The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Chapter 369: Solitary Confinement (1)

Solitary confinement. Corporal punishment for sharing a room alone.

Solitary confinement is a common form of corporal punishment in prisons.

One might wonder why solitary confinement is a form of corporal punishment, but it makes sense if the room is small enough to defy common sense.

The popular concept of solitary confinement is that of a small space that's less than half a meter square, a complete claustrophobic space with nothing to see and nobody to talk to.

However, this is the definition of solitary confinement in most prisons, and Nouvelle Vague is far more severe.

'..., I was told.'

Three months in solitary confinement for refusing to do labor and fighting the guards.

Now Vikir will experience firsthand what it means to be sent to solitary confinement, the second harshest punishment in Nouvelle Vague after execution.

Creak- Creak- Creak- Creak-

One of the guards carried Vikir, who was stretched out and covered in blood from D'Ordume's blows.

As he dragged the cart, he spoke in a low voice.

"As of this hour, you will be held in solitary confinement. You will be released after 100 days."

Vikir raised his head, removed the blood scabs, and opened his eyes.

He saw the familiar face of the guard.

<Garm Nord>

The name on his nametag was a familiar one.

"Did you get caught again?"

Vikir asked, and Garm smiled bitterly.

"No. This time, I volunteered."

"...Why?"

"To get you to your cell in relative safety."

Garm said that there are vicious guards who often kill prisoners who have been found dead for fun.

That was why he had volunteered to make sure that Vikir would not suffer any further penalties beyond those prescribed by law.

Vikir shook his head.

"What does it matter to you if I die or not?"

"I just wanted to thank you ...."

"Thank you?"

"Yes. Because you didn't kill me."

Vikir was silent for a moment at Garm's words.

This was a calculated rampage in many ways, and there was no need to escalate things any further than necessary.

So Vikir had been deliberately careful not to cause any deaths, and Garm seemed to have misunderstood something from that.

Vikir was about to tell him the truth when Garm spoke up.

"And... most of all, thank you for bringing Kirko back safely."

Kirko? Vikir paused for a moment.

Then he remembered the face of the imposing girl guard he'd fought so briefly before the fight with D'Ordume.

'She was quite a character, too good to be rotting in a place like this.'

After his brief reminiscence, Vikir glanced away again.

Garm's ears were slightly red from pulling the cart in front of him.

"All the other guards had their noses crushed, their teeth knocked out, and their limbs broken, but... Kirko was unharmed, so I'm grateful for that."

"Why are you thanking her for being uninjured?"

"Well, that's because...."

Garm faltered and started to say something, but then clamped his mouth shut.

Seeing that, Vikir understood why Garm was despised by his fellow guards and prisoners.

'He's too normal, the kind of personality that can only be considered shallow in this bottom of hell.'

Garm was an ordinary boy in his late teens.

So, it was inevitable that people would be at a disadvantage in places that were out of the ordinary.

As a result, he was bullied by his fellow guards in the dormitory and looked down upon by the prisoners in the workshop.

He was even despised by a female coworker he had a crush on.

'In many ways, he doesn't fit in at Nouvelle Vague.'

That was Vikir's assessment of Garm.

'He seems to have a good nature, but that is of no use in Nouvelle Vague.'

Then.

Garm spoke up.

"...You're going to be in solitary confinement from now on."

"...."

"I recommend that you bite your tongue before that, because solitary confinement is... really terrible."

Such was the advice of the good-natured Garm, and he meant it.

Naturally, Vikir ignored the advice.

"That's the kind of advice I was given when I was being escorted to Nouvelle Vague."

"Ha, but solitary confinement is something else! It's nothing like a convoy or an entrance ceremony, it's horrible...!"

But. Garm could not finish his sentence.

Suddenly, a long shadow had begun casting in front of the cart.

"Hohoho- Oh my? Who is this? It's been a while since we had a guest?"

A woman's voice echoed through the black cave.

The moment he heard it, Garm's body began to stiffen.

"Well, that's it for me then. Good luck."

Garm gave Vikir one last pat on the back.

He turned to face the other side and gave a powerful salute before turning and running away.

"...."

Vikir looked up.

He saw a mountain peak jutting up like an awl. It was reminiscent of the Red Awl Castle in Morg's territory.

A woman walked toward him, leaving the harsh background behind.

She's tall, slender, and sexy voluminous body, and even more colorful mustache.

Beneath her sunglasses, the woman with the bushy mustache looked down at Vikir.

Vikir knew who she was at a glance.

'...Colonel Souaré.'

A half-dwarf, half-elf, she was one of the five leading wardens of Nouvelle Vague and, along with Colonel D'Ordume, the most likely next in line for the position.

With dwarf blood in her veins, she grew a beard despite being a woman and had a natural talent for working with minerals.

"Hmmm~ Let's see. You must be the new prisoner who fought D'Ordume, lively one."

Souaré looked down at Vikir and chuckled.

Kwagik-

Souaré stomped on the cart with the heel of her high heel, crushing it, and lifted Vikir by the throat with her hand.

"Let's see~ which cell do you want me to put you in?"

Souaré said in a seductive voice as she shook Vikir.

Vikir frowned.

There wasn't anything around that looked like a room, so what the hell was she going to do?

...But Vikir's doubts were quickly dispelled.

"Oh, yeah. Let's mix asphalt, concrete, and some BDISSEM powder and sculpt it."

Souaré then rolled the floor with her foot.

And then something amazing happened.

kkulleong-

The ground beneath Souaré's foot melted away, then boiled over with a lava-like red glow.

It soon turned into a liquid as thick as molten metal and began to change its appearance at Souaré's will.

"I'll make you a solitary cell, just the right size for your body."

Souaré grinned, set Vikir on the floor, and popped a large pipe into his mouth.

"This is your breathing hole. Don't lose it."

Frighteningly, Souaré's words were barely out of her mouth when the concrete and asphalt from above began to cover Vikir's body.

Soon, Vikir's body was swallowed by the concrete and asphalt and turned into a cocoon.

Hot lava flows over him.

Chirrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

The mold was solidifying.

Vikir had to squeeze his eyes shut against the high internal temperature rose to the point where it was unbearable and the feeling of emptiness rose.

'... So this is the Nouvelle Vague's solitary confinement.'

Even for the mighty Vikir, solitary confinement was grim.

No wonder prisoners feared solitary almost as much as the death penalty.

Usually lasting a day or two, sometimes even a week, Vikir was sentenced to 100 days in solitary confinement.

-'Put him in solitary confinement. Three months, no, 100 days.'

-'Yes! One hundred days in solitary is a de facto 'execution'.'

He could see now why Lieutenant-Colonel Bastille had treated Vikir as if he were on death row after hearing D'Ordume's order.

'Still, I'm glad I got a pipe in my mouth.'

Water and food will come in through this, and he'll be able to breathe anyway.

But without being able to do anything, it was a waste of time for the hardworking Vikir.

'...I'll take this opportunity to let my body rest a bit and organize myself a bit.'

It's important to stop and take a look back after all the running you've been doing.

However, he couldn't help but notice that the place was unpleasant.

Whatever happened next, Vikir realized, the last thing he needed was solitary confinement.

Three months and ten days.

Vikir would train his mind through meditation, and at the same time, he would try to piece together the information from before the regression and plan his next move.

....

He would have done just that if it weren't for a voice that came out of nowhere.

"Pushishishishi... A young fellow has joined this time, right?"

The voice of a man who looked quite old.

"It's good to have a solitary companion in my later years, young man, I hope you live long. That way, you will be my companion as well."

The voice was quite unpleasant to listen to, like a nail scraping against a glass plate.

"Who are you?"

Vikir said briefly, pushing the hardening concrete with his lower jaw.

He had to be careful not to let the pipe in his mouth fall.

Then.

"...."

There was no answer for a while.

As the silence slowly hardened like concrete.

"Pushishishishi...."

The eerie laughter continued for a long time.

And soon, the person locked in the cell next to him revealed his identity.

"Just call me 'Angajumang'."

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