Revenge of the Iron-Blooded Sword Hound Chapter 150

Episode 150 Older Man, Not Older Brother (1)

Volunteer activities during the Golden Week holidays are over.

Now, tomorrow morning, everyone will be back at the academy.

On the last night at the orphanage, the volunteer students gathered in the auditorium to listen to Quilty, the director of the orphanage.

Quilty appealed to the audience with his appearance resembling an old theater actor who was famous for his appeal.

“…So our parents are working hard for you even at this time… But unlike you, the children in this orphanage don’t have parents… so everyone The wonderful people of the academy, who should be the model for the future, will be the guardians of these children… These children will remember the grace you have taken care of for the past ten days for the rest of their lives… It’s no different from parents who were born and raised with their hearts…”

Tongue. It only shows its true value when it is attached to the devil’s mouth.

The devil’s tongue is indeed the devil’s tongue, so many students in the auditorium shed tears.

Quilty’s speech reminded the volunteer students of the grace of their parents and furthermore made them feel strong sympathy for the children of this orphanage, even temporarily.

‘It’s not even funny.’

Except for Bikir.

In fact, Vikir knew that Quilty’s speech was merely a subtle stimulation of the academy’s students’ inherent sense of respect and debt to their parents.

Evidence of this can be clearly seen in the large donation box that appeared immediately after Quilty’s speech.

“Now! Show us the love you’ve felt for the children at our nursery over the past ten days! Share with the children here as much as you’ve received from your parents!”

At Quilty’s words, the students scrambled to open their wallets.

Jinglang- Jjalgeulang- With my daughter!

The sound of gold coins falling and crashing is loud.

As much as the students of the academy respect and love their parents, the sums pile up to form a small golden mountain.

……Of course, Vikir didn’t pay a penny because he had no respect or love for Hugo.

Of course I had no intention of donating anything to the devil.

at that time.

Someone approached Bikir.

It was Sinclair.

She said as she tugged at Bikir’s collar.

“Brother. Don’t you pay?”

“……No money.”

“Money? Why don’t you have any money? Even though you’re an academy student.”

Admission to the academy requires a staggering amount of tuition each year.

Sinclair pretended to be angry and stabbed Bikir in the side.

“Isn’t that too heartless? The poor children here don’t have parents. We have to help.”

That was the general reaction of students who came to volunteer.

All except Bikir. So Piggy Tudor Sancho… Even Bianca was putting all the money she had in the donation box with tears running down her nose.

But Bikir shook his head resolutely.

“There’s no need for anything like parents.”

“Eh?”

Sinclair widens her eyes with a puzzled expression.

Bikir added briefly.

“Anyway, you have to get through the world on your own. The existence of parents only functions during childhood, when others’ help is essential, and is unnecessary otherwise.”

In fact, Bikir did not think that the children at the orphanage were pitiful or pitiful in the first place.

Just as Bikir himself was born and raised as a hunting dog in the Baskervilles, the children at the orphanage here also survived their childhood with the help of the nursery, so they didn’t think they needed a parent.

The ‘world’ is an object that must be overcome through a fight full of pain, and ‘parents’ are only guides in the beginning to help with the first tutorial of the long fight.

It is a perspective that only looked at the functional aspect, not the emotional aspect, but it was a natural child-rearing view in the Baskerville family where Vikir lived a lifetime and in the ‘Age of Perdition’ where he lived half his life.

And, naturally, that perspective is rather foreign to the ordinary people of this age who have never been through an age of destruction.

It was rightly said that those who have been through war and those who have not been through war will not understand each other until death.

Sinclair’s gaze at Vikir changed slightly.

From a curious and playful expression to something sad and sorrowful.

“……brother.”

Eventually, Sinclair opened his mouth.

“Come visit my house later. During holidays or vacations.”

“……?”

“Let’s have a meal together.”

Sinclair lifted her tiptoe and reached out to stroke Bikir’s hair.

“…What are you doing?”

When Bikir asked in a puzzled way, Sinclair suddenly came to his senses, then with a gasp, put his hand behind his back.

Seeing that expression that seemed genuinely embarrassed, it seemed that it was an act that I did not know about myself.

“Uh… then I’m done! I’m going to see the kids! Hyung! Seriously, let’s have a meal later! I’m going to live! Free up some time after returning from volunteer work!”

She hurriedly backed off, waved her hand, and disappeared into the crowd.

“…What a strange guy.”

Bikir frowned.

What kind of person Sinclair was before returning naturally comes to mind.

A girl who spoke little but laughed well. A female student who was moderately friendly with everyone, but did not get along deeply with anyone. The greatest genius of fever donation who never missed the first place in practical writing for all 4 years of attending the academy. And a mysterious existence that disappeared at the same time as graduation and never appeared in the world.

She was known to be of commoner origin, but strangely, none of her origins or background was known.

Bikir frowned.

‘Come to think of it, among the chirashis Xindi Wendy sent me, there was a content that said, ‘Among the freshmen of the class of 20, there is a member of the royal family.’ no way……?’

Considering Sinclair’s outstanding looks, talent, and bizarrely hidden background, you never know.

When Vikir was thinking about this and that in her mind.

Unlucky Quilty’s voice is heard again.

“Now! From now on, the children of our nursery school will say thank you to the parents who gave birth to them from the heart!”

A spotlight then illuminates the other side of the stage.

There were rows of children from the orphanage, dressed to the fullest, with awkward and shy expressions on their faces.

Each one is seen holding in his hand a garland of poor workmanship.

Quilty said with a glistening smile on his lips.

“Hey guys~ Should I say thank you to the people who became your parents for 10 days?”

It is obvious that the plan is to use children as bait to scrape more donations from academy students who have not yet had social experience.

However, only the hearts and bonds between the children who made the wreaths and the volunteers who were happy to wear them around their necks were genuine.

The children approached with pounding hearts, hoping that their older sisters and older brothers would like the bouquets and flower necklaces they had made, and the older sisters, older sisters, and older brothers accepted the children’s gifts with a look of delight.

Tudor, Sancho Piggy and Bianca hugged the children tightly.

“Ugh! I’m a Tudor! I swear! I’ll come to visit you every week until the day I become a great hero! And of course thereafter!”

“In the north, children are the most precious. They are the sprouts that will lead the future. The future of the empire depends on you. Do your best.”

“Ahh! Hyung will definitely come again! Next time he comes, he’ll bring lots of delicious food!”

“Oh… ten days is short if it’s short, and long if it’s long.

The children hung wreaths around their necks and kissed them on the cheeks.

but.

“…”

Toxically around Bikir, children were not approaching well.

Bikir’s blunt and cold atmosphere played a part in that, but in fact, the biggest reason was that Bikir didn’t show up well in front of the children for the past ten days.

Sewage cleaning, pipe repair, restaurant tile work, playground maintenance, etc… Bikir always took care of the dirty work in the dark, so his activities were not revealed.

Is that why? Volunteer service scores and evaluation images for Bikir were quite thin.

at that time.

A young child came to Bikir’s side as well.

It was a nymphet.

“…”

“…”

The nymphet stared at Vikir.

Bikir also stared blankly at the nymphet.

Rarely did Vikir break the silence first.

“…What do you see?”

Then the nymphet, somewhat hesitantly, held out what she had hidden behind.

It was a small wrought-iron wreath.

“Um. Thank you.”

Bikir received the garland handed to her by the nymphet.

Normally, I would bend my legs to the children’s eye level and let the child hang the wreath on their neck, but Bikir had no such consideration.

Then the nymphet took Bikir’s hand.

Then, moving her dainty fingers, she wrote on Bikir’s palm.

‘Thanks for the ball, oppa.’

I’m talking about work in the sewer.

Bikir nodded once.

“It was nothing.”

Bikir also did not feel particularly inspired because he had acted to rescue the eggs of Madame Eight Legs.

together? Unexpectedly, Nymphet showed a willingness to continue the conversation.

‘Can I come again next time?’

For an instant, Bikir’s pupils shook.

next. What’s next?

Hounds prepare for death every moment.

A life that can be killed by being counterattacked by the prey or boiled by the owner.

So, like other volunteers, Bikir couldn’t easily say the word next.

Furthermore, isn’t Nymphet a child who has been greatly disappointed by the volunteers who are getting less and less frequent?

After thinking for a while, Bikir finally nodded.

“As long as there is ‘tomorrow’ for me and for you.”

That was the maximum promise Bikir could make.

Upon hearing that, the nymphet’s eyes widened in an instant.

Then the nymphet smiled and nodded.

‘I’ll wait.’

Nymphet’s wet fingers plant a message of promise in Bikir’s dry palm.

yet. It’s kiss time.

All the other children kiss the other volunteers on the cheek.

However, Nymphet and Vikir just stood still, not particularly trying to bring their mouths and cheeks close to each other.

Eventually, Bikir turned around first.

“It’s okay if you don’t kiss. I don’t like it either.”

“…”

Then the nymphet was visibly taken aback.

A nymphet hesitantly waving her hands for some reason.

Vikir left one last word to such a nymphet.

“…and. It’s not ‘brother’, it’s ‘uncle’.”

For a thirteen-year-old girl, hearing her brother’s voice was a bit strange.

With the visibly regretful nymphet behind, Bikir tried to leave the auditorium on foot.

“Wait a minute!”

It would have happened if Saint Dolores hadn’t stood in the way of Vikir.