Chapter 72: Chapter 71: Bound by Blood
"Why is this person here...?"
Does it stand out?
Vikir stared at the portrait for a while in dismay.
But no matter how you look at it, it's the usual, old Hugo.
Black hair, piercing eyes, sharp nose, strong jaw, no mustache yet. How could you not recognize this face?
What's going on? Why is Hugo's portrait here?
As Vikir stared in dismay, Pomerian startled him and tugged on the pendant's string.
With what little strength he has, the tug seems like a request for the pendant to be returned.
Vikir hands the pendant back to Pomerian and asks.
"Who are these people in the painting, and what do they have to do with you?"
The Pomeranian winced at the harsh tone, as if interrogating a criminal.
Vikir spoke a bit softer, wanting to be gentle.
"Who are the people in the picture, and what's their connection to you?"
The words were different, but the tone was the same.
The harshness of the tone made the Pomeranian shudder nervously.
Then Aiyen stepped forward.
"If you ask me like that, then I won't give you a good answer."
"...? How did I respond?"
"You should ask her cheerfully."
Aiyen's point made Vikir pause.
Then, a mischievous smile spread across his face.
"Who are the people in the painting?"
The Pomeranian looked up, looking less scared than before.
"Oh, yes, it's working. You were right...."
Vikir turned his head toward Aiyen.
A moment.
"...?"
Vikir's eyes caught Aiyen's blank expression.
She stood there for a moment, studying Vikir's face, before she snapped out of it.
"Slave, did you expect me to laugh so hard?"
"..."
Vikir immediately scowled.
He hadn't smiled broadly since he was born, so it was no wonder he was being teased.
Then. The Pomeranian answered.
"Mama. Grandpa. Grandma."
Vikir's mouth dropped open at the words.
His head turned quickly.
A pendant, a faded portrait, decades old. Hugo Les Baskervilles and an unidentified girl and a boy. A mother and grandparents, the Pomeranian said.
"...What?"
Vikir had a theory.
Hugo in the pendant is young. And the girl beside him was probably his wife.
And the daughter they had together, the firstborn.
What if that eldest daughter was kidnapped by the Lavish clan, and the child she bore here was a Pomeranian.
'Come to think of it, I've heard that Hugo's character wasn't always as cold as it might be now.'
I have little knowledge of Hugo Les Baskerville when he was in the ecliptic before he came to the Edges, as Vikir was not yet born.
But I had once heard rumors from old Minister Barrymore that Hugo had once been friendly and warm.
'I thought it was nonsense at the time and dismissed it.
Vikir takes a moment to recall the history of the Baskervilles.
Once based near the ecliptic, the Baskervilles had moved far to the west of the empire, to the edges of the Red and Black Mountains, not because of a demotion.
Hugo Les Baskerville had gone before the King and requested that the entire House of Baskerville move to the edges.
The reason for this was the death of his most beloved wife in childbirth, and the savages who had taken his most beloved daughter, whom he loved deeply.
This made Hugo despise his enemies and the savages beyond the Black Mountains intensely, and he cared for his wife and children little afterward.
After this series of events, he became an extremely cold and calculating killer, living only for the slaughter of demons and savages.
The King considered him capable and entrusted him with the task of expanding the empire's borders, and Hugo threw himself even more into his work to forget everything.
That's how Baskerville, Ironblade, was born.
And now. A rejected pup of the Ironborn has found an unexpected companion here.
Pomeranian. Pomeranian la Baskerville.
Penelope, the daughter of Roxana, the woman Hugo had loved more than anything else in his life.
And Penelope's daughter, Pomerian.
This means that, if my theory is correct, the girl before me is the direct granddaughter of Hugo Les Baskerville.
'... That makes me an uncle.'
It was a strange feeling.
Even now, nieces and nephews were being born somewhere, but not a single one of them were girls.
This is a Baskerville family where daughters are quite rare.
Come to think of it, there was not a single daughter in Hugo's direct bloodline.
Not even in the entire family.
There are plenty of sons.
"But Hugo, he's the kind of man who only looks for sons and grandsons because he thinks men are more valuable in battle.
What do you think Hugo, the extreme warlord, the fighting demon, the one who sees his children as mere tools, could do if he saw this little, delicate granddaughter?
Vikir shook his head.
No matter what I think about it, I can't imagine anything but negativity.
And with savage blood in the mix, he might not be so pleased.
Vikir reached out and put his hand on top of the Pomeranian's head.
The Pomeranian flinched slightly, but didn't pull away as he had before.
Vikir spoke in a gentle tone.
"Apparently, the Lavish clan has not been treated well either."
"..."
"Come with me."
If the Lavish clan had been devastated by the plague and left, Pomerian couldn't stay here.
But Pomerian stood firm, clinging to the pillars of the dormitory.
Vikir looked up and saw the reason behind the Pomeranian's reluctance to leave.
It was the rough stone tomb behind him.
As Vikir pondered what to do, Aiyen stepped forward.
She bowed her head once before the tomb, then addressed the Pomeranian.
"When our ancestors leave this world, they go to heaven and become stars. So will your mom."
"..."
"What lies here in this stone tomb is just a shell, but your mom's soul is a star overhead, looking down on you."
"..."
"She wants you to leave this awful place as soon as possible."
Then, the Pomeranian raised his head. He seemed to understand the Lavish language, but Balak's words as well.
The Pomerian thought for a moment, then released his grip on the dormitory's pillars.
He approached Vikir.
Black hair, red eyes.
Vikir and Pomerian looked exactly alike.
Pomerian looked at Vikir and said.
"Mommy. The hair. Eyes. The resemblance. It's the same."
"Yeah. All Baskerville dogs look the same."
Vikir understood the Pomeranian.
It was the first meeting of uncle and nephew.
Thereafter, Pomerian came to Balak's village.
"Uncle. Where are you going?"
She clung to Vikir's leg, reluctant to let go, which was quite unusual for a child used to being alone.
"Uncle needs to go
to a meeting, the clan leader has summoned him."
"Aang. Uncle. I'll go with you."
Pomerian seemed afraid to be alone.
Now that she had left her mom's stone tomb, she realized that she was truly alone.
That's why she seemed to rely more on Vikir, who had the same hair color and eye color as her mom.
"... I can't refuse."
Vikir immediately picked up the Pomeranian and carried her on his back.
He looked for something that could be used as a wrap, and a thick, coarse pelt caught his eye.
It was an oxbear pelt, given to him by the clan leader himself as payment for their successful trade.
He considered what he intended to use the pelt for, but he realized it was for a makeshift bag.
Vikir carried the Pomeranian on his back and headed outside.
"I'll have to ask the Chihuahua to do it for me... later."
He couldn't keep this girl in Balak's village.
Even if he sent her to Hugo, she would have to be raised somewhere far away from him, somewhat within the reach of Lavish influence.
Vikir made plans to leave the water and into the city later.
"Maybe I'll visit Morg, too."
It might be worth checking on the alliance with Baskerville to see how things were turning out.
While Vikir considered this, he soon arrived at the military quarters of Tribal leader Aquila.
After entering, he found Aquila, Aiyen, and other elders, all wearing serious expressions.
Aiyen and Vikir were witnesses to the meeting.
Chief Aquila inquires.
"Yes. You mean there's a plague going around?"
Aiyen and Vikir nodded.
The report went on to detail how the Lavish clan had been wiped out, and the state of their remaining villages.
Other hunters also testified to seeing the bodies of orcs, lizardmen, and other creatures lying on the ground with red spots growing from them.
Aquila stroked his chin, a serious expression on his face.
"The rainy season is coming soon, and we're in trouble."
If the plague came, the damage would be even worse. We had to find a way to prepare.
Then.
"Chief, it's not a plague, it's a curse!"
Shaman Ahheman stepped forward.
He argued that the Red Death was not a disease, but a form of black magic that could be lifted through sacrifice.
There were a few old elders who agreed with him.
They believed that this was the perfect time for a great ritual, and of course they intended to take advantage of the occasion to greatly increase the power and influence of the shaman.
The youngsters, on the other hand, argued that the Red Death was a plague, not a curse, and that it was time to abandon the village and move on.
The old and young debated heatedly between superstition and practical solutions.
It didn't seem like it would be easy to determine who was right.
"Hmm. How should we respond?"
Tribal leader Aquila was frowning.
Someone quietly raised their hand to speak.
The person who first coined the phrase 'red death'.
"I know how to stop this sickness."
It was Vikir.
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