Iron Blooded Hound-Chapter 83 - : From the Ashes

Aiyen had a fantasy.

Her most memorable memory was of being torn apart by searing flames and sharp paws.

Cerberus, the three-headed canine of misery.

This dangerous monster emerged from the depths of an oil pit, breathing hot air and snapping its teeth at the intruders who illegally entered its domain.

As Madame Eight-Legged, the goddess of depths, expanded her domain, the warriors of Balak had to follow her.

They were forcibly thrust into a hunting ground confrontation with Cerberus and ultimately succeeded in driving the original owner of the domain far away.

In the process, Aiyen was mortally wounded and dropped from the pack.

She thought she was going to die, but... she still had a long life ahead of her.

Grandiose slave masters traversing the jungle thought she was dying, offered her minimal medical attention, and sold her into slavery.

Thrown into a cold cage by people without blood or tears, Aiyen feared death, or worse, annihilation.

Now it was clear that she would never emerge from this cage, but would wither away and die in misery.

Her chance to roam the vast depths was gone, and her glory as a proud warrior would be tarnished.

What would happen to her?

Would she live a miserable life as a palace puppet for the rapacious realm of Greasy? Or would she become a gladiatorial slave, bound to fight demons until the day she dies, and end up as a mere piece of meat on the tables of greedy masters who crave human flesh?

Aiyen's body and mind were weakened by her festering wounds, her rising temperature, and the fact that she hadn't had a sip of water in days.

As the proud jungle hero tumbled to the ground, wings broken, bleeding horribly.

A miracle occurred.

A boy appeared with a white light.

He casually lifted the veil of darkness over Aiyen's fate and cast a beam of light.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to his handsome appearance, his combat prowess, and most importantly, his brave and noble demeanor, which she had never seen before in her life.

Had there ever been a champion of her age capable of such valor?

Not even among the tribes of strength for the brave champions of Balak was there a man of such greatness, among a realm that regarded only them as deceitful and dirty.

Through her fading consciousness, Aiyen watched as the slave traders who had mistreated her, treating her like an animal, cattle, were dragged away, all dead or with their limbs severed.

That fateful night.

The boy freed her from the cage and sent her back to the home she'd always dreamed of.

And since then, Aiyen has never forgotten the boy's face.

Aiyen has consistently crossed the borders of the Realm with the sole purpose of finding Vikir.

To invade the Realm was to put her life in extreme danger.

She crossed the border, sometimes in groups, sometimes alone, to find the boy.

Living in a small community in the jungle, she had no idea there were so many Imperials.

But the boy was exceptional, and that's what she knew; if she kept searching the crowds, she would find him one day.

One by one, Balak's other companions achieved their goals.

A man in Balak kidnapped a woman from the Realm to become his wife, and a woman from Balak kidnapped a man from the Realm to become her husband.

One by one, her companions succeeded, but Aiyen continued her hunt.

She was waiting. For the one who would one day miraculously appear. It was inevitable.

While the other girls her age had captured and united with suitable men, Aiyen stood firmly alone.

She didn't even look at other men.

Until one day.

Aiyen met a boy.

A boy, the same boy from the previous night.

But in his arms was a different woman.

A woman. Aiyen felt a dark fire boiling in her chest, a fire that burned solely in the oil world.

Yet Aiyen was a composed woman, and she quickly quelled the flames within her.

She decided to forgive the boy's past partiality towards women.

There's really no need to dwell on the past that can't be changed; it's about the future they can build together.

The problem was, the boy didn't fit into her plans at all.

The boy had grown further since their last meeting.

He fought brilliantly against several of Balak's champions, proving himself exceptional once again.

The more she saw of the boy, the more she desired him. To possess him. To have him as her own.

And that desire grew stronger as she watched the boy charge at Madame Eight-Legged, undeterred.

In Balak, brave warriors are treated thus. The boy deserved it.

So Aiyen decided to take action.

She had to save the boy, even if it meant being captured by the fearsome Madame.

...How could she even consider facing that massive creature?

Her legs were shaking, and she was becoming wildly nervous, but nevertheless, Aiyen pushed through her fear.

In a moment of crisis, she threw the rope and succeeded in freeing the boy from Madame's eight legs.

Aiyen then took the boy back to the tribe, his body ravaged by his battle with Madame.

There was some backlash.

The surly old mongrels didn't care for outsiders from the Realm.

Rumors that the boy could have ties to the Baskervilles, Balak's rival and main enemy, led many to suggest that he be executed.

It was Aiyen who vehemently refused.

She argued that the boy had saved her life and that keeping him alive would benefit the tribe.

And her prophecy was right on the money.

The more

the boy recovered, the better it was for the tribe.

He went on hunts, brought back large prey, admonished traders who had long mistreated the locals, and even provided remedies for the plague.

Moreover, the days of living together in the village began to pass swiftly.

The days of bickering, sharing bear decoction, hunting together, and bathing in the natural hot springs all melded together in a magnificent, seamless manner.

For a long time, Aiyen had truly, deeply wanted the boy.

It was a feeling that had long transcended the simple notion of possessiveness.

...Suddenly.

"Darling, wake up."

Someone shook Aiyen awake.

She lifted her tired eyes and gazed straight ahead through blurred vision.

She could see the straw woven roof.

Aiyen was now lying in bed, sweating profusely.

She was flushed, her temperature was rising, she had lost her appetite, she was sweating copiously, and she was dehydrated.

With difficulty, Aiyen turned her head to look up at the figure beside her.

The Balak tribal leader, Aquila, looked down at her with concern.

Aquila wiped Aiyen's face with a damp cloth and spoke.

"You kept searching for Vikir in your sleep."

"...It's so painful, Mother, could this be the Red Death?"

Aiyen uttered, gasping for breath.

Then Aquila squinted her eyes and examined her daughter's entire body.

Aiyen lay there with not a single thread of clothing on her body.

Her temperature was rising, and she was sweating profusely. Her whole body was flushed red.

But there were no obvious spots.

Aquila pondered.

"Her symptoms are a bit different from other children with the Red Death...maybe it's...maybe it's not."

As she contemplated, Aiyen frowned and clutched at her chest with her hand.

"The inflammation is getting worse, my chest hurts, my body is hot, and it feels like my heart is melting away."

"Hang in there, girl. Vikir will be here soon. He's the man you sent for."

"...I'm fine without him, he's not coming back."

However, despite her words, Aiyen's distress was evident.

She turned to Aquila, almost pleading.

"Mother, I've never been this sick, to the point where I blame you for giving birth to me. I shouldn't be like this, but the words 'why did you give birth to me' keep coming out of my mouth."

As Aiyen cried, Aquila held her close.

Not with the grandeur of a tribal leader, but with the tenderness of a mother.

"My dear."

Aquila spoke softly to Aiyen.

"Once upon a time. Your father and I planted a tiny seed in the soil."

It was the first time Aquila had ever told her daughter about her father's story, and Aiyen listened attentively through her fading consciousness.

Aquila continued.

"Your father planted a seed in the soil, and your mother watered it every day. Soon, the seed sprouted, and after a few months, it became a strong, beautiful flower."

Aquila said, cupping her daughter Aiyen's face in her hands.

Aiyen looked up at Aquila with tearful eyes.

A warm, gentle feeling rose between the mother and daughter that was difficult to describe.

Finally, Aquila concluded.

"And so we picked the flower, crushed it, extracted the juice from it, soaked it in tobacco, smoked it, and, in a bewildered and euphoric state, had unprotected sex. That day you were conceived."

"...."

"Oh, and your father was killed by your grandfather the very next day for playing nasty tricks with drugs."

Aiyen looked somewhat crestfallen after learning the secret of her birth.

" ...my body aches even more, Mother."

"Wait a little longer. If Vikir comes with a way to cure the plague...."

"Forget it, don't torment my hopes, he's not coming back! What slave in the world would return when his leash is off...!?"

At that moment, Aquila and Aiyen's conversation was interrupted.

A commotion erupted from outside the door.

"Wow, they're here!"

"Vikir! Vikir is back!"

"A cure! He's brought a cure!"

Aquila, who had keen ears, heard the shouts of joy from her tribe.

She turned her head, her face lighting up.

"See, daughter, I didn't tell you...."

But Aquila couldn't finish her sentence.

A bang!

In an instant, she was up and out of her seat, crashing through the door.

As if she wasn't sick before, she climbed down the tree and ran at full speed.

Aquila gazed after her, mouth agape in astonishment.

"...Wasn't that the Red Death?"

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