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Chapter – 13
The spot Carlisle pointed to was, for all intents and purposes, the capital of the barbarians — Kallahollum.
A great city belonging to the savage tribes beyond the border.
Of all the barbarian clans that dwelled past the frontier, the Ascuza tribe was the largest and most powerful — and Kallahollum was their stronghold.
Moreover, Kallahollum was famed as an impregnable fortress that had never once fallen in all of history.
So when Carlisle suggested attacking such a place, it sounded less like a plan of conquest and more like a plan to march their army to certain death.
But Grand Duke Guntram did not see it that way.
“Why… did you think that?”
“Because it’s empty.”
Carlisle replied as if the question itself were pointless.
“Empty, you say… Empty.”
The Grand Duke repeated his words slowly.
And indeed — Carlisle was right. At that moment, Kallahollum was practically deserted.
The barbarian forces were currently advancing little by little, preparing for the coming war.
As a result, most of their troops were deployed to the front lines, leaving very few soldiers stationed in the city itself.
“Empty or not, how do you plan to sneak a large army into the heart of enemy territory?”
“Beats me.”
“So you don’t have some clever trick up your sleeve?”
“Nope.”
“Figures.”
The Grand Duke nodded, his face saying, “Of course, what was I expecting?”
He regretted ever hoping for something reasonable.
“What if we just… go over that mountain?”
Carlisle pointed to the range on the map, speaking almost to himself — but loud enough for Guntram to hear.
The Sazdor Mountains.
A range of towering peaks thousands of meters high — a place where marching an army would be sheer madness.
“You trying to kill our own men?”
“Huh?”
“Good grief.”
The Grand Duke closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
“Huh?”
How could anyone even think of leading a large army over the Sazdor Mountains? It was absurd.
If this fool’s in command, he’ll kill more of our men than the enemy ever could… Maybe I shouldn’t even let him enlist.
An incompetent ally was often more terrifying than the enemy.
And a commander like Carlisle — reckless and thoughtless — was a perfect recipe for disaster.
“There’s a reason no army has ever crossed the Sazdor Mountains.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re too damn treachero—”
“Has anyone even tried?”
“Do you have to drink the poison to see if it’s a potion?”
“Well, it could be a potion— …Sorry.”
Carlisle quickly apologized after seeing the Grand Duke’s expression darken.
Guess he doesn’t get it yet. Well, it’s not time anyway.
The truth was, that strategy hadn’t come from Carlisle’s own mind.
The Great March — Grand Duke Guntram’s greatest achievement.
It would happen five years from now, five years before the events of the game Overlord began.
At that time, Guntram would make the audacious decision to lead a massive army across the Sazdor Mountains, and ultimately lay waste to Kallahollum, the heart of the barbarian lands.
Carlisle wanted to bring that legendary feat forward — to make the Great March happen sooner.
Why?
Because the longer the war with the barbarians dragged on, the weaker the House of Sigmund would become.
And as long as the Sigmund family remained strong, his own safety and comfort were guaranteed.
Now that he was living as Carlisle von Sigmund, it was in his best interest that the family prospered — whether he liked it or not.
Can’t just come right out and say it, though. They’d think I’ve gone mad. Gotta ease into it.
So Carlisle changed the topic.
“Have you asked the royal family for aid yet?”
“I was about to.”
“Perfect timing, then. Use this incident to squeeze as many reinforcements as you can out of the Lorren family.”
“They’ll deny responsibility.”
“Then ask the royal family to mediate.”
“The royal family…?”
“They already know everything. You think they’ll just let Lorren wiggle out of it?”
“Hmm. You might be right.”
Guntram nodded slowly.
In the Kingdom of Nürburg, there was a famous saying:
“The eyes and ears of the royal family are everywhere — even in your heart.”
That proverb existed because of the royal family’s unique history.
Long ago, a man made a pact with an ancient dragon and gained the power of foresight.
Though he was blinded as the price, he used his newfound power to found a kingdom —
thus becoming known as the Blind King, the first monarch of Nürburg.
And this was no myth.
His descendants — the House of Parnassus — continued to produce heirs born with the gift of foresight.
Those heirs became kings, ruling the kingdom for generations.
Because of this, the twelve noble houses that supported the kingdom revered the royal line — but also feared it.
Why?
Because the royal family had long manipulated the twelve houses from the shadows, using their foresight.
The rise and fall of every noble house had always been dictated by the will of the crown.
The royal family’s secret manipulations and political schemes were beyond anything the other houses could comprehend.
All they could do was swear loyalty — for within the kingdom’s borders, the royal family’s power was like that of a god.
However—
“Foresight, my ass. They’re just frauds.”
Carlisle knew the truth. The royal bloodline’s gift of foresight had vanished generations ago, with the death of the late king.
The current king — bedridden — and the crown prince Gordon, one of the main characters in the game Overlord, possessed no such power.
They simply relied on a vast network of spies and masterful psychological tactics to pretend they still had foresight.
How did Carlisle know?
Because he had seen the prologue of Overlord.
The game began with the revelation that the royal family’s foresight was gone — plunging the thirteen houses, including the crown, into an uneasy tension.
That meant Carlisle was the only person in this world who knew the truth.
“Very well. I’ll request mediation from the royal family, as you suggest. Though I doubt it will do much good.”
“Understood.”
Carlisle smiled inwardly.
Good. That should do it.
There was no way the royal family would let such an opportunity slip by.
The Kingdom of Nürburg was a confederation — thirteen houses united under the crown.
As such, troops sent to fight the barbarians were typically drawn from all thirteen houses.
Carlisle knew that the royal family would use this incident to extort more troops from the Lorren family, under the guise of royal mediation.
But in exchange, the crown will quietly reduce its own contribution. They’ll want to preserve their strength.
Without the gift of foresight, the royal family had become cautious — paranoid, even.
They’d be eager to weaken the twelve houses, and Lorren would be the first to suffer.
Guntram, unaware of all this, simply looked unconvinced.
“Did your meeting go well, sir?”
“Not at all.”
Carlisle shook his head at Maranello’s question.
“It was just a waste of time.”
“A waste, my lord?”
“He told me to earn my keep.”
“Ahahaha.”
Maranello gave a dry laugh.
“His Grace means for you to enlist, then?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it makes sense. You’re nearly twenty-four now — time to shoulder your duties as a member of House Sigmund.”
“So I can’t just enjoy the privileges without the responsibilities, huh?”
“My lord, you live in comfort thanks to the deeds of your ancestors—”
“Yeah, yeah, spare me.”
Carlisle waved him off, uninterested.
Every other noble family gets to live off their privileges — why does mine have to be so damned virtuous?
“Anyway, starting tomorrow, teach me swordsmanship.”
“Pardon…?”
“I’ll be thrown onto the front lines soon. Can’t go there without knowing how to swing a blade. I’d rather not die to some barbarian’s axe.”
The frontier was effectively a war zone — battles and skirmishes against the barbarians broke out constantly.
Serving there meant stepping straight into the jaws of war.
“You’ve made a wise decision, my lord.”
Maranello smiled warmly.
“This old man may be rusty, but I’ll train you with all my heart.”
“Rusty, huh.”
Carlisle snorted.
“That thing you swing around every dawn — doesn’t look like a feather duster to me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Haha.”
Maranello sheepishly hid the “duster” behind his back.
“Anyway, I’ll count on you.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Carlisle slumped onto the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.
He’d thought that being reincarnated as the grand duke’s spoiled son meant a lifetime of luxury — but now he’d have to sweat and bleed like a soldier.
Can this guy even get strong?
If only he’d been reborn as some overpowered protagonist, he wouldn’t have to try so hard.
Still, he couldn’t just do nothing.
If he wanted to survive in this world, he’d need at least some combat ability.
The next morning—
Clang! Clash!
“Huff! Haa! Huff!”
Even early in the morning, the Sigmund family’s training grounds were alive with intense energy.
Knights trained their bodies, honed their stances, and sparred fiercely with their peers.
That fiery atmosphere cooled suddenly when an unexpected visitor arrived.
“Huh?”
“I must’ve drunk too much last night. I’m seeing things.”
“What the hell…”
When Carlisle walked into the training grounds, the knights froze.
They’d never imagined they’d see that spoiled brat here.
What’s gotten into him now?
Ugh. Better finish early today.
Great, blood’s gonna spill before breakfast.
One by one, the knights subtly backed away.
No one wanted to be near Carlisle — not when a stray swing from him could open up a wound or lop off a limb.
But Carlisle ignored the stares and headed for a quiet corner of the yard.
“It’s been a while since you’ve trained, so please use this, my lord.”
Maranello handed him a wooden practice sword.
Carlisle accepted it without protest — he’d never handled a blade before, not even in his previous life.
[Sigmund Family Training Sword]
A wooden sword crafted from magically infused blackwood.
Though unsharpened, its hardness and elasticity rival steel.
Strikes leave dark marks on the skin, making it perfect for practice.
Hefty.
Even for a wooden sword, it was heavy — easily two kilograms, by his guess.
“Are you ready, my lord?”
“What about you, Maranello? No sword for yourself?”
“This old man has all he needs.”
Maranello drew his trusty “feather duster” with a soft swish.
