The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

Vikir opened his eyes.

He had slept soundly, without a single nightmare.

He usually slept half-awake, bracing himself for an attack or some other miscellaneous disaster, but this time he slept soundly and defenselessly, as if he were truly dead.

Of course, when I woke up, the wounds on my body had healed nicely.

This was partly due to the regenerative powers of the bog salamander, but also because all sorts of good medicines had healed my body from the inside out.

"...?"

Vikir scrambled to his feet.

He was covered in fluffy fur pelts on a bed of dry straw and a clean cotton quilt.

Herbs and various splints wrapped around his body.

Inside, the layout of the room was vaguely familiar, like something from one of Balak's barracks.

He glanced down and saw that the room's owner was asleep at Vikir's feet.