Iron Blooded Hound-Chapter 75 - 74: Flickers in the Rain

The wilderness is turbulent and breezy.

The tents on the walls rippled fiercely.

Inside the garrison huts, an open fire crackled.

Warm breath reverberated from the beds, which were bathed in the firelight.

Ahul, a young woman who had just turned fourteen, lay there, groaning.

A pale spot on her skin, a red mark, slowly consuming her body.

Ahul's brother, Ahun, clung to Vikir with a pleading look on his face.

"Please, Vikir, you must save my sister!"

"...."

Vikir closed his mouth and walked toward Ahul.

Red spots on her skin, wild movements, soaring body temperature, pain in her joints, swelling in her neck, armpits, and groin.

These are signs of the red death.

"Why did it happen?"

"I went to the swamp to chop down trees for common works and stopped... ... ."

Ahun suffered repercussions for his actions.

Ahul likely contracted the disease when he ventured deep into the swamp to cut wood.

"What should we do now, sir?"

Aiyen asked, looking worried.

"There's no way around it, but if she's already fallen ill."

Prevention is something anyone can do, but cure is the domain of the healers.

Then.

A tremor.

The door to the military quarters opened.

It was none other than the shaman Aheman.

Upon entering, he looked at Ahul and Ahun and snapped.

"You're both foolish, wandering around without heeding your grandfather's words!"

Aheman shouted, spraying saliva over Ahul's moaning face.

"You deserve this for being influenced by the words of that royal spy! What goes around comes around!"

"Grandfather, you speak harshly!"

Ahun yelled back, rising to his feet.

Mate-.

But all that came back was a slap to the ear.

Ahun sank to his knees, his cheeks flushing, unable to rise to his feet.

Aheman looked down at him with disdain as he collapsed to the ground.

"There's no difference from my mother-in-law. Useless fool."

"...."

Thick tears began to fall from Ahun's eyes.

Aiyen sighed with a 'same story, different day' expression.

"There is a cure."

Vikir spoke up.

He grunted, and Ahun's eyes widened.

Aheman pushed Vikir in the chest and stomped out of the garrison huts.

"This is a curse from the gods, and the only way to appease them is to make a sacrifice. Since things have turned out like this, I'm sure the tribal leader will agree."

The shaman asserted his authority to the end.

Whizz, whizz, whizz.

The wind and raindrops rushed in through the open door, soaking everyone.

The last stragglers in the military enclosure were Aiyen, Vikir, Ahun, and the ailing Ahul.

Vikir instructed Ahun,

"First, I need you to collect Ahul's excrement. Make sure you don't come into contact with it. Also, disinfect the used utensils with boiling water, and burn some wormwood in the fire to drive away any mosquitoes, flies, or bats that may be around the house."

"Oh, I see. Is that all I need to do?"

"In addition to that."

Vikir turned his gaze towards Aiyen.

Then he blurted out whatever he had initially intended to ask, a bit more quickly.

"Release me from the depths."

Aiyen's expression froze at the words.

There is no restriction for those who have come from outside and become part of the Balak.

They are free to go anywhere in the wilderness, and within the village, they are allowed anywhere except the chief's quarters and the shaman's ceremonies.

But there's just one thing.

They are absolutely forbidden from going beyond the depths.

A Balak from outside the village can leave the limit if two conditions are met.

First.

They must have lived in the village for at least two years.

Second.

They must be married to a native Balak and have borne at least three children.

Vikir didn't meet either of these requirements.

But that didn't stop him from asking to be released from the floodwaters.

"If you let me out, I will bring a remedy for the plague."

Hearing Vikir's words, Aiyen bit her lip.

Would his mother and tribal leader, Aquila, allow this exception? Probably not. Aquila was an exceedingly principled woman.

'She would most likely let him go.

A small sacrifice for the greater good.

But, Aiyen didn't want to do that.

She didn't want to see Ahul, who had always sung in her sweet voice and helped with the laundry and cleaning, dying from vomiting and diarrhea.

...But, a more fundamental issue was plaguing her.

Would Vikir ever return?

Indeed, he was an outsider who had been taken as a slave.

If we set Vikir free and allow him to go outside the depths, will he come back?

Up until now, Vikir has been able to roam freely on his own, but only within Balak's territory.

If Vikir tried to escape, Balak's scouts and wolves would track him down and take care of him that night when they saw the camp was empty.

Vikir wasn't foolish enough not to know that.

But getting a pass to go outside the wall was a different story.

Once he realized he was on the run, never to return, he would be gone forever.

"...."

Aiyen hesitated.

It wasn't like her to hesitate.

In that brief moment, she pondered the psychological factors that made her hesitate, and soon found the reason.

Exploring her own mind and discovering something she didn't realize she had.

She looked up.

Her eyes were already red, the color of fire. The only difference was that unlike fire, they were moist with water.

" ... ... .Go"

The command of authority fell.

* * *

Aiyen didn't report to Aquila, for it was a given that she wouldn't approve.

All responsibility fell to Aiyen.

Vikir set out through the night waters with Pomeranian on his back.

"But, we can't entirely stop the plague with flood control."

And

what about other tribes that didn't build flood control?

A more fundamental solution was needed to prevent the spread of the Red Death, the restoration of the territory, and, perhaps, the Baskerville clan.

...Tadak!

Vikir crossed the river in one swift movement, stepping over logs as they floated downstream.

With all the debris that washed up during the floods, he could run on the river, shortening the distance.

Suddenly.

Vikir's feet came to an abrupt stop on the riverbank.

Shoot!...

The night poured with rain. A shadow streaked across the water.

Vikir turned to find Aiyen standing there, drenched, breathing heavily.

"Why are you following me?"

Vikir asked, and Aiyen opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself.

"I'm following my slave."

"Don't follow me."

"I don't want to."

"I said don't follow me."

"I'm the master!"

Aiyen yelled in a hoarse voice.

But Vikir simply reiterated his boundary with a cold glare.

"It's surprising to have to say it multiple times, but you know that, right?"

"...."

"If you don't want to follow me, then don't follow me."

Seeing the unwavering look in Vikir's eyes, Aiyen stood completely still, stunned.

"How can you look at me like that?"

She asked in a quavering voice.

Vikir didn't respond.

Then, Aiyen reached for something.

And then, after rummaging through several things, she spoke.

"Where are you going?"

"...."

"Tell me where you're going, and I'll go with you."

"No."

"Why are you taking Pomeranian with you?"

"...."

" ... ... Can't you just leave him with me?"

An extraordinary sight, not knowing who was master and who was slave.

...No, Aiyen, she knew all along.

It was something she'd felt all along, from the moment she'd first seen his gaunt face on stage, when she'd been locked in the enclosure of the slave traders.

That she would spend the rest of her life beneath him.

The realization dawned on her as she stood in the pouring rain.

She spoke, trembling, her voice moist with moisture.

"Then, answer me this one question."

"...what?"

Vikir asked, and Aiyen took a deep breath before she spoke.

"You're coming back, right?"

"...."

The voice faltered. A tone that hung with anxiety, uncertainty, and longing.

And for once, Vikir answered quickly.

"Of course."

Only then did Aiyen's expression soften.

She breathed a white sigh of relief.

"'You stay true to your promises and commitments.

"...."

"I will."

Vikir nodded.

And then.

The darkness swallowed him once more.

A darkness that swallowed up his retreating back.

And there is one master here who stands still and watches its fading silhouette.

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