen.''

Dolores said, a little worried.

Vikir stroked his chin with his hand.

"Tomb Robbery"

Tomb robbers were usually looking for gold and silver treasures buried with corpses.

But this time it was different. The bodies themselves became targets for grave robbing.

"...You devils."

Vikir picked up the fourth leather bag that was placed over Geront's face.

Once again, this black bag contained powerful magic.

The four of them together have a power comparable to the magic sword Beelzebub.

``What are these artifacts anyway?'' I'll have to find out later.

And so, the troublesome goal is over.

Ephebo, Hebe, Pedo, and Geront.

After the four dogs disappeared, only Indulgentia's master, Guilty, remained.

Vikir looked back on the path he had taken to get here.

He achieved great success within the academy, spending his Golden Holidays as a volunteer and scout.

And all that was left was the ultimate goal of this assassination.

Vikir regained his composure and tried to take his final steps.

Crackling.

Applause echoed from beyond the darkness.

Vikir and Dolores looked up and saw a familiar face.

Guilty L. Indulgentia.

He sat on his railing and looked down with a smile.

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