The Hound of the Night has returned.
By the time Vikir returned to Balak's village, the Red Death had spread across the lands.
Balak built a house on the water and built a dam to trap the water, so the damage was small, but the conditions of other neighboring tribes were truly miserable.
Ahun was the first to come out when he heard that Vikir had returned.
He ran up to him, his face full of tears, and as soon as he saw Vikir, he threw himself into his arms.
"You're back!"
Ahun had been visibly shaken for days.
He had barely eaten or slept since his only sister, Ahul, had fallen ill with the Red Death, and all he had done was care for her.
Ahun took Vikir's hand through thick tears.
"Thank you for coming back. You are a loyal boy. It's okay if you didn't get the cure, just the fact that you came back like this...."
They seemed to misunderstand because Vikir had come empty-handed.
But Vikir had definitely brought it with him.
A miracle that would cure all his friends in the dephts.
"Follow me."
"...?"
Vikir tugged a dazed Ahun along, heading straight for his barracks.
Ahun's barracks, right near the entrance to the village, where Ahul lay moaning.
She was the first to be struck by the red death, so she was in the worst condition.
Her face is now halved, but she's clean, free of dirt and foul odors, thanks to Ahun's good care.
Without a second thought, Vikir took out the vial of Saint's Tears.
…Pow!
The Saint's Tears from his pocket hadn't even opened the vial yet, yet it still exerted a strong divine power.
Surprisingly, the light emanating from the saint's tears was enough to drive the red death out of Ahul's body.
The red spots were disappearing.
The disease that had been tormenting him for so long had vanished with such ease.
"...! ...! ...! ...!"
Ahun's eyes widened to tears at the miraculous scene.
The fact that he was frozen in place, unable to even scream, gave him away.
Ahun stroked Ahul's face with a trembling hand.
His face was contorted and sweating, but Ahul was asleep, looking more relaxed than he had in a long time.
All he could do was moan and sweat in a colorful rasp.
"...Vikir!"
Ahul called out breathlessly, and then a few more times in quick succession.
" Vikir! Vikir! Vikir! Vikir!"
The tone was careful but reverent, like a devout priest saying the name of God in prayer, with infinite trust, affection, and joy.
And it was the same with Ahun's closest associates.
Friends who had to witness the pain and sorrow of a friend they were close enough to trust with their lives.
They, too, could not help but chant his name vigorously in the face of his miraculous ability to blast away all their anxiety, bitterness, helplessness, and frustration with a single blow.
"Vikir! Vikir! Vikir! Vikir! Vikir!"
The sturdy Balak warriors stamped their feet and cheered so loudly that the floating house nearly collapsed.
But Vikir remained calm in the midst of all the excitement.
He had just cured one patient. There was still a long way to go.
Bikir turned to Ahun and the other Balak warriors.
"How many patients do you have?"
"About thirty, including Ahul."
Vikir nodded at that.
It was still a relatively small number, one that could be suppressed early.
But they shouldn't let their guard down.
Vikir was planning to not only destroy the entire plan of the poisonous master Leviathan, but also absorb all the ripple effects of it.
"What about the other tribes?"
Vikir asked, and Ahun replied with a dark look.
"It's hopeless. Some of them have been all but wiped out, other tribes that didn't build floating houses. But those who took your advice and built floating houses have suffered less."
"How many patients are there, exactly?"
"I don't know, but there are a lot of them, like the herds of buffalo in those hilly fields."
Somewhere in the tens of thousands.
Vikir made a decision.
"Round up all the patients from the other tribes."
"Huh? Other tribes? But there are so many cures?"
"Don't worry, there are plenty. Let's take this opportunity to show the other tribes some respect."
Hearing Vikir's words, Ahun and the other young warriors' faces lit up.
Why should they care about the other tribes?
It is not unusual for tribes to be related by friendship or blood, even if they are strangers in a distant land.
They often had disputes over marriage and hunting, but they had a history of coming together in times of crisis.
Upon hearing Vikir's words, Balak's warriors flew out of the village to spread the good news.
Meanwhile.
"...."
Vikir's eyes shone as he looked into the tears of the saint.
"We can use this opportunity to put a lot of pressure on the Baskervilles."
Vikir planned to take advantage of this opportunity to unite the enemy and the barbarian forces of the Black Mountains.
Baskerville is an Ironblade whose primary mission is to explore and destroy the Enemy and the Black Mountains.
Baskerville's greatest enemies are not the other six Houses of the Empire.
It's their enemies, the natives of the Black Mountains.
The warrior clan Balak, the shaman clan Rokoko, and many other native factions are Baskerville's most feared foes.
They pierced the sword-like blades of the forest with their bare skin and stomped barefoot on the forest floor, which seemed to be dotted with nails and tacks.
Thousands of paces away, arrows hit willow leaves, and axes and swords cut great beasts in half.
Such is the daily life of the natives of Red & Black Mountain.
If Vikir could get them on his side by paying them off, he could take on the entire Baskerville family single-handedly.
Moreover, if the natives were able to stem the plague early and grow stronger, they would naturally be able to put pressure on the Baskervilles and the Empire.
"For that to happen, we need to remain on friendly terms with them."
Vikir is now a hero of Balak.
But now he's about to become the hero of the entire Jungle tribe.
The misdeeds of Leviathan, the Extremist, were working in Vikir's favor.
"We're running out of time. We must hurry before the death toll rises."
Using the light from the saint's tears, Vikir cured all of Balak's patients.
Now all that remained was to purify the water source.
The tears of the saint were to be sprinkled on the teats of the jungle, on the rivers that flowed from the highest places and spread to all the lowlands.
Vikir moved quickly.
He'd been living here for two years and already knew where the water sources were.
And with him came the entire tribe.
Even some of Balak's more unusual enemies bowed their heads as they entered, including the shamanic Rococo, notorious for their cannibalism, and the berserker Renaissance, whose entire tribe could take on an entire company of the Empire with a single axe.
When the chieftain Aquila led them all to the source of the water.
"All of you may drink of this water."
Bikir sprinkled the tears of a saint into the river.
Suddenly, a bright light emanated from the entire vast river.
It was a beautiful sight, as if the Milky Way in the night sky had descended to earth and was flowing.
Mesmerized by this mysterious light, the natives spontaneously scooped up water from the river with their hands.
And a miracle happened.
The "red death" began to die.
"Oh-oh-oh-oh!"
The entire jungle erupted in a shout that seemed to carry away.
Aquila, the Balak chieftain, cried out in excitement.
"Vikir, I must appoint you shaman of our tribe!"
The Night Fox praises the Night Hound.
All the other tribes gathered here shout out to Vikir, each in their own language and gestures.
They all have different ways of expressing themselves, but they all want to express the same thing.
The expressions of love, respect, and gratitude were heartwarming.
The plague patients, whether they were family members, friends, or patients themselves, dropped to one knee in front of Vikir and paid him the utmost respect.
This means that everyone in the jungle is grateful to Vikir.
Even the crooked old men who had been viewed unfavorably within the Balak bowed deeply to Bikir.
It was heartfelt gratitude for saving their sons, daughters, sons-in-law, daughters-in-law, grandsons, and granddaughters.
Meanwhile.
"...?"
Vikir was looking for someone in addition to treating countless patients.
A face he'd heard had the Red Death, but couldn't figure out why he couldn't see.
Vikir looked around for a long time, but the face he was looking for was nowhere to be found among the cloud of patients.
Just then.
Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta.
The sound of footsteps.
Vikir knew from the sound alone that the person he was looking for had arrived.
He turned his head.
Puck.
Something rushes at me at breakneck speed, slamming into me.
Aiyen. She rushes forward and wraps her arms around Vikir's body.
Thud!
Muscles clench, bones scream.
I had to raise the mana because I thought I might break my back the moment I got out of the way.
Next, Vikir grabs Aiyen's cheek as she buries her face in his chest.
"I thought you had the Red Death?"
But Aiyen's face, staring up at Vikir, was intact.
There was no redness in her body, no sweat. Her complexion was normal.
The only thing that bothered him was the youthful blush across her face.
Just to be on the safe side, Bikir splashed some holy water on her face, but the flush didn't subside.
She looks down at herself with a puzzled expression.
"What is ...?"
She scratched her head in confusion.
He looked up into Vikir's face again and said.
"You're feeling better, aren't you?"