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Chapter – 41
Bjornsen, crushed beneath the boulder, died instantly — never to rise again.
His eyes were wide open, filled with resentment that seemed to burn even in death.
Well…
Carlyle thought he could guess why Bjornsen’s eyes refused to close.
Unable to ascend to Valhalla even in death — for a warrior like him, that would be the most bitter end imaginable.
“Good work, rookie.”
Begmann approached, laying a heavy hand on Carlyle’s shoulder.
“Thanks to you, Derek’s death has been avenged.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Carlyle didn’t look proud.
He and Derek had only exchanged greetings once — hardly enough to call it friendship.
Talking about “revenge” had just been an excuse to sway Helen into approving the operation.
A pretext to get permission to kill Bjornsen.
“But tell me — why’d you do it that way?”
“Do what, sir?”
“I mean this.” Begmann pointed at Bjornsen’s mangled corpse, flattened beneath the rock.
“I don’t know.”
Carlyle shrugged as if he truly didn’t.
“Just… felt like giving him the same treatment.”
“You’re a cruel one.”
“Excuse me?”
“It takes a special kind of bastard to do that. It’s not easy to act like that for someone you barely knew. And that line you said — for that barbarian, this was worse than death.”
“…”
Carlyle said nothing.
He had never once thought of himself as ruthless.
“Anyway, good job.”
“I thought you were calling me names.”
“How’s that an insult? It’s a compliment.”
“…?”
“If you’re a recon soldier, you have to be ruthless.” Begmann spoke as if it were the most obvious truth in the world.
“Damn right.”
Wilson, who usually looked down on Carlyle, nodded in agreement.
“For once, rookie, I like you,” Wilson said with a grin.
He clearly approved of Carlyle’s idea to crush Bjornsen with a rock.
“All right, Derek’s been avenged. Pack up — we’re heading back.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Begmann looked around at the recon team and declared the operation over.
Ding!
A translucent notification window appeared before Carlyle’s eyes.
[Notice: <Noble Proof> progress has reached 20%! (2/10)]
The recon team beheaded Bjornsen and put his head in a bag before heading straight back to the fortress.
Dragging the entire body would’ve been a nightmare, so they settled for taking the head instead.
Once they returned, Begmann reported to Helen — who was overseeing cleanup — and presented the severed head.
“Here, the enemy commander’s head.”
“You succeeded, then.”
Helen’s surprise was evident.
She had considered it nearly impossible to kill Bjornsen, even if he had survived the battle.
“Private Carlyle played a crucial role.”
“…Is that so.”
Helen’s gaze shifted toward Carlyle.
“Private Carlyle.”
“Yes, Lady Helen.”
“Good… work.”
Helen forced the words out.
It had already been hard enough for her to acknowledge him when she approved the mission — praising him was even harder.
“Your performance will be reported to High Command without omission.”
“Yes, Lady Helen.”
“And…”
Her gaze swept over the rest of the recon team.
“As commander of this fortress, I, Helen, salute the courage and valor of this recon unit.”
Then she ordered Bjornsen’s head to be displayed above the gate.
After all, displaying the severed head of the enemy commander would raise their soldiers’ morale — and crush that of their foes.
“WAAAAAAAH!”
The soldiers cheered as Bjornsen’s head was hoisted up.
“Ha! Serves you right!”
“Rot in hell, bastard!”
“Good riddance!”
They hurled curses, spit, and stones at the head, venting all their rage.
That head would likely hang there for a month or so — enduring every humiliation imaginable.
It’s just a corpse.
Carlyle had no interest in the spectacle.
To him, the head was nothing more than a lump of rotting flesh — an unpleasant decoration.
Someone, however, noticed his indifference.
“Does it not make sense to you?”
Kudo approached quietly.
“I don’t quite understand it either. It’s just a corpse — spitting on it changes nothing. But it is an efficient method.”
“Efficient?”
“Think of it like… a latrine. A place for soldiers to relieve themselves — their anger, hatred, thirst for revenge.”
“Ah.”
Carlyle nodded, understanding now.
In this hellish battlefield, if such displays gave soldiers a way to vent their emotions, then perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea.
“So — how was your first real battle?”
“Not much to say. Just that I’ll need to get stronger if I want to keep living.”
Carlyle recalled the fight with Bjornsen.
He survived only because the whole recon unit had been there.
If it had been one-on-one, he’d be the one dead.
And Bjornsen had only been a four-star barbarian warrior.
“Heh.”
“Why are you laughing?”
“That’s such a Sigmund thing to say.”
“…?”
“It’s probably in your blood. The Sigmunds were always like that — constantly chasing strength.”
“Is that so.”
Carlyle couldn’t agree.
Strictly speaking, he wasn’t really a Sigmund.
“Do you feel… troubled by it? Or afraid?”
“Not at all.”
“Truly Sigmund.”
Carlyle eyed Kudo suspiciously.
No way he’s just an ordinary soldier.
Indeed, Kudo was a strange one.
A mere grunt capable of using aura? Impossible.
And yet, he’d been knocked down by Bjornsen’s headbutt — that didn’t add up either.
Do I know him from somewhere?
Carlyle searched his memory but found nothing.
Of course he didn’t — Kudo hadn’t existed in the timeline of the game Overlord.
This fortress — Bowden Fortress — didn’t, either.
In the game’s story, Bowden was already under barbarian control.
Which meant…
Everyone here might be destined to die.
That thought crossed Carlyle’s mind.
The next day.
Rain poured from the early morning sky.
Helen ordered the soldiers to move the bodies of the fallen to a cave about a kilometer from the fortress.
Normally, they’d be sent straight to Dekaron, but it was impossible to transport them 150 kilometers through this weather.
And they couldn’t keep rotting corpses inside the fortress, either.
“Damn it. If only we had a mage.”
“What mage would stay in a backwater outpost like this?”
“Fair point.”
The soldiers lamented the absence of a mage.
If they had one, preservation magic could’ve stopped the corpses from decaying — no need for this trek to the cave.
Meanwhile, the recon team gathered around Derek’s body, each holding a cup of harsh vodka.
“To Derek.”
“To Derek.”
They drank it all in one go.
How do Northerners drink this stuff?
Carlyle grimaced.
The cheap vodka burned like poison, stinging from throat to stomach.
“Let’s go.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Engineers rolled massive stones to seal the cave entrance — to keep beasts or monsters from catching the scent and defiling the corpses.
The stones were already covered in claw marks from past encounters.
This isn’t a good idea.
Carlyle didn’t like leaving the bodies outside the fortress.
Why?
Because this area was under the domain of the dark sorcerer Crowley — master of necromancy.
If anyone could raise the dead, it was him.
Like leaving fish with a cat.
Carlyle thought, but didn’t argue.
Apparently, they had used the cave for years without incident. No need to stir trouble now.
“Sir! Recon unit reporting — the bodies have been secured and the team has returned safely.”
“Good work.”
Helen’s expression was grim.
“What’s wrong, Lady Helen?”
“A messenger just arrived.”
“…Don’t tell me.”
Begmann frowned.
The other recon soldiers looked just as tense.
“They can’t seriously mean to push the mining operation in this weather, can they?”
“It’s not the first time.”
“But the battle ended less than a day ago! The men—”
“The upper command says mana crystal production is down. We have no choice.”
Helen closed her eyes, clearly weary.
“Our unit’s production quota is fine!” Wilson protested angrily.
“Other units have been fighting more barbarians lately — they’re short on crystals. That’s the explanation from above.”
“Those incompetent bastards!” Wilson shouted. “Why should we make up for them?”
“He’s right!” others echoed.
But only for a moment.
“Silence!” Begmann roared.
“You all know this isn’t Lady Helen’s doing! We’re Dekaron soldiers — the proud Recon Corps! We live and die by orders. Don’t forget that!”
“…”
The soldiers fell silent.
“There’ll be a briefing in one hour. Rest until then,” Helen said, then turned away — as if the words weighed on her.
“Orders are orders. Damn it.”
“Damn.”
“Days like this are the worst.”
To escape the heavy atmosphere inside the barracks, Carlyle stepped outside.
Mining mana crystals in this rain, seriously…
Ssshhh—!
The downpour grew heavier, blurring everything.
Click.
He turned and saw Kudo leaning against the wall, lighting a cigarette.
“Phew…”
Kudo exhaled a plume of smoke and offered Carlyle the pack.
“Want one?”
“If you’re offering.”
Kudo lit his cigarette for him.
“I’m surprised. Knights usually turn these down.”
“I’m just a lowly grunt.”
“Fair enough.”
Kudo smirked.
“Were you a smoker before?”
“Not really — just didn’t feel like saying no.”
The truth was, in his previous life, Carlyle had been a smoker.
He’d only quit because becoming Carlyle von Sigmund hadn’t left him the chance.
Ssshhh—!
Meanwhile, out in front of the fortress, Bjornsen’s severed head still hung there — rain pelting its wide, staring eyes.
Drip, drip, drip.
The rainwater ran down his face when—
Blink. Blink.
The eyelids twitched.
Then, the lifeless, clouded eyes slowly rolled.
The dead man’s gaze turned toward the recon barracks.
More precisely — toward Carlyle, chatting and smoking with Kudo…
