Iron Blooded Hound

Chapter 66: Deadly Deals

It was a night when the ominous shadows swallowed the moon.

Master Bootlegger and the Shipper Partnership gritted their teeth and pushed through the wilderness.

"Eek! Damn mosquitoes! I'm tired of this damn wilderness."

They grumbled in exhaustion.

They headed back to headquarters, swatting at the mosquitoes with the palms of their hands as the pests clung to them with their remarkably long stingers.

There, a group of rough-looking men gathered, waiting for the traders.

The unkempt man at the forefront grinned at Leader Runner.

"Looks like things didn't go well judging by your injuries, huh?"

"...."

Leader Bootlegger didn't respond, instead shifting his pack nervously.

The men nearby chuckled.

"See? The Balak are not to be trifled with."

"What kind of business is it to trade with such monsters?"

"Just kill them and subdue them all. Savages."

They were a mercenary group of ex-convicts, escaped prisoners, and misfits wanted by the Empire.

Leader Bootlegger warned the mercenaries.

"Don't underestimate the Balak, they're tough to beat in battle, and you're new to the area, so you may not realize it...."

"Oh, never mind, if you're so scared, why did you bring us here in the first place, didn't you bring us here to stir up trouble if things went south?"

"No, actually, we have deals with the demons, and we'd rather... than go to full-scale conflict with the Balak."

Leader Dealer pursed his lips in concern.

But even he, who usually couldn't have imagined a full-scale battle with the Balak, couldn't resist eyeing the enormous amount of trade goods left behind in the Balak's village.

Even the mercenaries and some of the traders who were new to the wilderness began to voice their opinions.

"You can't just waste money like this! I spent a fortune in the merchant society's auction to participate in this trade!"

"Didn't we agree to pay for our protection as a percentage of the net profits of the trade? Do you think I protected you from demons for a pittance like this?"

"What's wrong with Balak? We ambush them in the dead of night, set them on fire, take their goods, and that's it!"

Veteran traders who have traded with the Balak a few times know the fears of the Balak warriors.

But even they were greedy for the goods they had left behind in Balak's village.

Eventually, the vote was near majority, with a few silent votes in favor.

Leader Bootlegger spoke, his sword half-sheathed at his waist.

"Alright, now that it's getting dark, let's go quietly and take inventory, and I don't think I need to tell you who we'll eliminate first."

The faces of the mercenaries and shippers around him changed.

They understood it too. Who ruined their trade today.

"You mean that sneaky little brat? Alright, we got it."

"I'll be the first to put a blade in that arrogant kid's butt."

"But he didn't look like a kid to me. His palms were black. Usually people of color have white palms, don't they?"

"Maybe he's from the Empire? That would explain why he spoke Supreme so well."

All the men, including Leader Runner, chimed in at once.

Their spears and swords were sharpened, and they were ready to set everything ablaze.

And then.

In the darkness, they performed their rituals.

Not much of a ritual, really, just a cigarette.

Chick.

The cigarette was lit.

One of the mercenaries takes the cigarette in his mouth and lights a match to its end.

Next, the mercenary next to him takes the match and lights a cigarette.

Soon, he's about to blow it out.

The third mercenary reaches out and stops him, annoyed.

"Oh come on, finish the match, there's more to burn."

"Come on, you're a rookie, you don't know what you're doing."

The first mercenary and the second mercenary scoffed at the third mercenary.

"Don't you know that there's a saying in war that a single match should not be shared by three people?"

"What? Is there something like this?"

"There is. A match should be lit by two people."

The third mercenary grunted.

"I don't believe in that nonsense."

He quickly puts the cigarette in his mouth to the match, fearing it will go out.

The next moment, the match that lit the three cigarettes goes out.

...Puck!

A dull sound echoed through the darkness.

The third mercenary's cigarette was no more. And his head, too.

The first mercenary and the second mercenary stood there, covered in a hot liquid that splashed into their faces.

Blood. The blood of their slain comrades.

Before they could comprehend it.

...Puck! ... Puck!

Two more arrows flew by.

The arrows were aimed at the cigarettes and struck the mercenaries squarely in the mouths or throats, severing their heads from their bodies.

"Hic!?"

Leader Bootlegger quickly threw the cigarette to the ground.

Then.

...Puck!

The cigarette on the ground was immediately struck by an arrow.

The arrows were powerful enough to explode the surrounding area upon impact, and they rained down from the darkness like a shower of rain.

"Cigarettes! Drop the cigarettes!

An arrow lodged in the mouth of the mercenary captain, who was shouting instructions.

The mercenary captain lost half of his head, leaving only his uvula and lower jaw, and collapsed to the bottom of the floodwaters.

Anyone else who shouted, even briefly, at the suddenness of the situation was struck by arrows in the mouth and throat.

The mercenaries, who had numbered over 100, were quickly cut in half, then, in half again.

In no time.

... Meanwhile.

Beyond the rain of arrows, Balak's archers gritted their teeth.

"First cigarette, position, second cigarette, distance, third cigarette."

Huntmaster Aiyen ordered.

...Ping!

Aiyen, who had just sent an arrow flying, turned his head and grinned.

"So it is right there. Crazy mongrels trying to fight us first."

The Balak are essentially a fighting people.

There's no way they will avoid a fight by walking away when they're the ones who started it in the first place.

Aiyen aimed at the mercenaries and traders in the distance, looking pleased, invigorated, and delighted.

They had a knack for spotting the smallest of lights, the faintest of sounds.

They had a knack for picking out the smallest of lights, the glow of a cigarette, and threading their arrows into it.

The same went for sound.

Whether the words have left the mouth, are still near the uvula, or have not yet left the lungs, the arrow will unfailingly stir up trouble around town where the sound resides.

For a moment, Aiyen fired his bow with delight, but then Vikir pulled on her arm.

"Enough."

Aiyen's eyes widened.

"...what?"

"Don't kill them all. Spare some of them."

"Why would I?"

Aiyen scowled. Then she spoke.

"You don't mean forgiveness or mercy, do you? Words like that, from a crumbling empire...."

"Not that."

Vikir raised a hand, cutting off Aiyen.

He looked

quickly at the few lights shining in the darkness.

" ... ... I'm saying that because with a group that size, there's a good chance there's a backup group."

Vikir had deliberately left the survivors, intending to map out their escape route.

And the location of any headquarters that might be in the back.

Aiyen paused slightly at Vikir's demeanor, which was much harder and sharper than her own.

Then, a smile crept at the corners of her mouth.

"... ... Alright, I'm in."

Vikir had always struggled to figure out what she found admirable, Vikir thought.

* * *

Vikir's speculation proved right.

An arrow pierced his shoulder, and Leader Dealer scrambled to his feet and made his way through a narrow gorge among rock and stone.

Behind him, in a sprawling encampment, lay the remnants of the waiting mercenaries.

About a hundred men emerged from the sleeping quarters to cover the defeated fighters.

"We're confident in a hand-to-hand battle!"

"Arrows will be useless against our defenses!"

"Strength users, step forward!"

"Mages, gather! Defenses to block the arrows!"

There were many mages among the mercenaries, and soon defenses were set up to block the arrows.

But.

...PING!

This time, something rather unconventional began to fly.

Several arrows fell from above in a calculated arc, with ropes dangling from their nocks.

And at the end of each of those ropes was a large wooden barrel.

"...oil?"

The mercenaries muttered dismally.

A few arrows converge and cut the barrels down, one by one.

Boom! Boom!

As they hit the ground or struck the defenses, the barrels shattered, scattering wood splinters and spraying oil everywhere.

Then, a hail of flames began to ignite the oil.

Crackle!

In an instant, the fire had completely surrounded the mercenaries' encampment.

Even if they managed to escape the fire, their food, water, medicines, and weapons were all burning inside the camp, and it was now impossible to escape the wilderness alive.

Dead.

Those unlucky enough to be dead, and those even unluckier not to be dead yet, shared the same fate.

Leader Runner was shaking with rage.

"Tying a rope to arrows and sending a barrel of oil flying? Do these rats possess such ingenuity?"

Leader Runner had seen Balak's archers fight many times, but this was the first time he realized they could fight like this.

If only he had known how clever his enemies were, he might not have started a conflict for no apparent reason in the first place.

Right then.

As Leader Bootlegger faltered in the flames, something caught his eye.

Vikir.

He seemed to be visible darting past the burning flames.

Leader Dealer gritted his teeth.

"You rascal, did you set this up too?"

"... ... ... should I say you have a keen eye?"

Vikir replied, looking around.

Surrounding them were bodies, flames, death, and explosions.

It was a joke that if he had been faster, he wouldn't be in that predicament anyway.

Leader Bootlegger's eyes rolled back in his head as he heard the words.

"I'll kill you, you rascal!"

At that moment.

Vikir caught something.

It was a bow and arrow.

Ping-!

The arrow, flying with some force, lodged into Leader Dealer's lower abdomen.

"Uh-huh!"

It hit him in a tender spot. A spot that wouldn't kill him instantly, but would still be very painful and dangerous.

"... ... Geez, I wasn't exactly holding back."

Vikir made a sound akin to an apologetic sigh.

He had learned archery from Aiyen, but he still felt he wasn't good enough.

Kirik.

Regret would be regret, and yet, Vikir draws another arrow.

Leader Bootlegger relaxed his bloodied hand and waved it in anger.

"Now, wait a minute, you can't kill me, or you'll be terribly sorry! I'm serious!"

"Why not?"

Vikir asked, and Leader Dealer reached into his chest and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

"This, this is a prospecting permit from the city of Longshot! It's genuine! It's not a forgery! It has the stamp of the newly appointed Deputy Justice! I have the Baskervilles behind me!"

Leader Dealer's words were true, for now.

He was one of the authorized agents officially licensed to prospect.

Vikir paused for a moment, then said.

"Bring it here."

Vikir gestured toward Leader Bootlegger.

Leader Bootlegger winced in pain, but took the crumpled permit and held it out before Vikir.

With his other hand, he reached for the dagger concealed in his belt.

All at once.

Tsk-tsk.

Vikir wiped the sweat off his face.

Then, Leader Dealer's eyes widened with tears.

"Yo-you... are you...!?"

Recognizing Vikir's identity, Leader Dealer was stunned to the point that he dropped his dagger to the ground.

Staring at the blade on the ground, Vikir chuckled dryly.

Then, he said.

"I take it back."

He wiped his fingers across his face and drew an X across the shame on the permit.

The permit became legally null before Bootlegger's eyes.

Having revoked the permit's authority by tampering with it himself, Vikir finally throws it into the flames and burns it.

At the same time.

...Puck!

An arrow hits Leader Dealer right in the center of his forehead.

And then.

...puck! ... puck! ... puck! ... puck! ... puck!

Four more arrows stop in roughly the same spot.

Leader Bootlegger's skull was shattered several times, almost to the point of being unrecognizable.

"He was a tough one."

Aiyen grunted, coming to stand next to Vikir.

At that moment.

"Chief, it's time to get out!"

Ahun called from behind the flames.

Aiyen immediately grabbed Vikir and carried her like a princess.

He leaped onto the back of the wolf Bakira, who was waiting behind him, and they were off like the wind.

Behind them, the cries of the surviving mercenaries and traders echoed in the air.

"The Balak are coming! They don't seem to be outnumbered! We stand a chance if we give chase!"

"Hahaha! We're almost out of flames! The fact that they came after us with fire means they're not confident in their own strength!"

"We're alive! We just have to retrieve the other supplies! We'll counterattack the Balak!"

Hearing that, Aiyen scoffed in dismay.

"Fools. They think we lit the fire for them."

"... ... You'll find out soon enough."

Vikir replied briskly.

And then.

Sssssssss... ...

The water reacted.

The sound of leaves in a wide area being swept in one direction as one.

Something big was coming through the darkness towards them.

Tsutsutsutsutsutsutsuts... ...

A heavy darkness, even heavier than the darkness, casting its shadowy presence across the water.

Explosions, bright lights, and shrill screams erupted from all corners of the traders' and mercenaries' encampment.

And one being stood here

that seemed to respond to the chaotic commotion they created.

The Lady with Eight Legs.

An entity of legends. The second an untold horror set foot on this side.

"Extinguish the fire! If we put out the fire, we can turn the tide... ... !?"

"Counterattack! If we counterattack... ... !?"

"Huh? Wasn't there something on the other side, I just saw something massive... ... !?"

"Aaaaahhhh help me... ... !?"

The cries faded away, one by one. Vanishing.

Aiyen and Vikir clung to Bakira's back and sped away.

....

Until they could no longer hear anything behind them.

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