The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 98: Madam Eight-Legs (Part 4)

The night had grown deep.

Rumble… Crash!

The rain had subsided somewhat, but in its place, thunder and lightning became more frequent.

Vikir raised his head to gaze at the massive rocky outcrop in front of him.

This large cliff, composed of quartz and sandstone, stood alone, unlike the flat terrain around it.

Many caves dotted the steep cliffs, their dark openings resembling the eyes of a watchful guardian hidden in the darkness.

Sometimes, deep within the caves, quartz and amethyst crystals reflected the lightning’s glow, making the cliff appear as if it were guarded by a hundred eyes, watching in all directions.

Vikir clenched his teeth.

From Baskerville to this place, the aftermath of flood.

Throughout this journey, Vikir’s body, already highly trained, had become a tightly coiled mass of muscles.

Vikir began to climb the steep cliff with his bare hands.

The muscles of his back and arms tightened and relaxed as he pulled and pushed himself up, again and again.

Vikir carefully ascended the colossal rock formation whose height he couldn’t even determine.

…Whack!

Occasionally, the rocks he held onto would break with a thud, or loose stones would slip from the wall.

Each time, Vikir, without a scream, calmly used the strength of his other arm or leg to support himself or create a foothold.

When there seemed to be nothing to grab or step on, he would take out the demon sword Beelzebub and firmly embed it into the wall to continue his ascent.

Thanks to Mushussu’s ability, he did all this without making a sound.

…After some time, how far had he climbed?

As Vikir thought he had reached the middle of the cliff, he spotted a cave.

It was so narrow that only one person could fit inside, but it seemed quite winding and deep on the inside, giving off a cozy feeling, like a resting place made for someone who had climbed this far.

However, Vikir didn’t enter the cave.

“Could it be a trap?”

This was where Madam’s nest was located.

He didn’t think there would be a comfortable place beneath the dwelling of the most formidable monsters.

There was a slight possibility that this was a cunningly designed trap to test the determination of challengers.

If someone had struggled to reach this point, they might have easily succumbed to this temptation, but the experienced Vikir still had plenty of stamina left.

Without entering the cave, Vikir cautiously observed its interior.

…And what do you know?

Inside the cave, there was a pile of skeletal remains rolling around.

Could it have been a former warrior who had come this far before?

It seemed like they had entered the cave and never returned, eventually dying and leaving behind only their bones.

Without entering the cave, Vikir raised his head to glance at the top.

Before long, he could see the reason why skeletons were rolling inside the cave.

Slime…

Viscous liquids, resembling sputum mixed with Madam’s secretions and excretions, began to flow down from above over time. It would normally be solid or viscous, but when it rained, it became more fluid.

The accumulated mucus that had piled up heavily now began to dissolve in the rain.

It flowed down, covering the entire area in front of the cave’s entrance.

On the surface, it looked like cream pouring down a giant cake, but the stench and foulness were beyond description.

“…It would have been a disaster if I had entered the cave.”

Fortunately, Vikir hadn’t entered the cave or fallen asleep, so he quickly retreated from the entrance and moved to the side. Thankfully, there was a rock ledge jutting out like a roof right next to him, allowing him to avoid the slime shower.

The slimy mixture of Madam’s bodily fluids and excretions, upon touching the skin, caused immediate swelling and irritation. While Vikir’s skin was protected by the divine protection of Styx River, he still wanted to avoid coming into contact with that slime.

…Squish!

Before long, the slime completely covered the entrance to the cave on the cliffside and flowed down the gentle slope inside the cave, filling it with a hazy, yellowish hue.

The skeletons that had been rolling around inside began to float in the slime. It seemed clear that the warrior who had come here long ago, perhaps seeking rest in the cave, had fallen asleep and never managed to leave, eventually drowning.

There wasn’t just one cave like this; there were many scattered throughout. Temptations for rest were spread everywhere, and avoiding these hardships and climbing the treacherous cliffs required the patience of a superhuman.

Fingernails peeled off, and fingerprints wore away. Whenever the thought of taking a break, even for a moment, crossed Vikir’s mind, he clenched his teeth even harder.

As a hunting dog from Baskerville, all that remained of his existence was evil, destruction, and a relentless pursuit of the end.

Vikir continued to ascend the cliff, dodging the dripping slime and passing by dozens of caves with skeletons inside.

…How much time had passed?

Eventually, Vikir could see the summit of the peak through the thick fog and clouds.

He had achieved his goal without falling during the climb or being covered in slime.

His entire body’s muscles and bones screamed in agony, but it was a dazzling achievement.

Vikir took a moment to look around at the summit.

On the dark and muddy ground, stringy, sticky substances clung in abundance, blowing in the wind like strands of silk. The entire summit exuded a foul odor. The stench was so overwhelming that not even the rain and thunderstorms could wash it away.

“It’s like a mass of meat rotting together.”

Vikir took a step towards the center of the summit. Then,

Squelch! Squish!

The ground at the summit sucked in his foot, pulling it down as if he had stepped into a swamp. The sensation was as if his entire leg was being enveloped.

Upon closer inspection, the ground was entirely covered in putrid flesh, which explained the unpleasant squelchy feeling.

A revolting sensation crawled up his legs entirely. If he hadn’t wrapped his legs entirely in leather, he would have already been itching terribly.

“I’ll sink up to my waist if I stand still.”

Vikir quickly moved his foot. Due to the ground’s unpredictable nature, he had to carefully choose the firm footholds that protruded from the slime and rotten earth, avoiding the sticky mess outside.

Vikir soon realized the true nature of these yellowish protrusions that emerged from the slime and rotten earth.

It was bones. Countless bones gathered to create the ground. They were intertwined with sticky slime, forming a massive mass. The stench emanated from beneath, from the less rotted chunks of flesh still lying there.

These remnants, seemingly leftovers from Madam’s meals, had decayed and fermented within the slime, emitting a vile mixture of toxins, foul odors, and intense heat.

To avoid drowning in this swamp of slime and rotting flesh, Vikir had to move carefully.

Then, something caught his attention.

In the cave ahead, a sinister presence emanated. But that wasn’t what made Vikir stop in his tracks. It was the scattered remains—skeletons and less decayed corpses of people from Ballak.

Brown skin, silver hair, distorted expressions of pain and fear. These were undoubtedly the villagers and wolves of Ballak: Abu’i, Adul, Acelon, Asael, Asaq, Agyul, Agun, and Atlat.

These were faces Vikir knew well, friends who had lived together for the past two years.

“If you were going to dig them up like this, you should have eaten them.”

Vikir clenched his lips and gathered the remains of his friends in one place. Then, he silently offered a prayer. It was a warrior’s ceremony performed before a decisive battle, a series of rituals that transformed the bonds of the past two years into resolve.

And then, Vikir lifted his head, his eyes glowing crimson.

Flesh and bone fragments gradually formed a long line, leading to massive darkness at the far end. It was undoubtedly an underground cavern in the central part of the peak, a subterranean cave of flesh and bone, whether in size or the venomous breath that was clearly being expelled from the cave’s depths.

Vikir listened carefully to the sounds and odors transmitted from underground.

“…”

No matter how many times he checked, the results were the same. The bizarrely bulging belly, the pulsating mass of flesh, the faint quivering sounds were unmistakable. Madam seemed to have no intention of crawling out into the open; she remained trapped within the subterranean lair.

Considering the attack on Ballak’s village and her recent feeding frenzy, it was a reasonable assumption.

Suddenly, a violent gust of wind erupted. Vikir silently grabbed a bow from his back and fired an arrow, characteristic of Baskerville with its crimson aura.

A single projectile streaked through the curtain of mucus and decaying fibers. Inside, it conveyed the message of the challenger.

Before long… … … …

The sounds and toxins emanating from the cave ceased abruptly.

Then,

[Ja-a-a-ack!]

A violent rage erupted, akin to volcanic eruptions from the infernal peak. The malice of Madam Eight-Legs burst forth, and soon, the ominous and foreboding presence emerged from the foul meat den.

An embodiment of nightmares brought to life under the deluge, an uncontrollable fear within the inevitability of destiny. The residents of the dark realm witnessed as torrential rain and lightning strikes revealed the ghastly visage of ‘Madam Eight-Legs.’