The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 320: Underdogma (2)

Dogma, a third-year student at Colosseo Academy, Vice President of the Student Council.

...No, Dogma, now the leader of the commoner faction.

He took the long stick he had gotten from the random box and climbed up the vine.

He sucked out the sap accumulated deep inside with a straw and put it in the bottle he had brought with him.

As he descended from the root of the Hell Tree, he was met with loud cheers from the other commoner students.

Dogma poured the sap from the jar into a rain barrel.

"It's a little watery, but we'll all have to share, right?"

Dogma smirked, and the other students all smiled and nodded in agreement.

However, the warm atmosphere belongs to the commoners. It was completely theirs alone.

Surplus humans who were right next to each other, but not sharing any of the warmth.

They had been nobles not so long ago.

Chained like slaves, they crawled across the floor in chains, picking up scraps of wood, guarding the campfire and sweeping up the ashes around them.

They were triplets.

Highbro Le Baskervilles. Midbro Le Baskervilles. Lowbro Le Baskervilles.

The trident of Baskerville's family was here.

"...."

"...."

"...."

All three were badly beaten.

Dogma's shadow loomed over the triplets as they labored in silence.

"Hey, you guys want some of this?"

Dogma waved a vial of watered-down sap at them.

"Then crawl over here like a dog."

Dogma plopped down on a rotten log and snapped his fingers.

Highbro was the first to drop to the ground.

And then, crawling, crawling to the feet of Dogma.

Pugh-

Dogma kicks Hive in the face.

"Why, does it hurt to be kicked in the face by a commoner you've been treating like a worm?"

"...."

"You were lucky enough to be born into Baskerville, and you've had a nice, comfortable life of eating and wearing nice things, haven't you?"

"...."

"But not me, I was born to penniless, powerless parents, and I've spent my entire life on the outside looking in. I've been unlucky."

"...."

"But since I've been in the tower, I've been able to use that luck to my advantage, and I can't believe you'd drop it after the guys next to you died."

As he spoke, Dogma rolled a single round bead between his fingers.

Red. It was a strange candy that boosted his strength stat.

"I got lucky in the tower that I wasn't born with. I grew stronger by consuming the candy that my friends dropped as they died. It was in this tower that I was reborn, and it taught me the hard way how important it is to start somewhere."

Afterward, feeling a little, just a little, stronger than the students around him, Dogma worked frantically to keep that initial slight advantage.

He snatched up any candy in sight. Later, he would spearhead conflicts with the commoners who resented the nobles in exchange for a small share of their candy.

After creating and destroying a few groups, he became overwhelmingly powerful.

"You aristocrats and barons have always sucked our blood, so we should expect nothing less."

Dogma continued to kick Highbro in the head and side with his foot.

"You told me to bring up water every time, didn't you?"

"...."

"You told me to borrow your textbooks and gym clothes, didn't you?"

"...."

"You copied my assignments every time, and you even turned them in before me, accusing me of plagiarism. My freshman year was the worst because no one sat next to me on school trips, no one showed me their genealogy during exams, and everyone around me just stared. It was a really bad, lonely time."

Dogma is in third year. When he was a freshman, Highbro wasn't even at Colosseo Academy, but no one made a big deal out of it. Because that's not who he is.

"Gordon... I should have met that bastard inside this tower. I mean, he's a douchebag who has nothing other than good parents, so I'm sure he's already been dumped by hellhound or Daylily. Haha-"

Suddenly, Gordon's voice echoes in Dogma's head.

'Wow, Dogma! You're so good at drawing! Who is this? Oh, Dolores? Hey, Dolores! Look! He drew you! He likes you! Attention, classmates! Our friend Dogma has a big announcement to make! Well, he drew Dolores, and it's ...! Wow, the face is similar, but the body is a bit different from the real thing~ Isn't it a bit exaggerated in certain areas? Aah- It's a bit of a personal preference... Eh? Hey, what's the matter? Why are you mad? Why are you so upset? It's a joke. What are you going to do about the atmosphere? Why are you making a bad person out of a joke?'

A moment.

... Poof!

Dogma's eyes lit up.

He's capable, he's ambitious. He was capable and ambitious.

But he's always been held back by bad luck.

But not in this tower.

Slaves, commoners, bastards, and illegitimate children. Everyone is given equal opportunities.

The poverty and incompetence of the hated parents no longer hold them back.

You won't fail your exams because you studied hard and the son of a rich family who gave a shit to the professor stabbed you in the back, and you won't get pushed down in the practical evaluation by the son of a nobleman whose body is filled with all kinds of nutrients every time.

There is no longer any need for the achievements made through hard work to be treated as worthless just because the rankings were recorded low or just a few numbers were pushed out.

Everything is in your power, and you are rewarded for your efforts, and you are rewarded fairly.

We are moving away from a society where putting in even a little effort was a punishment, to a world where even if you put in a little effort, you can get a little reward.

What a wonderful world.

'The world of demons is much more fair. It's the right one for me.'

Dogma shuddered slightly, delighted by the reality of now.

Then.

A gurgle.

A sound from his stomach caught his attention.

Of course, it wasn't Dogma's stomach.

It was coming from Highbro's stomach. No wonder he hadn't had a sip of water in over three days.

Dogma smirked.

"Dude, if you want this, you're gonna have to beg flatter."

Highbro banged his head on the floor without another word.

"More."

At Dogma's words, Highbro sank deeper and deeper.

Until his forehead was buried beneath the sand.

And then.

"Tsk-"

Dogma spat into the sap in the jar.

He looked back and smiled.

"Friends. My friends here are hungry, too, so let's all chip in and help them out."

"Oh? Great!"

Then the commoner students gathered around.

More than twenty of them spit into the jar.

"I'll give you my good stuff. Kaak-cuih!"

"Kughhhh- cuahhh."

"You're giving too much, there won't be any left, haha- tcuihhh!"

"Kuaghhh! Cuahhh!"

As dozens of saliva are added to the jarred sap from the roots of the Hell Tree, bubbles bubble up.

"If you want to eat, eat. Scum."

Dogma set it on the ground and walked away, smirking.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Highbro, Midbro, and Lowbro huddled around the jar.

"...Damn it. Do we have to do this, eat this? I'd rather be dead, and I'll give my stats to my brothers. At least then we can cut off one of his wrists."

A boiling sound came from Lowbro's mouth.

Midbro was silent, but seemed to agree with his brother.

But.

"...."

Highbro simply gripped the spout of the jar wordlessly.

And then.

Gulp- gulp- gulp- gulp- gulp.

Highbro drank exactly one-third of the bottle and set it down.

Midbro and Lowbro stared at him wide-eyed, and Highbro replied nonchalantly.

"What do you think I hit you in the head for?"

His voice chillingly cold.

Highbro's eyes flicked to his siblings.

"If you die, it's over."

"...."

"The idea that heroes risk their lives for their pride is an illusion created by the lesser beings. The real heroes who have made their mark on history have laughed off the humiliation of the present for the sake of the opportunity."

The Warring States Period.

Before the continent was united, in the maelstrom of warfare that saw hundreds of countries rise and fall in a single day, many great men and women made their mark on history.

Among them were those whose personal lives were less than honorable.

They sold their bodies to old sodomites to raise money for the military, crawled under the crotches of tramps to catch their enemies off guard, changed fathers three times, boiled their sons to satisfy the tastes of their monarchs, ate their enemies' feces as physicians, tended to their health, and sought out assassination opportunities,

These men willingly endured humiliation to become the great heroes of history.

"They say revenge is a fruit best eaten cold. Better late than never."

Midbro and Lowbro nodded at Highbro's words.

" ...I wish we hadn't discriminated against or harassed the commoners in the first place."

"Well, we didn't, the others did, and we had a pretty harsh childhood too, with some of our brothers dying."

Midbro and Lowbro swallowed the sap, which was even more phlegmatic.

They had to eat something like this to survive.

" ... I suppose this is better than the haggis we used to eat back home."

"Mmm. I'd have to agree with you on that."

"Me too."

And then.

" ...Well, maybe not."

An eerie voice came from right behind them.

The triplets turned to see the underdog they'd thought was gone, staring down at them with bloodshot eyes.

"I came by just in case, but I didn't think you'd actually eat it."

"...."

"You're a dangerous bunch. You know how to endure the now for the future...."

The underdog is also a smart guy. He came from a humble background and served as the vice president of the student council.

That's why he knows better.

'Some people with good origins have venom as well? That can't be possible! Venom is the exclusive preserve of underdogs like me! Why do you guys even have this! You already have it all! At least get fat and be stupid! Only then can I despise you and be mentally superior to you!'

Several thoughts raced through Dogma's mind.

A moment.

"...!"

Dogma's eyes met Highbro.

But Highbro's gaze was not on Dogma.

His eyes were on something farther away, something much higher. What could it be?

The Great Work? A great destiny? Something sublime, born of nobility, something he, a commoner, could not even know existed?

The eye of dreams. The dimensions of virtue. The strength of guts. Different levels of looking at the present and envisioning the future.

Dogma felt it in Highbro's dying gaze.

And he struggled once more.

'Trash who has nothing but luck!'

But Dogma himself knew better.

He saw himself looking down on the achievements of people from noble families, treating them as nothing more than luck, and even viewing them in a reverse discriminatory way.

He also realized that the character, grit, guts, discernment, pride, and other intangible assets that some of the noble factions in the tower had displayed... could not be replaced by stats.

'From here on out, we, the Aristocrats and Barons, will take over.'

'Stay out of the way. The stronger ones will lead the way.'

'Run, you weaklings! You're dead! I'll show you what Noblesse Oblige is!'

'...Everyone, avoid me while I become a prey!'

Several familiar voices rang in Dogma's ears as he fled from hellhounds, and the Daylily of Blood Tree, their backs glimpsed in his frantic flight.

"...No, it can't be, this world is perfectly fair. I will be compensated for everything."

Dogma drew a well-honed longsword from his waistband.

He was ready to cut the triplets down at a moment's notice.

Seeing the fleshy tip of the sword, Highbro shrugged, as if he had no choice.

"There is no choice. The only way is for two of us to die and have our stats go to one person."

" ...There is no choice."

"...There is no choice."

Finally, the triplets agreed for the first time in a long time.

Just then.

"Hey! What are you!?"

The shrill cry came from beyond the pile of rotting bushes.

It came from the guys who had gone to scoop up the sap.

"Who the hell drank that sap!"

"This time it was our turn!"

"Wherever he came from, he stole ours!"

The sap is the only food and resource on the island. Touching it is the biggest taboo.

Even Dogma turned and ran in panic.

And then.

"...!"

"...!"

"...!"

The Baskerville triplets' eyes widened.

A familiar face. A lord they would follow for the rest of their lives, even if he was their half-brother. A man who, despite his level, stats, and anything else, was strong in his own right.

"...Where are the rest of the survivors?"

Vikir had appeared.