Episode 165 Sin and Punishment (4)

A dark red sky. A flock of crows circling. A neck hanging high on a pole.

Dolores’s mouth was half open at the horrific scene before her.

‘Where the hell am I?’

No other battlefield in the world, no other conflict zone, to her knowledge, is this harsh and barren.

What’s more, the head hanging above her is…….

‘Who is it?’

Dolores squinted, trying to focus.

Perhaps that neck belongs to someone very closely associated with the Night Hound.

So Dolores decided to take a closer look at the decapitated man’s face.

It might help him guess the identity of the Night Hound.

But.

Cackle.

A crow swoops down and begins pecking at the severed head.

Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck.

More crows swoop down, pecking at his throat.

Dolores swallows hard at the sight of the neck through the black feathers.

It was impossible to tell from the shape of his neck what his face had once been.

It was already so badly decomposed and pecked at by so many crows that it was all but a skeleton.

‘Is this the shameful memory of the Night Hound?’

Dolores turned her head slightly to look at the Night Hound beside her.

“…….”

He stood still, unmoving.

There was no way to tell if he was wearing a mask of shame or not.

Only.

“Reminds me of old times.”

The short word was still dry, and the only emotion it contained was a pungent, ashy regret.

<Name: ……ir …… ……Kerrville

<Crime Name: …………>

The room, which is almost completely torn, flutters softly.

In the end, Dolores was unable to glean any information about his identity from the Night Hound’s memories.

It only made her more curious and more pitiful about what he had been through.

‘…… What kind of life has this man led, and what kind of burden is he carrying alone?’

Just like in the past when treating plague patients together, the grave look of the night hound aroused even more faint and sorrowful feelings in her.

It was more than maternal love, more than just compassion for a neighbor in need, more than a saintly compassion.

Meanwhile, Vikir was looking at a scene he hadn’t seen in a long time.

The old homeland.

The old world he had left behind.

He missed it a little, but he never wanted to go back.

The world line where he was executed after being falsely accused of being a traitor. The owner abandoned him even though he worked hard as a hunting dog.

‘I’ve gotten my revenge, and there’s nothing left for me to do.’

Hugo Baskerville, the man who cut off his own head and hung it on a pole, but it turned out to be the handiwork of Andromalius, disguised as Set Baskerville.

Since he was eliminated and all the people involved in the family were hunted down and executed, the fundamental revenge is already over.

Of course, there was still revenge for Hugo Baskerville, but that would come later.

Ugh.

Vikir raised his sword in a casual manner and sliced through the landscape in front of him.

The blow flew, shattering its neck and sending the crows circling it away.

Black feathers fluttered in a mess.

Screech!

Caw caw

Caw caw caw

Cackle cackle cackle cackle

Cackle, cackle, cackle… cackle cackle

Ak Ak Ak Ak Ak

Cac cac cac cac

Ak Ak Ak Ak

cac cac

caw caw

The crows circled and disappeared into the sky.

The world was soon torn to shreds.

Then, from beyond the black fog, came Dantalian’s snarl.

[What are you? Who are you? Why are the landscapes of my homeland in your memories?]

The laughter was gone from his voice, replaced by confusion and bewilderment.

Vikir did not answer Dantalian’s question.

[……Yes. It doesn’t matter if you don’t answer, I’ll just have to see for myself].

Dantalian opened the next sack.

The sack pulsed as if it were alive, and he pulled the next one out of its mouth.

It was ‘Fear’, rummaging through Vikir’s memories to find the most terrifying.

Tsutsutsutsuts……

Soon, an old man walked out of the night fog.

Vikir recognized him at a glance.

“Hugo, Hugo Les Baskerville!

A gray-haired old man. His face covered with age spots and wrinkles, countless burn marks and scars.

“Who, who is that?”

Dolores didn’t recognize Hugo at all.

Of course, she did recognize him.

As a high ranking member of the Quovadis, she often exchanged pleasantries with Hugo, the iron-blooded swordman lord of Baskerville, at great events in the Empire.

But the last Hugo in Vikir’s memory was a world away from the one she knew today.

The long years of war had completely changed a man’s appearance.

Hugo’s face, which seemed stubborn but solemn and dignified, aged rapidly within a few years after the war began.

Not only are there wrinkles and age spots, but the face itself has become more severe and harsh.

Moreover, the numerous slash marks and makeup marks on his face make old Hugo look even more murderous.

Normally, a hound should be paralyzed by the majesty of its “master,” imprinted in its bones.

But for some reason, Vikir didn’t feel so scared of Hugo in front of him.

‘Maybe it’s because I saw you holding the Pomeranian and smiling like an idiot… … .’

Hugo had even recently shaved off his mustache to suit the Pomeranian’s tastes!

When the master loses his dignity, the hound stops listening.

Thus, Vikir, too, was able to let go of his instinctive fear of Hugo to some extent.

What’s more, Dantalian hasn’t yet accumulated enough magic to fully recreate the power of the figure in his memory.

Tsk-tsk.

Vikir pushed the aura contained in the magic sword Beelzebub to its limit and thrust it forward.

Seven teeth bite down on Hugo.

Yes, this time it was the hound biting his master.

‘Not long from now.’

Vikir tore the fake Hugo’s entire body to shreds before his eyes, vowing that one day he would bite him in real life.

Dolores, seeing the illusion shattered, asked Vikir cautiously.

“Excuse me……, if you don’t mind me asking, who was that old man just a moment ago?”

“My father.”

“……ah.”

Dolores remained silent.

She had seen her father in the sack of fear.

And the Night Hound had seen him in the sack of fear, too.

Dolores saw herself in the Night Hound.

Could the Night Hound see himself in her?

Dolores thought to herself, ‘… … I thought, ‘I hope so.’ If only it could be of the slightest comfort to him.

Just as he had been comforted by the Night Hound.

Meanwhile.

[Off!]

The blow that Vikir had unleashed in killing Hugo was returned to Dantalian.

[Yelp! How, how do you overcome shame and fear so easily, you inhuman thing!]

Dantalian exclaims in a blood-curdling voice.

[But! Even for you, who are so emotionless, it won’t be as easy this time, ho ho ho ho!]

The last sack began to move.

‘Love’. The most primal element that drives humans.

An essential, indispensable emotion that is necessary for a person to live.

This time, it was the turn of Vikir’s most beloved thing to emerge from the sack.

“…….”

Dolores felt herself tense up for some reason.

Although it was really immature and pathetic to feel this way in the middle of a fight against a demon of Demon King rank.

‘……I’m still curious!’

Dolores cursed herself for letting her eyes wander, but she remained alert.

He would keep an eye on whatever came up.

Whether it was in preparation for a fight with a demon, or out of curiosity about the Night Hound’s past, she couldn’t tell.

And now.

Tsutsutsutsuts……

The sack Dantalian had left behind as a last resort opened wide.

[Hohohohoho! A guy like you is bound to break down miserably in the face of love! No matter how hard you are, you can’t help but lose your composure and become embarrassed in front of the face of your loved one! It’s not for nothing that romance sells well regardless of the era! Love is something that transcends everything… … uh!?]

But Dantalian’s cheerful voice didn’t last long.

“……!”

Even Dolores felt the same way as Dantalian for now.

Flutter.

Her eyes widened, and the sack of love opened wide in front of her.

The face of the Night Hound’s beloved had emerged from the dense night fog.