🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter – 12
“I shall step outside for a while.”
Maranello discreetly withdrew to give the awkward father and son some space.
“……”
“……”
Even after Maranello left, Carlisle and Grand Duke Guntram remained silent, neither eager to start the conversation.
For Carlisle, this was his first one-on-one meeting with the Grand Duke. The situation felt strange—and frankly, he didn’t have much to say anyway.
‘He must want to talk about Evangeline,’ Carlisle thought.
But his guess was completely off the mark.
“Were you hurt?”
“…Pardon?”
Carlisle blinked, caught off guard by the Grand Duke’s unexpected question.
He thought the man would bring up Evangeline, but instead, he asked if Carlisle had felt hurt.
“No.”
Carlisle answered calmly.
“I wasn’t hurt. Not at all.”
“……”
Guntram was silent for a moment, as if lost for words.
Then he asked again, more softly.
“You truly weren’t hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Even though your father misunderstood you?”
“Well, the situation made it seem that way. It wasn’t your fault, Father.”
“But still…”
“Given my past behavior, how could you have believed me in that situation? Not believing me was the reasonable thing to do.”
“If that’s truly how you see it…”
Guntram trailed off, his tone suggesting there was more he wanted to say but chose not to.
“I heard from Maranello that you’ve changed. Even to my own eyes… you’re hardly the same man you used to be.”
“Hmm.”
Carlisle couldn’t easily respond.
‘Damn it. How am I supposed to act this out?’
He wasn’t some professional actor—pretending to be the same old infamous scoundrel perfectly was impossible.
“They say that sometimes, after great trauma or a serious head injury, a man changes entirely.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Well, since that’s the case… may I allow myself to expect a little from you?”
“No.”
Carlisle’s blunt refusal came from his unwillingness to live trying to meet someone else’s expectations—family or not.
“So, you plan to remain a worthless brat forever?”
“Yes.”
“……”
Guntram closed his eyes tightly, clearly restraining the anger boiling up inside him.
‘A scoundrel must act like a scoundrel,’ Carlisle thought, suppressing a wry smile.
He felt sorry for the Grand Duke, but he had no intention of giving up his “villain” act.
If he became a good son, the expectations placed on him would skyrocket—but as a delinquent, just not causing trouble would be considered progress.
“I see. Perhaps expecting a man to change overnight is too much. Still, remember this one thing.”
“I’m listening.”
“From now on, whatever you do—you’ll bear the consequences yourself.”
Carlisle took that as a warning: no more leniency if he caused trouble again.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good. Then I’ll take my leave.”
“You’re not going to ask about Evangeline?”
“She’s your maid, isn’t she? That makes her your responsibility.”
“Well, that’s true.”
Carlisle was slightly surprised.
To entrust him so easily with Evangeline—the Earth Spirit user?
“Whether you can keep her as your maid or not will depend entirely on what you do next.”
“Huh?”
“If I ever need her, I’ll speak with you about it. Now, get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”
“Yes, Father.”
And thus, Carlisle’s first private conversation with the Grand Duke came to an end.
“AAAAAARGH!!!”
“J-Just kill me… please…”
“GYAAAAH!”
Meanwhile, Jeffrey and his men were enduring unspeakable torment.
The Sigmund family’s torturers were in a league of their own.
After all, the Sigmunds had long waged wars against the barbarians beyond the northern border—so their torture methods had evolved accordingly.
Ordinary methods didn’t work on savage warriors hardened by endless battle, so the Sigmunds had been forced to devise horrifyingly creative techniques to break them.
The result?
“We… we’re agents of House Loren!”
Jeffrey confessed everything after just two days.
Despite being trained to withstand interrogation, that training was worthless against the Sigmund family’s “special” techniques.
“The Loren bastards dare to spy on us?”
Guntram’s fury exploded the moment he heard the report.
House Loren was one of the thirteen noble houses that sustained the Kingdom of Nürburgrk—and long-time rivals of House Sigmund.
For over two centuries, the two houses had fought several territorial wars, their enmity deeply rooted.
At any other time, this would have been a perfect excuse to start another war.
But now? Guntram could not even utter the word.
“Of all times…”
He scowled down at the enormous war map spread across his desk.
Blue markers represented the Kingdom’s armies, led by House Sigmund. Red markers, the barbarians.
And the problem was clear—there were far more red pieces than blue.
The barbarians’ advance was imminent. House Sigmund had neither the men nor the resources to fight Loren.
They couldn’t even afford this spying incident.
In truth, Guntram knew it was only a matter of a year or two before a full-scale barbarian invasion.
“…I must endure once again.”
He sighed bitterly.
Without concrete evidence, House Loren would simply deny everything, feigning innocence. Torture-induced confessions alone would never justify retaliation.
That afternoon—
“Young master, His Grace requests your presence.”
“What for? Did I do something wrong again?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then why’s he calling me?”
“Heh…”
Maranello chuckled, half-exasperated.
“Not every summons from your father means a scolding, young master.”
“Didn’t it, though?”
“Well… that has usually been the case…”
Maranello wiped away a bead of sweat.
Indeed, most of Guntram’s summonses in the past had been to punish Carlisle’s misbehavior.
“What a hassle.”
“You have to go regardless.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
Carlisle reluctantly obeyed.
“You called for me.”
“Sit.”
“Something you want to talk about?”
“Yes.”
Guntram paused, then nodded.
“There is something.”
“Go on.”
“As you know, in three months you’ll be twenty-four.”
“Right.”
“It’s time.”
“Oh, no…”
Carlisle’s face stiffened.
‘Damn it. I completely forgot about that.’
The recent trial had distracted him, but in the Sigmund family, turning twenty-four marked a major turning point in life.
Every Sigmund noble was required to enlist in the Decaron army for at least three years of mandatory service.
A proud warrior tradition born from centuries of war against the barbarians.
“You’re telling me to enlist?”
“Exactly.”
To Carlisle, it was like a thunderbolt from a clear sky.
‘I already did my military service—in another life!’
He could hardly imagine doing it again. He had thought this world, being different, would spare him such obligations…
“I refuse.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I’d only be a burden, and you know it. I’d be lucky not to lower morale.”
“Then you’ll be punished under military law.”
“……”
“I told you before—you must take responsibility for your actions.”
Carlisle had no good counter for that.
“I’m not good at fighting.”
“You seemed plenty good at brawling in taverns.”
“That’s only because people went easy on me—for being your son.”
“So you do understand.”
“I’m weak.”
“Then grow stronger.”
“I lack talent.”
He wasn’t lying.
[Carlisle von Sigmund]
- Race: Human
- Age: 23
- Status: Noble
- Occupation: Unemployed (Scoundrel)
- Traits: (Reset)
- Title: The Northern Degenerate
Due to the circumstances of his “possession,” Carlisle’s traits had been reset—he didn’t even know what he was good at anymore.
Worse still, this body had originally died in the story, meaning he had zero background information to rely on.
“You dare claim my son has no talent?”
“There are plenty of sons worse than their fathers, you know.”
“And plenty who surpass them.”
It was a duel of words—spear against shield.
Father trying to send his son off to war; son trying desperately to wriggle out of it.
Guntram’s temper boiled, but he held it in.
Had Carlisle begged on his knees like the old days, Guntram would’ve exploded in rage.
This—this slippery verbal fencing—was at least an improvement.
“If you refuse, I’ll strip you of your noble title.”
“…What?”
“A man who shirks his duty and honor as a noble deserves to live as a commoner.”
“……”
Carlisle fell silent.
To be disowned—removed from the family register—was no empty threat.
“The war is near.”
Guntram’s tone turned stern.
“The barbarians’ large-scale invasion is imminent. How long do you plan to keep idling? At the very least, protect yourself.”
“Hmm…”
“If you want to keep your title and inherit your fortune, fulfill your duty as a noble.”
“And when my service ends?”
“Then I’ll no longer interfere in your life.”
“You promise?”
“I do.”
“Fine, then. I’ll enlist.”
Carlisle agreed at last—not out of duty, but necessity.
‘If I want to survive here, I need to get stronger.’
This was a world ruled by swords and magic, where only strength commanded respect.
Even with noble blood, one needed at least basic combat ability.
“Good. A wise choice.”
“Not really. You’re forcing me.”
“……”
“By the way, is that a war map?”
Carlisle pointed to the large map on the desk.
“Yes. As you can see, it shows our forces and the barbarians’ positions.”
“Looks rough.”
“Indeed. The odds aren’t in our favor.”
“Still… if you strike here, things would change.”
Carlisle stepped closer and tapped a specific spot on the map.
“Where do you mean?”
“Right here.”
“That region is… wait—what?”
Guntram’s expression froze, turning as cold as ice.
