A blazing sunset at the tip of the spire.
The night of the Great Banquet has come to Baskerville.
Vikir entered the depths of the inner castle, where only those who had enemies in the main house, especially those in important positions, were allowed to go.
The first floor of the inner castle was the great hall.
The interior of the great stone room, carved out of black stone, was neither luxurious nor glamorous, but it was certainly large and magnificent.
The gothic interior had an eerie, cold atmosphere. It's hard to imagine this as a place for a family dinner.
The demeanor of the servants bringing the food was also strange.
The servants, both male and female, were pale and expressionless.
They moved like puppets, carrying food and arranging utensils, and when they weren't working, they stood upright against the wall, waiting for their master's orders.
Meanwhile.
At a large, circular table, several people sat down to eat.
Long, grim shadows cast against the hard, angular walls and ceiling.
At the end of it sits Hugo, the iron-blooded patriarch of Baskerville.
Hugo Les Baskerville. He was still eating his meal with a cold, sharp edge.
Slowly cutting his meat, chewing it, swallowing it.
Not once did he open his mouth as he continued with that horribly monotonous and repetitive task.
Meanwhile, two men sitting far apart on either side of Hugo glared at each other the entire time.
Boston Terrier Les Baskerville. And a Great Dane Les Baskerville.
Leading the Knights of the Pit Bull and the Knights of the Mastiff, respectfully, they had been antagonizing each other since they entered the dinner hall.
"Hmph!"
The Count of Boston Terriers coughed and twirled his fork around, then spoke up, his voice full of complaint.
"Well, isn't the meat a little undercooked?"
The Boston Terrier's words caused everyone at the table to stop eating for a moment.
The Boston Terrier picked up his fork and nervously poked at the steak in front of him, then lifted the meat off the end of his fork.
Blood dripped onto the plate.
The servants' faces turned red as they looked at the bleeding meat.
The chef's face, in particular, was so white it looked like he was looking at a piece of paper.
Finally, Hugo turned his head.
"Boston Terrier, do you not like the meat?"
The Boston Terrier shook his head in surprise.
"Uh, no, no, brother, it's not that. I was referring to the meat on the plate across from me."
With that, all eyes turn to the other side of the table.
"...."
There, a large man sits, silently slicing away at his knife.
He chews and swallows a rare steak dripping with blood without a word.
He was the Count of Great Dane, leader of the Knights of the Mastiff.
"...What's your complaint?"
The Great Dane asked the Boston Terrier.
The Boston Terrier scowled at the scars on his face.
"Nothing. I think the meat is too raw. I'm telling you to cook it a little longer."
" ... I like it just right."
"Aha. I see."
The Boston Terrier smirked at the Great Dane's blunt reply.
Then he spoke in a voice that simmered deep in his throat.
"You're always one to eat raw, aren't you? The meat, too, and the new knights."
At that, the Great Dane stopped forking.
"...I'm eating something raw?"
"Ew. Did you hear that? You have very bright ears."
"Say that again. What am I eating raw?"
"...You don't have very bright ears again. You didn't hear me, did you?"
The Boston Terrier bared his teeth and laughed in response, and the Great Dane clamped his mouth shut.
Their confrontation made the atmosphere at the dinner even colder.
The Boston Terrier turned to the Great Dane.
"I eat plenty of meat raw, and I don't care if I get food poisoning or not, but don't expect a new Knight to eat it raw."
"I don't know what you're talking about. Is this some kind of out-of-character behavior at a dinner party?"
"I'm saying that I know you've come here with the sole intention of inducting my lovely niece into the corrupt Knights of the Mastiff."
The Boston Terrier was now growling quite openly.
But the Great Dane remained calm, even as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his handkerchief.
"A dear nephew, I'll grant you that, but there's a problem with that statement: 'My' dear nephew. Vikir is your nephew, but he's also my nephew. And as an uncle, it is my duty to discipline and guide my nephew on the right path."
"And why is throwing him into a ragtag knights of mastiffs the right path?"
"… ...Be careful what you say. It is far better to join the Knights of the Mastiff than to join the Knights of the Pit Bull, who are dull and unintelligent."
"I'll be careful what I say, and you better be careful what you convert, because it's about to get bitten."
"I can only sigh when I see the barking, unable to identify friends and family."
"What's with the big head and the hollow heart?"
The Boston Terrier and the Great Dane were having a nervous breakdown.
It's all about getting Vikir to join their knighthood.
"...."
Vikir, who was eating quietly in the middle, was at a loss.
He'd been in charge of a knightage Pit Bull once before, so he had a general idea of its power.
An order of one hundred Graduators specializing in extermination.
They are known as the most fierce knights not only in Baskerville, but in the entire Empire.
In the past, when Vikir was Deputy Magistrate of Underdog City, the illegal slave auction houses of Underdog's underground were home to some of the biggest criminals in the Empire.
The Pitbull Knights had slaughtered and beheaded the beasts of this massive criminal organization in just half a day.
He went so far as to set fire to the Club Burning Suspension, which was a hotbed of luxury, pleasure, illegality and crime.
And it all happened under Vikir's leadership.
That was why the current Count of Boston Terrier was so fond of his nephew, Vikir.
"Nephew, you can only trust this uncle. I will make you the strongest pit bull ever."
He chomped on a piece of meat dripping with blood and laughed sardonically.
The servants around him shudder in horror, though he puts on an innocent face.
But the Boston Terrier wasn't the only one courting.
"C'mon, nephew, the Knights of the Fire Mastiff aren't bad, either. ...what. I'm not just saying this because I'm the leader, I'm recommending them because they're really good."
The Great Dane, too, had been sending Vikir a wary glance from earlier.
The 'knightage Mastiff' he leads is an elite organization that is comparable to the Pit Bull Knights.
While the Pitbull Knights were known as "knights specializing in extermination" to create an atmosphere of fear through unilateral slaughter and butchery, the Mastiff Knights were known as "knights specializing in war" to formally subjugate their opponents.
Like the pit bulls, there are one hundred Graduators.
They are mobilized only in the event of a formal duel or a declaration of war, and they beat their opponents to submission in a fair contest of strength.
They operate a little differently than the Pitbull Knights, who are similar in that once they're out there, they're always out for blood, but they're also willing to assassinate on occasion.
Overall, however, their ratings are similar, and that's why the Count of Boston Terriers and the Count of Great Dane are now baring their teeth and snarling at each other.
"You sandbags who can't even show your teeth without a letter, trying to ruin somebody's nephew's future, eh, where's your conscience?"
"You must have exiled your concepts to the distant North Seas, where your only skill is killing your opponents by dirty tricks. Do not pollute my nephew's chivalry."
"Dirty and sleazy? See if we can get you a set of shiny armor so you can put on a show."
"I'll be the first to admit that you do nothing but good for others, you dirty dog."
All of this bickering is in an effort to recruit the highly anticipated super-rookie Vikir to their respective knighthoods.
If they can recruit Vikir, whose stock is at an all-time high, they will not only bring all of Vikir's stories and accomplishments under their umbrella, but also the future of the Knights.
It would be exciting for the Knights to have someone of Vikir's caliber who had already reached the mid-level of the Graduator at only seventeen years of age.
Moreover, it is the custom of the House of Baskerville to admire, love, and revere strength itself, and the two Counts were no exception.
The same goes for the other five counts, who were unfortunately unable to attend due to distance.
... but.
In truth, Vikir had no intention of joining the knights.
"Because I'll eat them both."
I'll have the other five, the seven great knights of House Baskerville, all under my feet.
The idea of swallowing the entire Baskervilles whole. It's a plan I've had in mind for the past seventeen years, ever since my return.
But for now, the dispute is certainly troubling.
The confrontation between the two counts, a Boston Terrier and a Great Dane, who were constantly barking at each other over Vikir, was becoming increasingly heated.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, Vikir turned away with a puzzled expression on his face.
He turned to Hugo, the patriarch and host of the great banquet, for help.
... but.
"?"
Vikir couldn't help but express his disbelief.
Hugo had been watching the two half-siblings argue with an amused expression on his face.