Chapter 68: Chapter 68: Vikir's Valor
The four seasons of the wilderness are quite unique.
Summer, Crazy Summer, Winter, and Crazy Winter.
Beyond the vast expanse of water and through the woods, the seasons changed naturally. Here, in a serene glade at the start of the season...
...Thud!
A dull sound reverberated.
A Balak warrior, likely in his late teens, winced, clutching his nose.
"Ow, my nose!"
He snorted, blood trickling from his nose. It was Ahun.
Facing him was a stoic-looking man with a clenched fist.
Tall, black hair cropped casually, cool eyes, and fair skin.
Vikir stared down at Ahun with a grim expression.
"That's enough hand-to-hand combat."
With his task complete, Vikir turned away without another word.
Ahun grabbed his buddy's hand to help him up.
As Vikir departed, Ahun spat in his direction.
"You jerk, you've become more and more like a beast since your revival."
The others around him chuckled.
"You used to be a great warrior. Now, your archery skills are amazing. I've heard you're almost as good as Commander Aiyen."
"Yeah, but I don't know about comparing myself to Captain Aiyen. And judging by his fist just now, he's not exactly friendly."
"Well, yeah, sure. Ahun's nose was bleeding, but that's something I can handle."
As his comrades exchanged laughs, Ahun muttered softly.
"...It didn't hit."
"What?"
"The fist. It didn't connect."
Ahun felt a chill run down his spine.
Sure enough, Vikir had extended his fist. And stopped just before his face.
The force of the wind that followed was enough to make Ahun's nose bleed and his bones rattle.
"...You did this with just the wind from your outstretched fist?"
The others' mouths dropped open in astonishment.
They stared blankly back at Vikir's retreating figure, now a small vanishing point in the distance.
---
Vikir had just turned seventeen this year.
His face had matured a lot.
His stature had grown taller with each passing day, and his chubby cheeks had slimmed down.
The two years in the water had done a lot for Vikir.
Not only had his body fully recovered, but he was much stronger in body and spirit.
Realizing that Ahun and other warriors his age were no longer looking down on him, Vikir displayed his true strength.
...Boom!
The enchanted sword Satan pierced through his wrist's arteries.
The blade had grown thicker and longer. Satan could now extend nearly a meter.
Vikir swung it around, testing slashes and thrusts.
...Snap! Crackle! Pop!
The boulder in front of him split in two, and the rock nearby was pierced with a hole.
Vikir's swordsmanship was highly advanced, considering that delivering a slashing blow was generally more difficult than a thrust.
By the time Vikir destroyed the two boulders, he sent four more flying.
A total of six boulders were destroyed simultaneously.
Torn, cracked, pierced, skewered, slashed, and split.
It was the ferocious teeth of a hunting wolf that destroyed the stones.
"The Sixth Fang."
You have mastered the Sixth Fang of Baskerville.
The six fangs that had been raging just a moment ago retracted back into his wrist, and Vikir wiped the sweat from his body.
The boiling mana in his body was now swirling at high speed in six circles.
With this, Vikir had reached the upper levels of the Ideal Slope.
'But I still can't break through the Expert's barrier.
Masters are something else.
Even though I'm an alumnus, I've only just arrived, and at this rate, I'm far from where I was in my past life.
It was the forty-year-old Vikir, before his regression, who couldn't break through the Expert's barrier and ended up at the very top of the Alumni.
It sounds like a joke, but there was indeed a middle barrier between the peak of the alumni and the Swordmaster that needed to be crossed.
'The Supreme Alumni.'
The ability to control fluid atmospheres that were so thick and sticky they felt like solids.
Only by reaching this level could one ever fully regain the power of their past life. One could also break through the barriers of experts.
But aside from reaching the peak of the Alumni, Vikir was confident he could fight and defeat an Alumni in reality.
One weight class above. An ability that allowed him to take on stronger foes.
This was thanks to the protection of the River Styx, which made his bones and tissue tough and resilient, the enchanted sword Lucifer, and the archery and assassination skills he acquired from the fierce warriors of Balak.
"...To the peak of the alumni at full power?"
But I wouldn't say I'm 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 even harder.
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.
A tradition prevents the spirits of the prey they kill from remembering their faces.
"...."
Ahheman stood silently, scowling at Vikir as if he could do without the late arrival.
But that didn't stop him from giving his approval to Vikir, who always performed the best when he was out hunting.
Malmanama. If Ahheman didn't approve of Vikir, and he performed well on his own, it would only prove that the shaman's blessing meant nothing.
Meanwhile, Ahheman quickly dusted Vikir's face with charcoal powder, doing so carelessly that Vikir's white skin showed through in spots.
"... ... Yes, the hunting gods will be with you."
"... ... Thanks."
Vikir didn't really need Ahheman's blessing either, so they parted ways with a positive attitude.
Meanwhile.
Aiyen was receiving reports from the returning hunting trackers before they set out on the hunt.
She listened quietly, with a serious expression on her face.
Vikir approached Aiyen and asked.
"Are you going hunting?"
"Mmm. Maybe later."
It was rare for Aiyen to brush off Vikir.
Usually, she would approach Vikir before he could ask or suggest anything, but today she seemed serious.
"...?"
Vikir was slightly puzzled, but he didn't press the issue.
Soon, armed with a worn longsword, bow, and arrows, Vikir set off into the depths of the wilderness without a single wolf to follow.
The other hunters paid him little attention, as his simple attire, equipment, and short stature allowed him to outperform most other hunting parties.
Except for one... Aiyen.
"Is he gone?"
Aiyen went to check and found that Vikir had completely disappeared.
The subordinate who had been reporting nodded and spoke up again.
"Shall I report back in detail?"
"Yes. Please do."
Aiyen listened, and the subordinate continued his report.
"To summarize, four things. First, the rainy season is approaching."
Earlier, the hunting party had passed by a river and spotted an unusual creature.
It
was a fish called a "lungfish."
These fish had lungs that allowed them to breathe through their lungs, enabling them to stay out of the water for extended periods.
Fluttering their fins and crawling through the mud, they lay dormant in deep wet mud during the dry season, only to awaken as the rainy season approached and the moisture in the air increased.
Balak hunters didn't eat meat without scales because they considered it unclean, so they didn't specifically hunt lungfish, but their presence indicated that the rainy season was coming.
"Second, we encountered suspicious outsiders."
Aiyen narrowed her eyes at the next report.
They were pale-skinned Imperials.
She wondered if they were remnants of the merchant and mercenary groups he had wiped out years ago, but obviously they weren't.
They came in quietly and left quietly, and the only thing they did was pour something at the river's source.
A red liquid in a glass vial.
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 ingested the poison they had concealed in his mouth and committed suicide.
All he left behind was a dagger with the markings of a single, large snake on it.
Aiyen held it in her hands. She would ask Vikir about it later.
If Vikir knew anything, he would probably have some knowledge of this symbol.
"Third, an updated report on the Ornate."
The subordinate continued his report.
The Ornate were a rival clan to the Balak, and just as the Balak were all skilled archers, the Ornate were all shamans.
Masters of curses and spells, they were known as practitioners of dark magic in the Realm.
Aiyen frowned.
Reports indicated that the Ornate clan had appeared in Balak territory recently.
This was unusual, considering they outnumbered the Balak by almost 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 returned again?"
"Yes. They're more frequent than before."
"What about their leader? The same?"
"Yes. It's 'her' again."
Aiyen's face creased at her subordinate's report.
For the past two years, Morg's search parties had been relentlessly scouring the surface.
And the leader of the search party remained the same.
Morg Camus.
She was getting closer.
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