Chapter 255: Sword Tomb (1)  

Vikir ventured deep into the territory of the Red and the Black Mountain.

Following the ridgeline of the lowland from the Western Front, he eventually reached the familiar place near the Salt River watershed.

Ballak Tribe’s village, a place where Vikir had once spent a considerable amount of time.

However, there was nothing there now. After the Aheuman incident, Ballak’s warriors moved to a deeper part of the mountain, and since then, Vikir has not made contact with them.

Even the occasional letters from Aiyen, which used to arrive, were suddenly cut off, leaving no way to know their whereabouts.

“According to CindiWendy’s testimony, Ballak’s warriors didn’t even appear during the trade. What could have happened?”

The indigenous people of the mountains praised Vikir as a hero and cooperated wholeheartedly with CindiWendy’s trade, but Ballak was absent. CindiWendy herself expressed puzzlement about the recent lack of communication with the Ballak tribe.

But Vikir dismissed his worries. “They are not the kind of people to easily fall prey to something.”

Ballak had skilled warriors, led by the formidable Night Fox Aquilla.

Aquilla herself was a fearsome force, and her daughter Aiyen was also incredibly strong, surpassing the boundaries of her age.

‘They must be fine wherever they must be.’

‘If they decide to cut off contact and hide, there’s no way we can find them from here.’

No news was good news, so believing that they would contact again soon was the prudent course of action.

“For now, let’s focus on finding the Ghostwood.”

Vikir returned back to reality.

The GhostWood, now relegated to a legend, was an ancient artifact and a form of mana alchemy.

A tree that rooted in the mage’s imagination, nourishing itself with soul offerings to grow into a mana tree. It was an enigmatic existence that fed on abstraction and metaphysics, offering its harvest to the material realm.

It appeared in a mythological book titled [The Return of the Magic Hound of Morg].

It was a fragment of an ancient myth that had now been forgotten, a tale from the obscure corners of history, covering the story of ‘Trece Morg,’ one of Morg’s distant ancestors.

The exact era of the myth’s creation was unknown, but it was presumed to be a time when numerous small states thrived before the unification of the continent.

At that time, no one thought deeply about the authenticity of the story passed down through the Morg Clan.

But Vikir, having lived through the era of destruction, knew the truth. This was because there was an individual who had actually used the Ghostwood during the time of the apocalypse.

“…The Corpse King Snake Morg. The Contractor of Sere. The ancient artifact that should have originally belonged to him was the Ghostwood.”

Sere controlled the body of Snake and manipulated the Ghostwood, gaining formidable power.

GhostWood, outwardly resembling a withered dead tree, absorbed the lingering resentments of the dead, growing with the nourishment of countless deaths.The germination condition for GhostWood seeds was “massive death.”

The GhostWood, nurtured by countless spirits, produces fruits at the end of its branches, containing trapped spirits. When a human consumes these fruits, they can assimilate the powers and abilities held by the spirits.

Thus, a sorcerer who implants the Ghostwood into their soul inevitably succumbs to black magic, walking a path adorned with countless lives and bloodshed.

Snake, after obtaining the Ghostwood, turned the corpses of numerous beings he had slain into soldiers, simultaneously turning their spirits into fruits, which he consumed entirely.

“…His mana was comparable to a once-in-century genius, just like Camus Morg,” Vikir recalled. Their battle was truly earth-shattering, to the point where, as a mere lieutenant, Vikir couldn’t even look directly at it.

“Their fight led to the complete destruction of an entire island.”

Anyway, in times of peace, Ghostwood hides as seeds or small bushes, while in times of war, it becomes a colossal and extensive presence with branches and stems as vast as Yggdrasil.

This time, the task was to incorporate this GhostWood into his own forces and use it against the demons.

Therefore, seizing it first was an essential task before the era of destruction arrived.

‘Pomeranian’s affinity for this is quite remarkable,’ Vikir thought, seeing the intense attachment and affection displayed by Pomeranian for ghostwood.

Clearly, Pomeranian had great potential to become formidable Black mage.

In encounters with ancient artifacts of this kind, the concept of ‘destiny’ is usually necessary.

Clang! Vikir dismounted from the horse, landing beneath a large tree.

“This seems to be the place.” The location Vikir had reached was a desert deep in the red and black mountains, a peculiar one with expansive white sand, known as the Yuni Desert.

It was an extremely dry desert even among deserts, dominated by the extreme dryness that allowed no moisture.

Only white, salty sand and withered shrubs were visible. Vikir bent down and touched the white sand with his fingers. When he lifted his finger, it appeared excessively wrinkled. It was eerie salt sand that absorbed the moisture of anything it touched.

It’s said that long ago, tears shed by an evil god had dried up, giving rise to this vast salt desert, which, until now, had claimed the lives of numerous beings with its intense dryness.

As evidence, the white sands were littered with the mummified corpses of countless monsters. Vikir walked across a section of this salt desert for a while, and soon, he discovered something noteworthy.

“…!”

It was the carcass of a giant monster, with only bones and skin remaining.

[Saha’s Dragon ‘Basilisk’]

Danger Level: S

Size: 44m

Discovery Location: Yuni Desert of the Red and Black mountains

Also known as ‘Saha’s Dragon.’

A terrifying being considered to be a hybrid between a dragon and a demon.It emits a lethal aura that kills birds in the sky, and wherever its scaled body crawls, a desert forms where no grass grows for half a century.

Its existence alone is a dreadful calamity, but for some reason, it died in the Yuni Desert of the Red and Black Mountains.

The moment this creature moves, humanity should be prepared. A tenacious and fearsome terror that cannot be killed by any weapon or magic!

The three calamities beyond the world: Archer Adonai, Madam Eight Legs, and the last one is, Saha’s Dragon Basilisk.

“I was worried that this guy would rampage after Madam disappeared… Why is it lying dead here?”

Basilisk and spiders weren’t originally natural enemies. The two had a long-standing rivalry. With each holding the other in check, the disappearance of Madam Eight Legs meant that one side would inevitably become stronger. But why?

“I was planning to hunt it soon, but it seems like someone beat me to it.”

Vikir hadn’t expected Basilisk to be lying lifeless in a place like this. All the careful planning for the hunt was in vain. Vikir cautiously examined Basilisk’s corpse. It didn’t seem like Basilisk had died due to old age.

Compared to the specimen Vikir witnessed during the era of destruction, it was much smaller, and what stood out more was the clear signs of cuts all over its body.

Traces of blades tearing through the skin, penetrating flesh, and broken bones.

Furthermore, there were distinct marks preserved by the aura where Basilisk had been scorched.

The thick scales of Basilisk were covered in spatters as if liquid had splashed on it. It was clear that the man who hunted it was a High Tier Graduator.

As Vikir retraced the sword marks, a clear form emerged.

“Baskerville 4th style!”

It seems long ago, a hound from Baskerville had fought a lonely battle here.

Vikir searched the area near Basilisk’s corpse.

Lo and behold, not far from the Basilisk’s body, the tattered edge of a black wind was fluttering.

A skull wore away by the cutting wind. The tattered uniform of the Baskerville clan lay scattered on the white salt sand.

The distinct, thick cloak was undoubtedly a symbol of being a member of the Pitbull Order

The knight from the Baskerville Clan, who had died long ago, was already unrecognizable, but probably not a remarkable individual, judging by the fact that they had only reached the level of Fourth fang.

However, through long training, this individual had acquired enough skill to single-handedly kill the Saha Dragon.

Vikir closed his mouth for a moment, feeling as if he was seeing his own past self in the skeletal remains.

And then, silently, Vikir offered a quiet prayer to the unnamed Pitbull Knight before him. “…Go to a better place.”

Soon, a gold badge symbolizing a senator was carefully placed in front of the skeleton. It was Vikir’s way of expressing the utmost respect possible.

At that moment, something caught Vikir’s eye as he bowed in homage.

“…?” Between the skull’s upper and lower jaws, something flickered.

It was a very old bundle of parchment, appearing to be a letter. Judging by the red seal on the letter, it indicated top-secret military information, likely written directly by the head of the Baskerville family.

“Could it be from Hugo?” Since the letter was well-preserved buried in the dry salt, Vikir didn’t hesitate to break the seal and unfold it.

Soon, the contents of the letter began to etch themselves into Vikir’s retina. It was quite a surprising revelation.