Chapter 23 – Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound

Episode 23 Morgue Camille (4)

What a shocking sight.


Even Hugo Les Baskervilles, the patriarch of the Iron Blade family, had hiccups.

Bikir’s action was just as sudden.


The camouflage screamed, eyes closed.
No wonder, his arm was about to be cut off.

She was screaming and crying at a crisis she had never faced before.

Even his uncle, Adolf, had never seen him cry like this before.

“That, stop!”

Adolphe involuntarily raised his mana.

The mana of a Sixth Circle Master surged out, pressuring Bikir.



As if he had anticipated it, Vikir immediately let go of Camu’s arm and fell backwards.

“Aaahhh! Uncle, he took my arm off……!”

Camu cried, running to bury his face in the hem of Adolf’s cloak.

Adolf stared at Vikir in disbelief, not even angry, before turning his attention to Hugo.

“Go away, what are you doing!”

Hugo ignored Adolf’s protests.
He simply tilted his head at an angle and looked down at Vikir.


Son, he said, and Vikir answered politely.

“Yes, father.”

“Your prank just now was a bit too much, I’m afraid.”

“I apologize.
It is a common prank among the brothers of the family.”

After speaking, Vikir took the tip of the dagger in his hand and bent it.


The knife bent so easily.
It’s a fake sword, made of rubber.

When Adolf saw it, he exclaimed in disbelief.

“No, no, no, what kind of a toy is this?”

“You’ve never seen a boy play with a toy sword before, and we Baskervillians play with them from the time they are a year old.”

It was only at Hugo’s words, which seemed to surprise him, that Adolf opened his eyes and saw the sword in Bikir’s hand.

It was a crude rubber knife, obviously a fake, the sort of thing that even the average child in the world would play with.

My mistake was that I didn’t recognize the quality of the knife in Bikir’s momentary burst of strength.

Seeing Adolf, who was known for his meticulousness and composure, stumble in surprise gave Hugo a bit of satisfaction.

He quickly forgot his own surprise.

“Now, I’ve thought of something about the ruby mine.
Maybe the Morg will like it.”


“So let’s just get this friendly competition over with.”

Hugo’s blatant attempt to sell out.

Adolph, looking dumbfounded, tried to protest in Moorish.

“……black, black, chirp, chirp.
That bastard, I’m not gonna let him get away with it, you’ll see!”

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time for that as he was busy petting the camel, which was blowing its nose against his cloak and whimpering.

Thus, an important meeting between the two families was ridiculously interrupted by an eight-year-old squabble.

* * *

‘Magic and the sword are at odds with each other in normal times, but in times of crisis they are a good complement to each other and save the country.’

In keeping with the former Emperor’s beliefs, Morg the Mage and Baskerville the Ironblade hold an annual friendly tournament.

Children from the ages of eight to fifteen gather to test their skills against one another.

By tradition, it is the 15-year-olds who compete in the most intense and high-profile battles with swords and magic, as opposed to the 8-year-olds who compete in theory and mana sensitivity.

…… but.

For this year’s friendly competition, all eyes were elsewhere.

The 8-year-old class usually gets little attention.

The two youngsters standing there were the main protagonists of the day.

Vikir van Baskerville, of the iron-blooded House Baskerville.

Morg Camus of House Morg, a master mage.

At the Morg’s initiative, the eight-year-olds were moved to the side of the field next to the 15-year-old class, where the real action was taking place.

They would be fighting just like the 15-year-olds.

The contrast between the nonchalant Bikir and the venomous Camu was quite striking.

“Brace yourself, boy.”


“You’re not going to get any breaks once you’re in the ring.”


“Say something!”



Bikir could only yawn.

The more he does so, the more he stomps his foot in search of a high.


The bell chimed, signaling the start of the real competition.

And with that, the match began.


A loud cheer rang out.

Camu immediately drew up his mana and charged at Bikir.

A performance that draws all of its power from the start.

It’s a great way to get a head start, but in the long run, it’s not a good strategy because it reveals all of your underside.

However, Camu’s talent was indeed impressive.

Quadra casting!

He casts four spells at the same time, when most people can’t even cast two in a row.

Even though they were one-circle spells, Fireball, Ice Sphere, Thunder Ring, and Mud Wall, each one of them would be difficult for a 15-year-old Morg teenager.

To perform four of them simultaneously is a talent beyond imagination!

It was indeed a genius that could only be found once in a hundred years, even in the prestigious Morg.


Fireballs, ice balls, and lightning bolts the size of a child’s fist struck the ground.

It actually hurt a little, and Vikir ducked just enough to avoid it.

“It’s gorgeous to look at, but I think you’d be better off sticking to magic for now.”

“Profit, what business is it of yours, you magical ignoramus!”

Camou was chasing after Vikir, diligently controlling his three offensive magics.

It was clear that he was determined to give him a run for his money.



Vikir dodged a barrage (more like three child’s fists) of spells, and instead moved closer to the camo.

And then.


Vikir kicked the mud wall that was protecting the camel and shattered it.


The camouflage swallowed hard.

It was too close to call in its offensive magic.

The base of the mud wall collapsed, and Bikir’s face came into view.

Camu felt his heart pounding in his chest.

“We’re down!

Camu’s eyes rolled back in his head as Bikir’s palm flew out, blocking his vision.

Then, a searing pain shot across his forehead.


Camu pulled back, blinking back tears, and looked up.


Her forehead burned, but that was all.

Bikir didn’t do anything, just flicked his finger and made a small bump on the camel’s forehead.

“You, you bastard! Are you kidding me?”


“Go, go!”

The camel canceled one of the three offensive spells it had cast earlier.


Mud Wall, a wall of mud was created in two layers, covering the camel.

“Haha, now there’s a double wall! They can’t get through this!”

The problem is, with the double wall, the camel can’t see out of it.



The two layers of mud are as easy to break through as a sheet of paper.

It was Bikir’s hand that broke through the wall and stretched out in front of Camu’s face.

“Who does this hand belong to?”

The hand that broke through Camu’s wall and into her space.

Bikir’s fingers moved quickly while Camu was stunned and unable to find the words to answer.

“The answer is, turn off the stronger one.”

Another snap.

Another tear leaked from the camel’s eye.

He was hit again.

Swat after swat hit the exact same spot, creating a second, smaller bump.

To make matters worse, Bikir’s hand slipped away immediately after the second sting.

It wasn’t like he was delivering a killer blow, it was just a quick slap.

“Who does this thing dare to play with me-aaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Eight years old, a genius girl who’s spent her entire life growing up like a forbidden jade leaf.

Camo screamed at the top of her lungs, unable to contain her rising tantrum.

With that, she canceled all of her offensive spells and formed four walls of mud to surround herself.

“Now, how about this, no one can break through this, not even you! Ha ha!”

The camo didn’t seem to mind that his vision had gone completely dark.

In fact, he was glad that he didn’t have to show his hands rubbing his forehead and his sullen expression.


He paused for a moment, wondering if that little bastard Bikir couldn’t break through the four walls.

Camu smiled triumphantly.

“Ho-ho-ho, loser! He’s a sack of dwarf shit and can’t even break through the walls! Come on, you idiot!”

But still no answer.


Some time passed.

Trapped in the mud dome, the camel rubbed his forehead and thought to himself.

“Huh? But this won’t let me get out, will it?

What should I do? My vision is completely blocked and I can’t see what’s going on outside.

I can’t even try to do something different, because I’m stuck with four layers of mud.

I thought, “Hmm.
Maybe I can cut a hole and peek out?’

With a little effort, the camel cut a small hole in the mud.

The moment he stuck his face through the hole to look outside.


Bikir’s hand swooped in like a ghost and delivered a third blow to the camel’s forehead.


Three lumps!

With three small lumps on the same spot on her forehead, Camu writhed in pain and anger.

She lifted her burning eyes and quickly canceled all four layers of mud walls.

As the mud wall collapsed, she could see the face of the insignificant bastard in the distance.

“I’m going to kill him! Aaahhhh!”

Camu cried.
He was too angry and frustrated to think about his dignity.

So he threw away all his defensive spells and cast four offensive spells simultaneously.

A firepower that would have been unthinkable in a 15-year-old’s training center!

Meanwhile, Vikir faced the camo’s fury and thought.

“……what should I do?

If I try to kill it, I can snap its neck in 0.1 seconds.
But that’s not the problem right now.

Dealing with a child is painful.
You don’t know where to draw the line.

This is especially true for Vikir, who has spent his entire life on the battlefield.

He was too young to be appeased by the younger members of House Morg.

Eventually, Vikir made a judgment call.

“Morg’s problems are Morg’s problems.

It’s always cleaner to do things without getting your hands dirty.


A quick glance to the side reveals an intense battle in progress.

A nameless 15-year-old Baskerville and a 15-year-old Morg were engaged in a fierce battle of swordsmanship and magic.

Both are so focused that they don’t realize that someone is approaching them.

The 15-year-old Morg seems to be practicing a powerful fire explosion spell, and a loud explosion erupts from the training ground.


Vikir ducked back and stood as close as he could to the border of the neighboring arena.

A very angry Camouflage followed closely behind him.

“Well, if there’s any more, the arbiters will step in.

Vikir shifted slightly, and the camouflage chased after him, unwilling to let go.

And then.


An explosion.
And gasps.

“Ouch! Camo!”

“No way, Mr.

“No! Mr.
Camel is……!”

Bikir began to draw the picture he wanted.

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