Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

[Translator - Clara]

[Proofreader - Lucky ]

Chapter 486: The Marquis of Discord (4)

[The Domain of the Ninth Style lies beyond the threshold of death...]

The landscape he saw with the eyes of his heart and soul burned into his retinas, leaving an indelible mark.

Attempting to recreate the scenery as if painting with ink on paper, Vikir managed to draw out nine fangs, an act said to be impossible in life.

The path traced by living stars.

...Flash!

The realm of the 9th Style of Baskerville was unveiled.

[Kraugh!?]

Blood gushed from Andras' mouth.

The nine fangs, which tore through the boundary between life and death, shredded Andras' body in an instant.

Vikir stood still, a blank expression on his face.

To the untrained eye, it appeared he was simply dazed, standing in a trance.

But Andras saw something entirely different.

Ku-oooh!

A terrifying aura of crimson black surged around him.

A Night hound with a pitch-black body, red eyes, and gaping maw.

["...I see. You've experienced death several times, so perhaps it's not impossible to cross the boundary of life and death while still alive. But to think you'd actually reach it."]

Andras murmured in amazement.

However, his hand, which drew the sword from his waist, still carried a strange confidence.

Kururuk!

A fiery blaze ignited on the hilt of the sword, which seemed like it had been forged by mixing volcanic ash and water.

Mammon, one of the Seven Great Demonic swords, descended upon Vikir's head.

The cursed sword Beelzebub blocked the vertical firestorm, deflected it, and immediately counterattacked.

...Clang! Bang! Clank! Krrrreeeeek!

Countless sparks and fragments of aura scattered in all directions.

‘It's fortunate there’s only one sword.’

Vikir thought as he parried Andras' sword.

Before his regression, Andras used to carry two swords: Mammon and Asmodeus. But now, he wielded only one.

It was easier to face him since the dual-sword master was now using only a single blade.

[Tch. It's hard with a divided body. I need to become whole again...]

Andras, his eyes glinting, readjusted his stance.

Vikir gathered the nine fangs into a single point, exuding a crimson-black aura.

...*Krrrreeeeek!*

A black sun emerged, heavier and more massive than before.

The dark and massive sphere of slashing energy absorbed everything before it into its core and ground it to dust.

Andras smirked as if he found it ridiculous.

["A final awakening before the last showdown, ending in a one-on-one duel with the final boss. Isn't that just too cliché?"]

"There's a reason why those stories sell well."

["...You're right."]

At the same time, a dull noise echoed.

Andras' face was sliced horizontally, leaving only his mouth.

Kururuk!

Vikir's sword twisted at an odd angle in mid-air and returned.

Andras quickly regenerated his face and spread his wings, retreating.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

In the blink of an eye, dozens of exchanges occurred.

...Flash!

The infernal flames spewed by Andras melted the surrounding golden pillars.

Vikir's slashing attack pierced through the melting ceiling and pillars.

Andras also countered with his flaming sword.

As the final clash loomed, Vikir suddenly felt as though someone was standing behind him.

The warmth he had felt on the battlefield at Tochka.

The reassuring presence he had been reluctant to acknowledge.

Finally, a soft voice echoed in Vikir's ear.

"You've grown well."

A voice, clear and distinct, as if speaking right beside him.

The moment he recalled that memory, Vikir felt an unprecedented surge of emotion welling up within him.

This intense feeling, akin to a choking sensation, was directed at his father, Hugo.

It was something he had ignored, suppressed, and erased throughout his two lifetimes.

And now, it exploded, carried by the aura at the tip of his sword.

...*BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!*

A massive black sun surged forward in a straight line.

The Black Thunderbolt.

It split into nine trajectories, extending straight ahead.

Nine fangs that stab, bind, tear, cut, chop, sever, crush, grind, and pulverize.

The ultimate form of the Baskerville family’s swordsmanship that tears the world apart.

The "Ultimate Intent to Kill" that Cane Corso displayed in the Sword Tomb.

It was a level of swordsmanship unseen even in the age of destruction.

Even Andras, the apex predator, had never faced anything like it.

[W-what is this madness…!?]

A slash that tore not just in eight physical directions, but even in time axis.

In the midst of this overwhelming onslaught, Andras struggled.

But the outcome was already determined.

The raging wind and fragments of aura scattered and oxidized in the intense flames.

...*Snap!*

The blade broke.

Mammon, one of the Seven Demonic Swords, burned a fiery red and shattered into pieces.

Andras' body suffered the same fate.

Molten lava bubbled from the cracks that appeared all over his body.

His wings crumbled, and his eyes shriveled and blackened.

Vikir sensed that it was all over.

Though he had exhausted all his strength, he had achieved his goal.

The First Corpse, Andras, the "Marquis of Discord," had been defeated.

...*Thud!*

Finally, the last enemy, Andras, fell to his knees.

Vikir extended his cursed sword, Beelzebub, preparing for the final blow.

"Demons must die."

An unchanging, absolute truth.

The doctrine that defined the demon hunters' very existence.

...But there was one other thing just as absolute.

[There’s no other way, then.]

And that was the demon's malice towards humanity.

Even after exhausting all his power, Andras still wore that eerie smile.

[You said there's a reason why those stories sell well?]

From Andras' pitch-black eyes, darkness began to pour out once more.

[...I agree.]

The strange composure Andras exhibited, even on the brink of destruction, made Vikir hesitate.

[A final awakening before the last showdown, ending in a one-on-one duel with the final boss. The protagonist overcoming it all with the power of love and friendship. Then, shouldn't the villain's final desperate struggle also be part of the story? The true despair.]

"A ruse like the 'Empty Fort Startergy' won’t work on me."

[Hahaha— I'm not using such shallow tricks.]

The ominous darkness emanating from Andras' eyes grew even thicker.

Suddenly, Vikir saw Andras' current state overlapping with memories from the past.

It reminded him of the final moments of Andrealphs and Phlorosya.

Both demons had tried to open the 'Gate of Destruction' by staking their lives as collateral.

Of course, the price was steep.

As expected, Andras spoke.

[“I, too, can only open the Gate of Destruction by staking my own magic and life as collateral.”]

“Cut the nonsense. I know that the Gate of Destruction can only be opened once.”

Vikir had already gathered information from Sere and Decarabia.

No matter how powerful a demon is, the Gate of Destruction can only be opened once in the current world.

Phlorosya had already opened the Gate of Destruction in this timeline and failed to keep it open, so there was no longer any possibility of it being opened again.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Phlorosya already opened the Gate of Destruction. And he failed to keep it open due to the downpour and the flood I caused.”

[Ah, so that was your doing? I had thought it was just bad luck that ‘the last remaining dragon’ awakened at that exact moment... but it seems that wasn’t the case.]

“Once the gate is opened and then closed, that’s the end. It cannot be opened again, no matter what sacrifice you make.”

At Vikir’s firm declaration, Andras smirked.

[...Really? Is that so?]

Andras grinned slyly and continued in a relaxed tone.

[Apologies on my part, then. There is another Gate of Destruction. And it’s already wide open.]

“...!”

Vikir’s eyes widened.

At that moment, Decarabia, who was hanging from Vikir’s chest, shouted.

[How pathetic, Andras. Trying to survive with such a blatant lie. There is only one Gate of Destruction. It’s absurd to claim there are two, considering it took the combined power of ten demon lords just to create one!]

[Hahaha—what's this? Decarabia? You look ridiculous. But I’m not lying. The other Gate of Destruction is already open.]

Andras finished speaking and burst into laughter.

[No, forget just one! I could open hundreds of them!]

Simultaneously, Andras gathered the last of his remaining mana and summoned a series of pitch-black magic circles around him.

Keiiiiiing—

Dozens of black portals were drawn in the air.

Each one of these magic circles required only a minimal amount of mana.

However—

“...!”

In an instant, Vikir’s expression hardened beyond measure.

[You. I summoned you.]

A fragment of Vikir's first conversation with Andras flashed through his mind.

[I was the one who made you regress.]

The portals Andras summoned were not gates to the Hell.

‘Damn it!’

They were gateways leading to Vikir’s past timeline—the world where Vikir had originally lived before he regressed.

[Translator - Clara]

[Proofreader - Lucky ]

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