Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound Chapter 367

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

Chapter 367: Underground Expansion Project (2)

The construction of Level Ten was underway. Delving into the depths of the massive volcano was an arduous task indeed. Even Vikir, who had crossed countless hurdles before, couldn’t help but think that this project might be one of the most labor-intensive tasks in the history of mankind.

*Thud!*

Vikir rolled the massive boulder with his bare hands. It was a strenuous task, pushing the rocks uphill along the steep slope. Not only were the rocks heavy, but they were also scorching hot, as if they had just been pulled from the flames.

Yet, it wasn’t just the rocks they were pushing. It was the excavated soil, the gushing underground water, the erupting sulfur gas, the melting rocks, the swirling steam, and the raging fire. Everything within the construction site inside the crater was intensely hot.

Prisoners walked barefoot on the scorching rocks, hauling heavy loads, their skin crisping up like lechon in the extreme heat. Amidst the inferno, their flesh dried up like parchment, moisture seeping away, leaving only brittle bones and nerve endings.

Compared to this labor, even the thought of a newborn baby in a cradle filled with snakes seemed comfortable.

…If Vikir, who stood among the rank of masters, had it this tough, what about the other prisoners? Throughout the worksite, prisoners collapsed from exhaustion, and each time, the sound of the guards’ whips echoed.

Even high-level prisoners, at levels 6 or 7, fell one by one under the relentless toil and inadequate meals. Each time, the low-level prisoners above trembled.

“Did you hear? There was a death in Level Six.”

“What? Level Six is where the weapon wielders are kept, isn’t it?”

“Even there, deaths happen. I thought it was just a gathering of pure monsters.”

“Even among those monsters, the stronger ones prevail with sheer force.”

“Darn it. If that dead guy had been on our level, he would’ve ruled like a king.”

Seeing even the fiercest and most monstrous prisoners collapse like this, how harsh must the depths of the worksite be? So, the prisoners on the upper levels became increasingly cautious, never wanting to be demoted to the lower floors.

Naturally, the fear of those surviving in such harsh conditions on the lower levels grew among the upper-level prisoners.

Meanwhile, those on the lower levels laughed by mocking and sneering at their dying comrade or the prisoners above.

“Hehehe. Hey, did you hear? Someone died on the upper level while working.”

“At Level Six? The weapon wielders are pathetic on their own. They shouldn’t have made that weakling work so hard.”

“So what happened? Who ate him? I mean the corpse. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.”

“They say everyone around tore him apart, leaving nothing. All that was left was bones and skin, not even anything to eat.”

It was a strangely distorted pride in their own level. Pride in enduring greater suffering and a sense of superiority.

In such an atmosphere, the corpses of prisoners, as dry as mummies, received neither sympathy nor mourning.

“That monster finally kicked the bucket. Now there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Haha, even though he worked in a cooler place than me, he ended up like that. Pathetic.”

To the deceased, only fear, contempt, ridicule, and a sigh of relief were sent. Even their corpses degraded into mere chunks of meat, chewed and swallowed.

The construction site of Level Ten was such a place.

Then, there was a sudden sound.

*Thunk-*

The horn blasts announcing lunchtime echoed throughout the area. It was like a sweet ten-minute respite, melting away faster than ice cream thrown into lava. This mealtime was the only hope, the oasis that could sustain them through the day.

*Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!*

Guards moved among the scattered prisoners, distributing food from their baskets. Vikir, too, received his portion, the only meal provided for the day.

*Thunk!*

What fell before him was a blackened lump of bread, so charred it could be mistaken for coal. Originally rough and tough, the bread seemed even harder and blacker due to some mishap during preparation. Alongside it lay pickled herrings, their innards still intact, emanating a foul smell from the heat they endured during transport.

Yet, the prisoners gratefully devoured it all.

Chewing on the bread and pickled herrings, Vikir pondered deeply.

“Did my message get through?”

Before being escorted to Nouvellebag, he had conveyed a message to his friends and others through Cindiiwendy. And just in case, he had left another message with Isabella before entering prison. With demons lurking on the surface, who knew what atrocities they might commit.

With his comrades gone, the remaining scum would surely be quite anxious. But Vikir couldn’t stay to guard the surface any longer. There were things he had to do here in Nouvellebag. So, he had shared his plans with a few trustworthy individuals.

“For now, I must do what I can.”

Brushing aside his conscience, Vikir raised his head.

Before him lay the vast crater, with sulfur gas and bubbling lava coursing through the tunnels. It was a landscape that defied belief, deep within the heart of the volcano.

“There’s something down there I seek.”

Vikir peered into the depths of the pit, unsure of how much further he would have to dig.

Then, for the first time, Decarabia, which had remained silent in Vikir’s chest until now, spoke.

[There isn’t much time left. ‘It’ must be close.]

“I thought as much.”

Vikir nodded, recalling memories before his regression.

The Level Ten construction at Nouvellebag aimed to expand the interior space deep into the volcano’s depths. It partly aligned with Vikir’s purpose, although he had come here personally as a mere criminal, for something else.

Then, something interrupted Vikir’s thoughts.

“Hey! You idiot guard!”

“We’re short on bread! Damn it! What if we run out because of your mistake?”

“Damn right there’s a problem! You probably let other guards steal our bread!”

It was an astonishing sight. Prisoners hurling accusations and curses at the guards. And the guards seemed perplexed.

Vikir recognized the guard’s face instantly.

‘That’s odd. I’ve seen him quite often.’

The guard, known as a “Garam Nord,” who had provided information to Vikir before, covered his face deeply with his beret, making his facial features unrecognizable despite the prominent burn marks covering his face.

“S-Sorry, inmates. There’s been an issue with the bread distribution, and we’re short on supply.”

“I call bullshit! You probably let other guards snatch our bread!”

The prisoners’ condemnation was fierce. Being deprived of the bread given only once a day was only natural.

The work system in Nouvellebag was somewhat peculiar. One guard oversaw a dozen or so prisoners, assigning them tasks in their respective areas. The assigned guard and prisoners changed monthly, all recorded as monthly performance metrics that affected both prisoners and guards, positively or negatively.

Therefore, guards did their best to improve the efficiency of the prisoners under their charge for the month. They mainly used whipping or solitary confinement as tools. However, simply being harsh wasn’t enough to increase productivity. So, guards encouraged their assigned prisoners by providing better tools or an extra piece of bread.

Naturally, this led to competition and tension among the guards. They would place obedient and productive prisoners in their groups, subtly take extra tools or bread from others, and so on.

Of course, resources in Nouvellebag were limited and scarce. If someone ate an extra portion, someone else would go hungry. So, prisoners assigned to Garam Nord were more infuriated by his stinginess than anything else.

“Damn it! Why do I have to be in the group of that stupid Garam Nord?”

“Even among the new officers, that guy has the lowest performance.”

“Pitiful. Not only ignored by fellow guards but also by prisoners.”

“Did you hear? That burn on his face is supposedly a scar inflicted by a prisoner.”

“Haha, is that all? He even has his meals taken by prisoners.”

“Want to hear something even more surprising? High-level prisoners apparently make him serve them at night. Haha!”

Hearing the prisoners’ complaints, Vikir finally understood why the guard’s face felt familiar.

“He’s constantly burdened with difficult and challenging tasks.”

Guiding Level Nine prisoners or anything similar was generally avoided among the guards. You never knew when and how you might face danger.

Meanwhile, despite the ten-minute lunchtime passing, the prisoners under the “Garam Nord’s” group still lay sprawled, legs stretched out.

“Ugh, fuck this, i didn’t eat so I ain’t working!”

“I’m not working either.”

“Since we’re assigned to that stupid Garam Nord’s group, our work for this month is ruined.”

“I’ll just take the punishment.”

“Hey, bring out that truncheon from your waist. And then kill me.”

Garam Nord was at a loss amidst the prisoners’ collective tantrum. There seemed to be a hint of vulnerability about him.

Meanwhile, witnessing this, Vikir thought,

‘Now that I think about it, other prisoners are also rebelling.’

It’s no wonder that the stronger and more violent prisoners are less likely to cooperate with construction.

Prisoners held at higher levels and in deeper cells tended to neglect their work, and the guards couldn’t easily intervene with them.

‘In such a situation, if I work too hard alone, it might seem suspicious.’

Vikir was a Level Nine inmate. Most of Level Nine was empty.

Most of the time, they ended up in solitary confinement due to their rebellion or collective tantrums, or being targeted for Level Ten relocation.

However, Vikir had to actively participate in the Level Ten construction work for personal reasons. Yet, he also had to be cautious not to overexert himself in labor, lest he arouse suspicion among fellow Level Nine inmates.

‘To do that, I need at least one ‘justification’. …And there’s something else I want to test.’

After some deliberation, Vikir let go of the rock he was holding.

Kurururururur!

The rock rolled down the slope at an incredible speed.

“What, what’s that!”

“A rock is rolling down!”

“Stop it! No, move away!”

The guards panicked and scrambled away from their positions.

Thud! Boom!

Eventually, the rock landed in the lava pit, causing a loud crash and sending debris and lava droplets flying in all directions.

Soon, all eyes turned upwards.

The area where Level Nine inmates were working.

There stood Vikir, the culprit who had thrown the rock, with a casual expression.

“I don’t wanna work.”

The guards were trying to figure out how to handle the situation.

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]