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Chapter – 30
‘What’s with that shaggy-haired guy?’
The burly soldier, Wilson, looked absurdly mismatched with his unkempt mop of hair.
For someone nicknamed the Barber, his own hairstyle was a disaster.
‘Maybe he can’t cut his own hair? Well, they do say a monk can’t shave his own head.’
As Carlyle was entertaining that idle thought, Wilson suddenly leaned in close.
“Listen up, rookie. I don’t give a damn if you’re from the Sigmund family or the Grand Duke’s second son. What matters is that you’re just a green recruit. You get what I mean?”
“……”
Carlyle had nothing in particular to say, so he just kept his mouth shut and waited for Wilson to continue.
“What I mean is, act like a rookie. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Do exactly what you’re told, when you’re told. And don’t even think about doing anything you weren’t ordered to.”
“Got it.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll do as I’m told. And I won’t do anything I wasn’t asked to.”
“Mm.”
Wilson looked momentarily thrown off by how obedient Carlyle seemed—more than he had expected.
“Y-yeah, that’s right. One mistake from a rookie like you could wipe out the whole squad. And if that happens, I’ll chase you all the way to hell and kill you again. You understand?”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Carlyle thought to himself.
‘Then that’d be three times I die?’
It was the kind of thought only someone who had already died once could have.
“Hey, don’t scare him too much.”
Marder, known by the nickname The Eunuch Maker, snorted with amusement.
“If you intimidate him too much, he’ll start making mistakes he wouldn’t normally make.”
“Intimidate? Please.”
Wilson snorted again.
“If he’s the type to get spooked this easily, he shouldn’t have picked up a sword in the first place.”
“Well, you’re not wrong.”
Marder nodded in agreement.
“Everyone’s just on edge because there’s a rookie around. Don’t take it personally. Veterans never like newcomers.”
Russell whispered that into Carlyle’s ear.
“I thought it was just me they didn’t like.”
“Well, there’s that too. You don’t exactly have the best reputation.”
Not just not the best—Carlyle’s name was infamous throughout the North as its biggest troublemaker.
“But that’s not the whole story. When I first joined the recon unit, I got chewed out all the time for being clueless.”
“Yeah?”
“See, we handle the dangerous missions, so we can’t afford to have anyone unreliable. Rookies usually can’t pull their weight—if they can even manage a third of a man’s work, that’s considered good. Most don’t even do that much. It’s normal.”
Russell’s point made sense.
No one new to a unit could perform at full capacity from the start. It took months of learning, training, and adapting before a soldier could contribute properly.
And that wasn’t any different for officers—or knights.
Unless, of course, you were a second-life rookie.
“For now, don’t worry about it. You’ll get a proper evaluation after you’ve gone through a few real battles. That’s when people will see what you’re really made of.”
“Ah.”
A conversation with Maranello suddenly resurfaced in Carlyle’s mind.
“Isn’t there any training to prepare for real combat?”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing now, my lord.”
“No, I mean something else. Like… hmm… what’s the word…”
“You mean freezing up or running away when faced with real battle?”
“Yeah, that.”
“My lord, a warrior’s heart is born, not made.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Even the most hardened knights sometimes freeze in real combat. Though that’s rare for us northerners…”
“Really?”
“Yes, my lord. So don’t worry about that and just focus on training. You, of all people, have no reason to fear such things.”
“Why not? I could freeze up too.”
“My lord, you carry the blood of warriors. The blood of Sigmund! How could someone with Sigmund’s blood ever freeze before an enemy? Hahaha!”
Not long ago, he had worried about whether he could even bring himself to kill someone in battle—but it seemed that wasn’t the real issue after all.
‘How will I act when it happens? I’m not the real Sigmund…’
Carlyle wondered.
He might have Sigmund’s heart beating in his chest, but not his soul.
“Don’t worry so much. You’re a Sigmund, aren’t you? What’s there to worry about?”
“We’ll see when the time comes.”
Carlyle didn’t overestimate himself.
He might be inhabiting Carlyle von Sigmund’s body, but his soul belonged to a mere gamer who used to play Overlord.
The recon team, led by Captain Begman, set out on a simple patrol and reconnaissance mission.
It was a basic perimeter operation—essentially a routine patrol around the fortress.
But even that was no easy task.
The blood-soaked land of Kuberin was notorious for its rough terrain—enough to exhaust most people halfway through.
Yet Carlyle wasn’t tired at all.
“You holding up okay?”
“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”
“You’ve got good stamina. I was wiped out my first time. Guess that’s the Sigmund blood, huh?”
“……”
Carlyle didn’t answer.
It wasn’t Sigmund blood—it was the effect of the Elixir of Endurance, which permanently boosted stamina.
“Well, I guess even debauchery requires stamina.”
“At least you won’t be the first to collapse.”
The soldiers of the recon unit looked pleased with Carlyle’s performance.
Unending stamina was the bare minimum requirement for surviving in reconnaissance.
‘Feels nice to get some fresh air.’
After being cooped up in the fortress for days, Carlyle felt almost like he was out for a stroll.
“Listen up, rookie.”
Captain Begman began teaching him the ropes.
“Never let your guard down just because you don’t see anything. Do that, and you’ll end up dead before you know it. You get what I’m saying?”
“You mean I should keep my eyes open for anything unusual.”
“Exactly. Go on.”
“Well…”
“Speak up. I won’t bite.”
“You should check the grass and trees for disturbances. Pay attention to the wind direction. If enemies are hiding nearby, the plants will move unnaturally.”
“What else?”
“You should also listen for the sounds of wild animals and birds. They’re skittish and alert—if something’s lurking nearby, they’ll either flee or go quiet.”
“Well learned. Even a troublemaker from the Sigmunds is still a Sigmund, I see.”
Begman looked surprised by Carlyle’s smooth, confident answers.
‘Well, that’s just common sense if you’ve played the game.’
Overlord wasn’t just about managing a domain.
It revolved around narrative-driven combat and adventure, growing your chosen character through duels and small-party battles.
So for a veteran player like Carlyle, understanding basic tactics and fieldcraft was second nature.
“But knowing something and truly understanding it are two different things. You can learn theory at a desk, but seeing, hearing, and feeling it firsthand is something else.”
“True.”
“So which are you, then?”
“……?”
“Are you one of those book-smart rookies who only knows theory, or someone who can actually apply it in the field?”
“Hmm.”
Instead of answering, Carlyle picked up a small stone from the ground—and hurled it into a nearby bush.
Shwip!
The rock flew so fast it whistled through the air.
Thonk!
There was a sharp metallic sound, and someone rose from the bushes.
“Oh?”
The one who appeared, brushing aside the leaves, was Kudo the Squinter—so called because he always seemed to be smiling with his eyes nearly closed.
“Whoa, if that hit my head, I’d be dead! Hah!”
He held up a dented wrist guard and clicked his tongue.
‘He blocked that?’
Carlyle frowned slightly.
That throw had been fast—maybe as fast as a professional pitcher’s fastball—and Kudo had still managed to block it from barely ten meters away.
“Impressive.”
Begman finally looked genuinely surprised.
He’d planted Kudo as a test for the rookie, and Carlyle had found him immediately—and even thrown a rock at him with deadly accuracy.
The rest of the recon team was just as astonished.
“So he really does have skill?”
“Damn, even I couldn’t find Kudo when he’s hiding.”
The soldiers’ eyes were now all on Carlyle.
Indeed, one act of proof was worth more than a thousand words.
Still, Begman wasn’t ready to accept him just yet.
‘Let’s see how you do in real combat, you damn troublemaker.’
He only believed what he saw in battle.
He’d seen plenty of knights who looked fine in drills but fell apart the moment real blood was spilled.
And so, Carlyle’s first mission ended—relatively successfully.
Though more of a training exercise than a real operation.
“How was it? Manage okay?”
“Yes.”
Carlyle gave a short reply to Russell’s question.
“As expected of a Sigmund. Great stamina, and you even found Senior Kudo in one go. I couldn’t spot him once for two months—I just kept getting ambushed.”
“Yeah?”
“Guess knights train for this kind of thing in advance, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Still, you must’ve trained hard. I figured you’d spent all your time drinking and fooling around instead of training.”
“Ha!”
“Uh—did that offend you? I didn’t mean—”
Russell flinched when Carlyle let out a small laugh.
After all, Carlyle was still a noble—the Grand Duke’s son.
“Not at all. No need to apologize, Private Russell.”
Carlyle deliberately addressed him by rank and name, reminding him who was technically above whom.
“And you’re right. The real me did nothing but fool around.”
The real Carlyle truly had been that useless.
He hadn’t had an ounce of combat sense or practical knowledge.
“I-I see. Still, that was amazing. Finding Senior Kudo in one shot like that…”
Carlyle didn’t hear the rest of what Russell said.
‘What’s this?’
The sword at his waist—the Black Blade, Grímungandr—was trembling faintly.
It was so subtle that he might have missed it, but the vibration was unmistakable… and growing stronger.
‘Why now?’
Carlyle had no idea why the long-dormant blade was reacting like this.
After all, Grímungandr wasn’t an item that appeared anywhere in the Overlord game, so even he didn’t know its properties.
Ding!
A system message appeared before his eyes.
[Alert: <Grímungandr> has detected a Barbaric Killing Intent!]
