Chapter 278: Money War (6)
Vikir blatantly provoked Damian.
“…Could it be meeting your deceased daughter?”
Even in his seemingly enviable life, there was a stain.
His daughter, ‘Juliet,’ who met an untimely end at a young age, was precisely that.
In shame over her involvement in a scandalous affair, his daughter allegedly drank poison.
Sure enough, Damian couldn’t bear mentioning his only daughter, the source of his discontent, and drew his sword.
Swish—
A fleeting flash. A golden stiletto flew at an incredible speed.
Vikir inwardly admired Damian’s fierce swordsmanship.
“Indeed, he lives up to the versatile conglomerate.”
Unlike the Industrial conglomerates—Baskerville with its iron-blooded swordsmen, Morg with magical arts, Quovadis with religious warriors, Donquixote with spear and shield, Usher with divine archers, and REviadon with deadly poisons—Bourgeois had no specific weapons to boast of, be it swords, magic, holy power, spears, bows, or poisons.
If we talk about tangible forms, that is.
But, naturally, Bourgeois had a powerful weapon that no one could ignore—money.
Tremendous financial power made them one of the seven great clans.
…Then, did the Bourgeois lack military power?
Certainly not.
Under the belief that nothing was unattainable with money, Bourgeois spent lavishly on acquiring numerous weapons, such as swords, spears, bows, shields, and magic.
Any promising swordsmen or mercenary groups were acquired in their entirety, and strategic marriages were arranged with individuals from prestigious martial families to produce outstanding second, third, fourth, and fifth generations.
Thus, the excellent geniuses born from mixing blood had qualities related to swords, magic, holy power, spears, bows, poisons, and more, receiving extensive early education and blossoming their talents with massive amounts of tutoring fees and elixirs from an early age.
Even if they lacked talent, they had the power to create talent from scratch through substantial private lessons and potions.
The essence of all the strengths of various families.
That was the true power of the Bourgeois family.
And Damian attacked Vikir with outstanding qualities inherited from his ancestors and rigorous martial training since childhood.
However…
…clang!
Damian’s swift sword missed.
It was deflected by Baalzebub, the demonic sword drawn by Vikir.
Sly movements, terrifying power, and a crimson demonic sword resembling blood.
“…N-Night Hound?”
Damian’s eyes widened as he deduced the conclusion from the characteristics of his opponent.
Considering the complete breakdown of Damian’s usual impassive expression, he seemed genuinely astonished.
But Vikir, too, was in a state of considerable surprise.
‘Unexpectedly powerful.’
The ornate dagger, thought to be flashy but useless, was, in fact, a real lethal sword.
Moreover, the swordsmanship Damian just displayed was undoubtedly an old version of the Baskerville style. It’s called the “Submerged Deep Sea Fish Style”.. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t 100% Baskerville style; it was a classical sword technique of the Bahamut family, which had been absorbed by the Baskerville Clan long ago.
The Bahamut family, one of the ‘Five Iron-Blooded Swordsmen Families’ that boasted a prestigious history until it was completely merged under the Baskerville family’s umbrella, had a solid foundation in the art of swordsmanship. The sword technique seemed to blend classic traces of fish scales and canine teeth, a clear indication that the Baskerville and Bahamut styles had not yet fully fused during that period.
According to Vikir’s knowledge, this technique was classified as a Level 2 military secret, strictly prohibited from being leaked outside the family. He wondered if Damian had paid to learn it.
In Vikir’s eyes, Damian’s swordsmanship was still amateurish. After all, Baskerville couldn’t absorb everything from Bahamut, given their inherent differences. It was impossible for things of different origins to completely match. Baskerville had taken only what it could from Bahamut, akin to swallowing a fish and spitting out the bones.
‘It must make a creaking sound when forcibly trying to blend the two.’
According to Vikir’s knowledge, it wasn’t until the era of Hugo, that Bahamut’s and Baskerville’s swordsmanship perfectly merged. Therefore, at the time Damian learned this technique, there would undoubtedly be lingering weaknesses.
*Kiriririk—*
Vikir skillfully evaded Damian’s attack by tilting his jaw backward. As Damian retrieved his sword, he immediately sent it flying again. The blade pierced smoothly and ominously along the sleek and eerie trajectory, resembling the scales of a deep-sea fish and the teeth of a canine.
*Puff puff puff bang!*
In an instant, the swirling dark curtain, fluttering in the wind, bore a dozen or so holes. “…!?” However, Damian could only widen his eyes in bewilderment. Vikir’s body, seen through the holes in the swaying curtain, had already disappeared when the curtain settled.
‘Where did he go?’
Damian closed his eyes and extended his senses. The mana emanating from his body condensed into the form of an aura, enveloping the surroundings like a net. But there was nothing caught.
*Ssssh—*
Only the sound of the wind approaching through his ears sent shivers down his spine. Damian gritted his teeth and turned around. “There!”
There stood Vikir, hovering in mid-air. Beneath his feet were extremely thin spider threads that were nearly invisible to the naked eye. *Ssshi-iing—*
Damian’s sword emitted a brown aura. This time he used the more seasoned Baskerville 4th style. A sharp killing technique, fully loaded with the aura of a graduator. Unfortunately for Damian, Vikir was a seasoned veteran of the Baskerville style.
‘His understanding is shallow.’
Bahamut’s deep-sea technique couldn’t fully exert its power in shallow waters.
Twiing—
Vikir seized Damian’s stiletto with his hand, slammed it into the ground, and crushed it with a stomp of his foot.
…Clang!
As the long blade shattered on the ground, the gladiator’s aura was destroyed, scattering like droplets.
“…Ugh!?”
Damian hastily retreated. His opponent was the notorious Night Hound, known for mercilessly killing even high-tier Graduators. The danger posed by Vikir was comparable to or even greater than Miss Ouroboros. Realizing it was insufficient to face him alone, Damian couldn’t afford any delay.
He swiftly moved backward. However, being well aware not to expose his back to the hound, Damian kept his gaze fixed on the front while unfolding the Baskerville style once again with the half-shattered stiletto.
But once again, Vikir skillfully avoided the attack.
*Kiririk—Tteoak!*
The fangs of the oncoming hunting hound were so familiar, almost like his own, that Vikir casually enveloped them, swallowing them effortlessly.
*Ddaang—*
Having effortlessly dodged Damian’s attacks, Vikir continued his charge and completely swept away his sword.
“!?”
Damian’s eyes widened as if they were about to tear apart.
Vikir thought to himself, ‘Surprising, right?.’ It was a deadly technique that had never failed once before.
Even Cane Corso, who rested in the Sword Tomb, had acknowledged its prowess.
*Kkang—*
The sound of Damian’s sword falling to the ground echoed from behind.
“….”
Damian bit his lip, acknowledging his defeat. No matter how much wealth one possessed, there was no way to counter a sharp blade thrusting right in front of their eyes.
Vikir recalled Hugo’s teachings after a long time.
‘Rich folks always say the same thing. “Money is power.” But they also know that when presenting the proposition ‘A is equivalent to B,’ A in the front is always inferior to B in the back. Phrases like ‘Time is money,’ and ‘Silence is golden’ are just tearful attempts to compare the front to the back. When it comes to actually swapping, who would trade gold for time and silence? Everyone knows gold is precious.’
Twick—
Damian hastily stepped back.
The reason Hugo, who was usually reserved, had so many words that day was due to his deep-seated hatred for the Bourgeois.
‘If Hugo finds out that Damian is proficient in the Baskerville style up to the 4th level, it might lead to a full-blown war.’
Vikir licked his lips and reached out his hand.
…Kwaak! Thud!
Then, with one hand, he grabbed Damian’s face and smashed it into the ground.
While the saying goes “money is power,” in reality, when it comes to hierarchy, power is superior. The confidence of those with money often crumbles in the face of pure violence, rendering them weak and lifeless. Perhaps that’s why Damian, now lying on the ground, only stared with wide eyes.
Eventually.
“….”
He quietly closed his eyes. He seemed to accept all impending judgments silently without resisting or uttering a sound.
Vikir, with a somewhat tired voice, asked, “No plea?”
“….”
“Usually, people with money are busy either begging for their lives or threatening dire consequences if someone touches them. Don’t you have any of that?”
After a moment of silence, Damian, who had maintained quiet, finally spoke.
“My back hurts, so I couldn’t say anything.”
“….”
“It’s a joke.”
Even in this situation, Damian’s nonchalant attitude showcased the resilience of a battle-hardened veteran who had survived numerous arenas.
Damian looked up at Vikir and said, “I can see your eyes behind the mask. You don’t seem like someone easily swayed by persuasion. Your motives must be clear.”
“….”
“If you plan to kill, then kill. There’s no negotiation with terrorists.”
In response to Damian’s words, Vikir tilted his head.
“Well, I never intended to kill you in the first place.”
“…”
“But you seem full of thoughts about death.”
Damian, hearing Vikir’s words, momentarily showed a vacant expression. The gaze of the man lying on the ground slowly turned towards the night sky.
“…”
A brightly shining star. It was so distant that even the starlight couldn’t reach Damian’s eyes.
After a while, he quietly spoke.
“I’ve seen it well. Completely seen it.”
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