Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel

Chapter 544: Curse Of Maverick’s sword

As Maverick and Hadi left Dylan’s room, the corridor outside was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced along the stone walls. Their footsteps echoed softly, a rhythmic reminder of their presence in the otherwise silent passageway. The air was cool, with a faint hint of dampness typical of the subterranean stronghold.

Maverick broke the silence, his tone casual yet probing. "My lord, it seems your old habit is coming up again. You don’t even mind using the human shithead as experimental material."

Hadi gave a side smile, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Hmm! You caught on."

Maverick rolled his eyes, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "I realized that was the case when you told me you wanted me to train him. You knew that because of his kind of Dantian Talent, hardships will not only make him stronger but also reactivate the Blood contract."

Hadi’s expression turned mischievous, his eyes gleaming with cunning as they continued walking down the corridor, their steps slow and deliberate.

Maverick continued, his voice laced with a mix of admiration and skepticism. "You wanted the Blood contract to become stronger. You wanted him to go back to Vandoria. All to test that thing you gave him in that box."

"It is true that I admire Dylan. He did save our people, and his pure heart was the reason I had a breakthrough in my research, but that research still needs experiments, and the boy has a most precious Dantian. Skipping him would be like having cake in my house but going out to the street to look for shit. Besides, his nature and love for willful ignorance on the ways of the world, makes me feel like he might be living in a bubble."

Hadi paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he turned to his right-hand man. The soft torchlight flickered, casting shadows across his sharp features. He took a step closer to Maverick, the air between them thick with unspoken understanding. "Aren’t you the same? Giving him a cursed sword made from the tooth of a dead magical beast and saying that it was made from a Core beast."

Both men stood in silence for a moment, their eyes locked. The faint hum of distant activity within the stronghold was the only sound, a background murmur to their contemplative pause. Then, simultaneously, they chuckled, the sound low and conspiratorial.

It was true. Both had been sly in their dealings with Dylan, each harboring their own agenda. Yet, there was no malice in their actions, only a pragmatic approach to maximizing the greatest benefits for themselves and their people. The flickering torchlight highlighted the intricate carvings on the walls, symbols of the New Beast Kingdom’s power and history, a silent testament to the lengths its leaders would go to ensure its survival and prosperity.

As they resumed their walk, the camaraderie between them was evident. They were not bound by traditional notions of good or evil but by a shared commitment to their kingdom’s future.

With each step, their laughter faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of their footsteps, a reminder that in their world, the ends often justified the means.

Maverick led Dylan to the border of the New Beast Kingdom, the wind carrying a mixture of scents from the nearby desert. As they approached the edge of the land, Maverick turned to Dylan, his expression a rare mix of seriousness and concern.

"Don’t die out there, shithead," Maverick said, waving a goodbye. There was an uncharacteristic softness in his voice, a hint of genuine worry hidden beneath his gruff demeanor.

Dylan smiled and waved back, his heart warmed by the thought that beast men were inherently good people. He turned to face the vast, dry desert that lay between the two nations. The border was a harsh, unforgiving landscape, a barren stretch of land that separated the Beast Kingdom from Vandorain. Dylan remembered this place well; it was the same path he had taken when he first embarked on Chiron’s mission.

In this land that he had initially come to destroy, he had found love, lost it, and then found purpose. For him, it was worth more than a life time going around being Chiron’s goon.

To say that he did not hate the fact that he was going back, especially like this, it would be a lie. But somethings needed to be done.

the distance between the border of both nations was not far from one another. Just a few kilometers. The open space between them was no man land, mostly used for war or those refugees on either sides that wanted to find away to escape the prison of their fate.

This was a lawless land.

The wind was fierce, whipping against his black coat and sending grains of sand skittering across the ground. Dylan pulled his collar up to shield his face, squinting against the sting of the wind.

As they walked, Dylan couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He had protected the innocent and driven away the attackers. Yet, as he glanced back at the desert, he knew that his journey was far from over. The challenges ahead were daunting, but he was ready to face them, his heart steeled by the determination to see his mission through to the end.

Dylan had not killed any of the beast men, though he had given them profound injuries—a hand here, a leg there—but no deaths. His growing relationship with the beast people stayed his hand. He had killed before, but today, he saw no need for it. What he did not know was that shortly after the beast men had run away, something inexplicable had happened to them.

Dylan helped the injured scouts back to the Vandorian side. Seeing their scouts in such a state, the guards immediately opened the gates, the two wounded men vouching for Dylan.

Upon entering the border, Dylan was led to the barracks. Shortly after, he was summoned to see the Commander of the barracks. He entered the man’s office a bit nervously, noting its recent renovations. The commander, seated at his desk, immediately stood and shook Dylan’s hand warmly.

"Thank you," the commander said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude, as his eyes subconsciously gazed past Dylan’s hand, staring at a totem there.

It turned out that the boy Dylan had saved was the commander’s son. The commander had sent his son with the scouts to gain experience. As he spoke, the commander gave Dylan a particular look, almost as if he was trying to recall something important.

Dylan noted the commander’s gaze but focused on the conversation. According to the law, he had to drop his sword at the door upon entering the room. The absence of his weapon made him feel slightly vulnerable, but he pushed the feeling aside.

"I owe you a great debt," the commander continued. "My son told me how bravely you fought to protect him and the other scout. I can’t thank you enough."

Dylan nodded humbly. "I’m just glad I could help. The beast men were attacking, and I couldn’t stand by and do nothing."

The commander’s eyes bore into Dylan’s, studying him intently. "You fought without killing them, which is surprising given the circumstances. Why?"

Dylan hesitated for a moment. "I’ve developed a... respect for the beast people. I’ve seen that they can be inherently good. I didn’t see the need to kill them."

The commander nodded slowly, still with that peculiar look in his eyes. "You’re a unique individual, Dylan. Not many would have shown such restraint."

Dylan felt a mixture of pride and unease. "Thank you, sir."

The commander walked around his desk, placing a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. "You’ve shown great courage and compassion. Qualities that are rare these days."

Dylan bowed his head slightly. "I’m just doing what I think is right."

The commander smiled, a warm and genuine expression. "I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of you, Dylan. Keep up the good work. And remember, you have friends here."

Dylan nodded, feeling a sense of camaraderie. "Thank you, Commander."

As Dylan turned to leave, the commander’s voice stopped him. "One more thing, Dylan."

Dylan turned back, meeting the commander’s gaze.

"You remind me of someone I once knew. Someone very important...."