Chapter 278 – Money War (6)

Episode 278 Money War (6)

Vikir openly taunted Demian.

“……Isn’t that what it means to meet your dead daughter?”

There were stains even in his life that seemed to be nothing to envy.

His daughter, Juliet, died at a young age.

The Earl’s daughter was said to have drank poison herself in shame at being caught up in a scandalous affair.

Sure enough, Demian couldn’t bear the mention of his daughter, his only reverse, and pulled out his sword.


A flash of light. A golden stiletto slices through the air at tremendous speed.

Vikir felt a small amount of admiration for Demian’s fierce sword strike.

‘Indeed, the all-powerful tycoon.’

Bourgeois, unlike Baskerville the Ironblood Swordman, Morg the Mage, Quovadis the Faithful, Don Quixote the Lancer, Usher the Archer, and Leviathan the Poisonous, has no special weapon to show off like sword, magic, holy power, spear, bow, or poison.

As a matter of form, yes.

But of course, the Bourgeois have a weapon that no one can ignore: money.


It was their vast financial power that made them one of the seven great families of the Empire.

……So, are the Bourgeois powerless?

Of course not.

Believing that there is nothing money can’t buy, the Bourgeois spent their money to acquire countless swords, spears, bows, shields, magic, and more.

They took over entire sword families or mercenary corps that seemed even slightly promising, and arranged marriages with members of prestigious martial families to produce excellent second, third, fourth, and fifth generation children.

These blood-born prodigies possessed all the qualities associated with swords, magic, divine powers, spears, bows, poisons, and more, and were given vast sums of money for early education, allowing them to develop their talents to the fullest.

Even if they didn’t have talent, they could create it with the help of expensive tutoring and elixirs.

The essence of the best of all families.

That is the true power of a Bourgeois family.

And Demian had attacked Vikir with the superior qualities he had inherited from his ancestors and the swordsmanship he had been thoroughly trained in from a young age.



Demian’s sword deflected.

It was deflected by Beelzebub, the magic sword drawn by Vikir.

A stealthy presence, a terrifying power, and a sword as red as blood.

“……N-Night Hound?”

Demian’s eyes widened to the point of tearing as he deduced the conclusion from the target’s characteristics.

It seemed like he was genuinely shocked, as his characteristic expressionless expression was completely broken.

But Vikir was just as surprised.

‘You’re surprisingly strong.’

The sword that he had thought was just fancy on the outside was actually a real killing sword, not just for decoration.

Moreover, the sword technique that Demian had just deployed was clearly an old version of the Baskerville style.

It’s called the “Submerged Deep Sea Fish Style”.

It wasn’t technically 100% Baskerville, but rather a classical sword technique of the Bahamut family that had been absorbed into the Baskervilles quite some time ago.

The Bahamut family was one of the “Five Great Iron-Blooded Swordsmen,” a family with a long and storied history and a strong foundation in arcane swordsmanship, until they were all absorbed into the Baskerville family long ago.

‘A classic trajectory that looks like a mixture of fish scales and dog teeth, clearly a sword technique from a time when the Baskerville and Bahamut styles of swordsmanship had not yet fully fused. This must be a second-class military secret, forbidden to be taken outside the family. Did you pay to learn this?’

In Vikir’s opinion, Demian’s swordsmanship was still very sloppy.

Baskerville hadn’t absorbed all of Bahamut in the first place,

two things of different origins can never be exactly the same.

In the end, Baskerville had only taken what he could from Bahamut’s swordsmanship.

Like a dog swallowing a fish and spitting out the bones.

‘Trying to force the two together and fuse them is what makes them creak.’

As far as Vikir knew, the swordsmanship of Bahamut and the swordsmanship of Baskerville were only fully fused in Hugo later years.

So it’s not surprising that Demian’s weaknesses would have remained when he learned it.


Vikir dodged Demian’s attack with a quick tilt of his chin.

Demian retrieved his sword and sent it flying again.

The tip of the sword stabs like a tooth along a smooth and gloomy path like the scales of a deep-sea fish.


Dozens of holes appeared in the blackout curtains as they fluttered in the wind.


But Demian couldn’t help but open his eyes wide.

Vikir’s body, which he could see through the fluttering curtains, was already gone by the time the curtains settled.

‘Huh, where?’

Demian closed his eyes and stretched out his energy.

The mana emanating from his body congealed into an aura that wrapped around him like a net.

But there was nothing to be caught.


The only thing that sent a chill down his spine was the sound of the wind whistling past his ears.

Demian gritted his teeth and turned around.


There was Vikir, standing on thin air.

Underneath his feet was a spider web that was so thin that it was invisible to the naked eye.


Demian’s sword emitted a brown aura.

This time, it was a more skillful Baskerville Four.

A sharp killing move, complete with the Graduator’s aura.

Unfortunately for Demian, Vikir is a veteran of the Baskerville style.


The Bahamut family’s deep-sea fish are not as effective in shallow water.


Vikir wrapped his hand around Demian’s stiletto and pressed it into the ground, then stomped on it to crush it.


A long sword shatters on the ground, and at the same time, the Graduator’s aura is smashed and scattered like water droplets.


Demian jumped back in surprise.

The opponent was a rare villain, Night Hound that was known to kill even mid-to-high level Graduators.

His danger is comparable to or higher than Miss Uroboros.

Demian knew he couldn’t take this one on alone, so he couldn’t waste any time.

Demian quickly retreated backwards.

However, as a person who knows well that one should not show one’s back to a dog, he still kept his gaze straight ahead and once again displayed the Baskerville style with his stilettos cut in half.

This time, however, Vikir skillfully dodged the attack.

Kiririk- …Tsk!

The flying hound’s teeth are familiar as his own, so all Vikir have to do is gently wrap his arms around it and swallow.


Having deflected all of Demian’s attacks, Vikir rushed forward and slashed at his sword, sending it flying.


Demian’s eyes widened to tears.

Vikir thought to himself.

‘No wonder you’re surprised.’

A deadly killing move that had never failed him before.

This technique was recognized even by CaneCorso in the Grave of Swords.


The sound of Demian’s sword falling to the ground could be heard behind him.


Demian bit his lip in defeat.

No matter how much money you have, there’s no way you’re going to be able to defend yourself against a sword that’s right in front of you.

For the first time in a long time, Vikir remembered Hugo’s teaching.

‘The things rich people always say are the same. ‘Money is power.’ But they probably know too. When the proposition ‘A is B’ is put forward, A in front is always inferior to B behind. Phrases like ‘Time is money’ and ‘Silence is golden’ are just that. These are tearful attempts to somehow match what is in front with what is behind. Who would exchange gold for time and silence? Everyone chooses gold. In other words, those who say ‘money is power’ know it well. ‘Money is worse than power’.

The reason why Hugo, who was usually quiet, spoke a lot that day was because of his hatred for the Bourgeois.

‘If Hugo found out that Director Demian was learning Baskerville to the fourth form, there would be a war.’

Vikir clicked his tongue and stretched out his hand.

…Quack! Thud!

He grabbed Demiea’s face with one hand and slammed it into the floor.

They say money is power, but in the hierarchy of things, power is higher.

The confidence of those with money is often shattered in the face of pure violence.

Is that why? Demian was currently on the ground, his eyes wide open.

And then.


He closed his eyes silently.

Not protesting, not screaming, just quietly accepting the sentence to come.

Vikir asked in a hoarse voice.

“No pleading, no threats?”


“Usually they’re busy telling me that they’ll pay me to let them live, or that if I touch them, I’ll be in trouble.”

After a few moments of silence, Demian spoke up.

“My back hurts, so I can’t talk.”


“Just kidding.”

Demian’s nonchalant demeanor in this situation speaks to the experience of a veteran who has been through a lot and survived a lot.

Demian looked up at Vikir and said.

“By the look in your eyes behind your mask, you are not a man to be easily persuaded. You must have a purpose.”


“If you’re going to kill me, kill me. There are no negotiations with terrorists.”

At Demian’s words, Vikir shook his head.

“You got a good look, but you didn’t see the whole picture. I had no intention of killing you in the first place.”


“But you seem to be full of thoughts of death.”

Vikir’s words stunned Demian for a moment.

His eyes slowly drift up to the night sky as he lies on the ground.


A brightly shining star. It was so far away, out of reach.

So far, so far away that not even its light could reach Demian’s eyes.

Then, a dry voice came out of his mouth.

“You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it all.”