Chapter 67: Blood Relatives (1)
The four seasons of the jungle are quite distinct.
Summer. Crazy summer. Winter. Crazy winter.
Beyond the vast expanse of water, beyond the forest, the seasons have changed many times.
And here, in a quiet meadow at the beginning of the season.
...Puck!
A dull noise is heard.
A Balak warrior, probably in his late teens, winced, clutching his nose.
"Oh, my nosebone!"
He grunted, his nose dripping with blood. It was Ahun.
And in front of him stood an impassive-looking man with an extended fist.
Tall, black hair cropped casually, cold eyes, and pale skin.
Vikir stared down at Ahun with a grim expression.
"That's enough hand-to-hand combat."
His task complete, Vikir turned away without another word.
Ahun grabbed his companion's hand to help him to his feet.
As Vikir walked away, Ahun spat at the back of his head.
"You bastard, you've become more and more of a monster since you've been restored."
The others around him snickered.
"You used to be a great fighter. Nowadays, your bow skills are amazing. From what I've heard, you're on par with Captain Aiyen."
"Oh, I don't see how I can compare to Captain Aiyen, and judging by his fist just now, he's not that great."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ahun's nose was bleeding, but that's something I can handle."
As his coworkers exchanged giggles, Ahun spoke in a low voice.
"... it didn't hit."
"What?"
"The fist. I didn't get hit."
Ahun felt a chill run down his spine.
Sure enough, Vikir had extended his fist. And stopped in front of his face.
The pressure of the wind that followed was enough to make Ahun's nose bleed and his bones jolt.
" ... You did this with just the wind from your outstretched fist?"
The others' mouths dropped open in disbelief.
They can only stare blankly back at Vikir's back, now a tiny vanishing point in the distance.
* * *
Vikir just turned seventeen this year.
His face has aged a lot.
His short stature grew with each passing day, and his chubby cheeks grew thinner.
The 24 months in the water did a lot for Bikir.
Not only has his body fully recovered, but he is much stronger in body and spirit.
Realizing that Ahun and the other warriors his age were no longer glaring at him, Vikir showed his true strength.
...Pow!
The magic sword Beelzebub pierced through the arteries of his wrist.
The blade had grown thicker and longer. Beelzebub could now pull out nearly a meter.
Vikir swung it around, testing out slashes and thrusts.
...snap! Qua-qua-qua!
The boulder in front of him split in two, and the boulder next to him was pierced with a hole.
Vikir's swordsmanship was quite advanced, considering that it was generally more difficult to deliver a slashing blow than a thrusting one.
As soon as Vikir destroyed the two boulders, he sent four more flying.
A total of six boulders were destroyed almost simultaneously.
Torn, cracked, pierced, impaled, sliced, and split.
It was the fierce teeth of a hunting dog that destroyed the rocks.
"The sixth teeth."
You have mastered the Sixth Teeth of Baskerville.
The six teeth that had been rampaging just a moment ago sank back into his wrist, and Vikir cooled the sweat that covered his body.
The boiling mana in his body is now spinning at high speed in six circles.
With this, Vikir had reached the upper levels of the Perfect Gradient.
'But I still can't get past the Master's wall.
Masters are something.
Even though I'm a graduate, I've only just gotten there, and at this rate, I'm not even close to where I was in my previous life.
It was the forty-year-old Vikir, before his regression, who was unable to break through the Master's barrier and ended up at the very top of the Graduate.
It sounds like a pun, but there was definitely a middle wall between the peak of the graduate and the Swordmaster that needed to be crossed.
"'Superior Graduate.'
The ability to manipulate liquid auras that were so thick and sticky that they felt like solids.
Only by reaching this level could one fully regain the power of their previous life. You will also be able to break through the walls of masters.
But aside from reaching the peak of the Graduate, Vikir was confident that he could fight and defeat a Graduate in real life.
One weight class above. An ability that allowed him to kill stronger opponents.
This was thanks to the protection of the River Styx, which made his bones and flesh tough and hard, the magic sword Beelzebub, and the archery and assassination skills he learned from the barbarian warriors of Balak.
" ... to the peak of the graduate at full power?"
But I wouldn't say I'm really good at pushing that hard.
And since my real goal is Hugo Les Baskervilles, Sword Master of the House of Baskerville, I'll have to work harder anyway.
With that, Vikir returned to the village.
At the entrance to the village, young hunters who were about to go out hunting were waiting for the blessing of the shaman Ahheman.
They still had dark charcoal dust on their faces.
It's a ritual that prevents the spirits of the prey they kill from remembering their faces.
"...."
Ahheman stood wordlessly, glaring at Vikir as if he didn't like the late arrival.
But that didn't stop him from giving his blessing to Vikir, who always performed the best when he was out hunting.
Malmanama. If he didn't bless Vikir, and he performed well on his own, it would only prove that the shaman's blessing meant nothing.
Next, Ahheman quickly dusted Bikir's face with charcoal powder, which he did so sloppily that Vikir's white skin showed through in spots.
"...Well, the hunting gods will be with you."
"...Thank you."
Vikir didn't really need Ahheman blessing, either, so they parted on good terms.
Meanwhile.
Aiyen was receiving reports from the returning shift hunters before they went out on the hunt.
She listened quietly, with a rare look of seriousness on her face.
Vikir approached Aiyen and asked.
"Aren't you going hunting?"
"Mmm. Maybe later."
It was unusual for Aiyen to reject Vikir.
Usually, she would approach Vikir before he could ask or suggest anything, but today she was serious.
"...?"
Vikir was a little puzzled, but didn't press the issue.
Soon, armed with a worn longsword, bow, and arrows, Vikir sets off into the depths of the marsh without a single wolf to follow.
The other hunters pay him little attention, as his simple attire, equipment, and short stature allow him to outperform most other hunting parties.
Except for one, ...Aiyen.
"Is he gone?"
Aiyen turned to see that Vikir had completely disappeared.
The subordinate who had been reporting nodded and spoke up again.
"Shall I report back in detail?"
"Yes. Do so."
Aiyen listened, and the subordinate resumed his report.
"To summarize, four things. First, the rainy season is coming."
Earlier, the search party had passed by a stream and spotted an unusual creature.
It was a fish called a "lungfish.
These fish have lungs that allow them to breathe through their lungs, which allows them to stay out of the water for quite some time.
Flapping their fins and crawling through the mud, they sleep in deep wet mud during the dry season, only to wake up as the rainy season approaches and the moisture in the air increases.
Balak hunters don't eat meat without scales because they consider it unclean, so they don't specifically hunt lungfish, but their presence means that the rainy season is coming.
The rainy season brought many bad things, such as flooded rivers and plagues, so they needed to be prepared.
"Secondly, we found suspicious strangers."
Aiyen narrowed his eyes at the next report.
They were white-skinned Imperials.
He wondered if they were remnants of the merchant and mercenary groups he'd exterminated two years ago, but of course they weren't.
They came in quietly and went out quietly, and the only thing they did was release something at the river's source.
A red liquid in a glass jar.
The suspicious men poured it into the river and then slipped back through the jungle.
Balak's warriors captured one of the dogs, who immediately consumed the poison they had hidden in his mouth and killed himself.
All he left behind was a dagger with the markings of a single, large snake on it.
Aiyen clutched it in her arms. He would ask Vikir what it was later.
If Vikir knew anything, he would surely know about this sigil.
"Third, an updated report on the Rococo."
The subordinate continued his report.
The Rococo were a rival tribe to the Balak, and just as all of the Balak were excellent archers, all of the Rococo were shamans.
Masters of curses and spells, they went by the name of black magic in the Empire.
Aiyen frowned.
Reports indicated that the Rococo tribe had made few appearances in Balak territory lately.
This was strange, considering they outnumbered the Balak by nearly ten to one.
Then came the final report.
"Fourth, a search party from Morg."
It was this fourth report that caught Aiyen's attention the most.
"Have they come again?"
"Yes. They're more frequent than before."
"And their commander? The same?"
"Yes. It's 'her' again."
Aiyen's face crumpled at his subordinate's report.
For the past two years, Morg's search parties had been tirelessly scouring the surface.
And the leader of the search party has remained the same.
Morg Camus.
She was almost there.
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