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Chapter – 32
The battle ended in an instant—
the scouts slaughtered the barbarian warriors before they could even blink.
Thus, Carlisle’s first real combat mission came to a smooth close.
He hadn’t played a particularly dramatic role in the fight, but by cleaving a barbarian in two with a single swing, he’d proven that he possessed genuine skill.
“Well done.”
Carlisle stroked Grimungand, the sword hanging at his waist, as if to thank it.
The true hero of this battle was, without question, Grimungand.
The scouts’ victory had been entirely thanks to the sword’s warning—
a successful ambush that allowed them to annihilate the enemy with minimal risk.
[Notice: <Noble Proof> progress has reached 10%! (1/10)]
“Good.”
A satisfied smile crept across Carlisle’s lips.
His goal was to complete the quest [Noble Proof], regain his noble status, and rise from a lowly soldier to an officer.
And with this immediate deployment leading to real combat, his quest progression was faster than he’d expected.
“Nine more battles to go.”
Since things were going well, Carlisle wanted to finish the remaining two battles quickly and complete [Noble Proof]—
though even ten battles wouldn’t mean much unless he also earned unanimous approval from the other scouts.
“Hey! What the hell was that just now???”
Russell ran up to him, panting.
“What do you mean?”
“That thing you just did! You split that barbarian in half with one swing!”
“I just… cut him.”
“You just cut him???”
“Yes.”
“How does that even make sense?”
Russell’s jaw dropped.
“Look at that thing’s size!”
He pointed at the barbarian Carlisle had killed.
Like most barbarians, the man was enormous—at least 185 centimeters tall and well over 100 kilograms of pure muscle.
“You think something like that gets cut in half that easily?”
“It did.”
“…”
Russell was speechless.
And he wasn’t the only one.
“Thought he was just some spoiled bastard, but he’s got real skill.”
“Guess a Sigmund is still a Sigmund.”
The other scouts looked equally astonished by the sheer power Carlisle had displayed.
“Attention!”
“Attention!”
At Begmann’s shout, the scouts immediately stood at attention.
“Any injuries?”
“None, sir!”
“Any dead?”
“None, sir!”
“Good. Clean up the area and return to the fortress.”
“Yes, sir!”
The scouts began cleaning up the battlefield.
“Handle those carefully. If one of them goes off, I’ll take your damn hand with it.”
“Yes, sir.”
They dismantled the magic traps and looted the barbarians’ armor, weapons, and other possessions.
Once that was done, they burned the corpses.
According to Russell, barbarians didn’t care what happened to their dead, so this was the usual practice.
While helping Russell move one of the bodies, Carlisle noticed something odd.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“What’s Senior Soldier Wilson doing?”
Wilson was crouched nearby, doing something rather disturbing.
Slice, scrape…
He was carefully peeling the scalps off the dead barbarians.
“Shh.”
Russell lowered his voice.
“Don’t look. Just ignore it. That’s why they call him the Barber.”
“You mean because he cuts hair, or because he… takes scalps?”
“Well, both, kind of.”
“But that’s not the whole story, is it?”
“Wilson…” Russell leaned close and whispered, “is actually bald.”
“What?”
Carlisle glanced over again.
“That hair—it’s a wig. Made from barbarian scalps.”
“…That’s messed up.”
Carlisle squeezed his eyes shut.
No wonder the man’s hair had looked so fake.
“Why does he do that?”
“Oh, that. He used to be engaged before he joined the army, but she dumped him.”
“Because he was bald?”
“Yep.”
Russell nodded solemnly.
“I heard he started losing hair right before the wedding. Poor guy’s been obsessed ever since. So just… let him be.”
Carlisle didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh.
It was a tragic story, in a grotesque sort of way.
“Uh… and what’s with this one?”
He pointed to another barbarian corpse—with three arrows sticking squarely in a rather unfortunate spot.
“Oh, that? Sergeant Marder’s handiwork.”
Carlisle’s face froze as he recalled Marder’s nickname: The Eunuch Maker.
“Yep. That’s his specialty.”
“…”
“Couple months ago, there was this one barbarian who—”
“Thank you. That’s enough.”
Carlisle cut him off, unwilling to hear the rest.
Two lunatics in one squad.
One man made wigs out of scalps, another liked shooting arrows into enemies’… lower regions.
And then there was Russell, nicknamed Stinker.
I don’t even want to know why.
He glanced at Russell suspiciously.
“What? Something on my face?”
“No.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“It’s nothing.”
Carlisle kept his mouth shut and focused on work.
After cleaning the battlefield, the scouts returned to the fortress and rested in their barracks.
Squad leader Begmann went straight to Commander Helen to report.
“It seems the enemy is becoming active again.”
Helen’s expression darkened.
Barbarians infiltrating a scouting route was no small matter.
It meant they might soon attack Decaron’s borders again.
If that happened, daily skirmishes would erupt, leading to heavy losses and a halt in magic-stone mining.
“For now, we’ll increase the frequency of scouting missions. Make sure your men stay vigilant, even during mining operations.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“And what about Carlisle? How did he perform?”
“The fight ended too quickly to say for sure… but he’s definitely not ordinary.”
“What do you mean?”
“He split a barbarian warrior clean in half.”
“…What?”
Helen blinked in disbelief.
That the notorious disgrace of the Sigmund family could display such power seemed absurd.
“Are you certain?”
“I saw it myself.”
“But…”
Helen frowned, recalling the lecherous scoundrel who’d once grabbed a passing knight’s wrist and made crude remarks about her figure.
‘Damn, those curves are dangerous. How does a knight have a body like that? Makes my mouth water.’
No way that same man had that kind of strength.
“It must be the heirloom sword, then.”
“Ah.”
Helen nodded slowly.
The Sigmund family’s Heirloom Sword was forged from Rune Steel, mined only in Decaron—
a metal of exceptional hardness and sharpness, infused with ancestral insight and mystical power.
With such a weapon, even a fool could turn the tide of battle.
Of course, a sword was only as strong as the hand that wielded it.
“And his conduct?”
“Surprisingly good.”
Helen blinked again.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s got a bit of a sharp tongue, but aside from that, he’s been fine. Obedient, diligent, and quick to learn. He’s got a decent grasp of military basics too—probably thanks to his upbringing.”
“I can’t believe it. Has he actually… changed?”
“Judging by his behavior so far, yes.”
“I see… Still, keep an eye on him. That man’s a ticking time bomb.”
“Understood, Commander. I’ll watch him closely.”
Back in the barracks, Carlisle lay on his cot, lost in thought.
This world is… brutally violent.
Something he hadn’t truly felt when it was just a game.
But after his first real battle, the reality of a world ruled by sword and sorcery sank in.
I killed people… looted corpses… and burned them.
The memories of those few hours made him shiver.
He could still feel the sensation through his grip—the blade slicing through bone and flesh.
It wasn’t pleasant, and he was glad for that.
If it had felt good, he might not have been able to forgive himself.
Still, he didn’t feel despair or fear.
No choice but to adapt.
He wasn’t born here, after all—he’d possessed this body.
That thought alone made it easier to bear.
Don’t overthink it. Just live.
The next morning, Carlisle was sent to guard a magic-stone mining site.
Protecting the engineers during mining operations was one of the scouts’ key duties.
Magic stones were as vital to this world as oil was to Earth—
used in everything, everywhere.
So protecting the miners was a crucial task.
“That’s him, right? Carlisle von Sigmund?”
“Shh! Keep your voice down! What if he hears you?”
“R-right.”
The engineers looked at him as though they were at a zoo, staring at a rare animal.
After all, the infamous Disgrace of House Sigmund was standing there with a lowly soldier’s insignia.
Carlisle ignored the whispers and focused on his duty.
If he wanted to survive as Carlisle von Sigmund, gossip was something he’d have to live with.
I’d rather be out scouting than standing here bored…
He sighed.
Guard duty was mind-numbingly dull, but as a mere soldier, he had no choice but to obey orders.
To complete [Noble Proof], he needed not only victories in battle but also good conduct.
Let’s see… what’s around here again?
With nothing better to do, Carlisle began studying the map, recalling details from his knowledge of the game.
Because in the Blood-Soaked Lands of Kuverin,
the Decaron Army and the barbarians weren’t the only ones out there…
