Chapter – 117…
“Sigmund?”
Asnatal’s sharp, fierce eyes flashed.
“Are you really Sigmund?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
Asnatal did not easily trust Carlyle’s words.
It was understandable—everyone knew how strong the Sigmunds were, especially among the barbarians.
After centuries of conflict between the barbarians and the continentals, the Sigmund family had killed more of their kin than any other.
But the Sigmund before him seemed… weak.
Asnatal believed that a true Sigmund should be able to slaughter someone of his caliber in the blink of an eye.
Indeed, decades ago, there had been a case where a young Sigmund wiped out an entire tribe of predators, leaving them nearly extinct.
“Do not lie.”
Asnatal said firmly.
“You may be strong for a young one, but you are not worthy of calling yourself a Sigmund. Who dares lie in front of me?”
“….”
Carlyle was left speechless by Asnatal’s reaction.
He hadn’t expected to be rejected so easily and decisively…
“I am, though.”
“Huh?”
“I really am Sigmund.”
“You truly are a ridiculous one.”
Asnatal scoffed.
“Did you think impersonating a Sigmund would work?”
“Why don’t you believe me?” Carlyle said, frustrated.
“Real Sigmunds are incomparably stronger than someone like you.”
“There are weak Sigmunds too.”
“Weak Sigmunds?”
“Yes.”
“Hahaha!”
Asnatal laughed heartily.
The warriors of the Predator Tribe, as if waiting for the signal, also erupted in mocking laughter.
“Ha ha ha ha!”
“Pahaha!”
“There are no weak Sigmunds in this world!”
“Such a thing doesn’t exist!”
“Foolish boy!”
It seemed that, in the barbarians’ mindset, Sigmunds were universally recognized as “always strong.”
“Boy, Sigmunds are born unbelievably strong.”
“Really…?”
“Thirty years ago, a young Sigmund once attacked our tribe,” Asnatal recalled.
“That single Sigmund nearly annihilated us. Out of three thousand tribespeople, fewer than a hundred survived, because the young Sigmund killed everyone except the children.”
“Ah…?”
“Do you know who that Sigmund was?”
“Who?”
“The ruler of your people.”
“…!”
“Guntram von Sigmund. The young Sigmund who nearly destroyed our tribe. I was there too, one of the few children who survived.”
“…Incredible.”
Carlyle felt the overwhelming power of Duke Guntram.
Guntram von Sigmund, head of the Sigmund family, ruler of Dekaron, and called the King of the North.
Thirty years ago, he would have been in his late teens, yet he single-handedly annihilated a tribe of over three thousand.
“So if you are a direct descendant of the Sigmunds, you are the son of that demon.”
“Yes.”
“But you are ridiculously weak compared to him. How could someone as pathetic as you be called the son of that demon?”
“….”
Carlyle could not argue; there was nothing he could say.
He truly was far too weak to claim the title of Sigmund.
The Sigmund name carried weight built over centuries, proven repeatedly through sheer strength.
“How dare you impersonate a Sigmund in front of me, before our Predator Tribe.”
Asnatal’s voice, filled with fury, approached Carlyle.
“You will not die easily.”
Under the watch of over a thousand Predator Tribe warriors, Asnatal charged at Carlyle.
‘Uh oh.’
Carlyle hurriedly dodged Asnatal’s swinging iron club.
Whoosh!
The air itself split with the sound of the club—just a graze could crush muscles and bones.
Yet the most terrifying thing wasn’t the club itself—it was the shockwave it produced.
Boom!
Carlyle’s insides were shaken as if hit by an invisible force, and he fell hard.
“Ugh!”
Blood spurted from Carlyle’s mouth.
“Carlyle!”
“Are you alright?”
The scouts ran toward him, but it was impossible to reach him.
“Stay back! Let the young one face the chief himself!”
The warriors of the Predator Tribe blocked the scouts’ way.
“Are you okay, butler?!”
The young dragon asked, wiping the blood from Carlyle’s mouth.
“Don’t fuss. I can hold on.”
“After spitting blood?”
“Just stay there. It’s dangerous.”
Carlyle stood up, summoning his mana.
‘Must be because he’s 5-star. His power is insane.’
From his tattoos and their patterns, it was clear Asnatal was a 5-star barbarian [Hero].
He was a level far above the ordinary warriors Carlyle had faced.
“The punishment for impersonating a Sigmund will not be light.”
“I told you, I am Sigmund.”
“I’ll have ravens eat your guts alive.”
Asnatal ignored Carlyle’s words. He had already labeled him a fraud; conversation was futile.
‘Hah, he doesn’t understand.’
Carlyle silently sighed and began drawing more mana.
This was no ordinary warrior—this was a Hero. If he fought recklessly, he would be dead in an instant.
‘No choice.’
Carlyle fully infused his Grimwand with mana.
Blue aura engulfed it.
“Not bad, but you are far too weak to impersonate a Sigmund!”
“…!”
“Valhaaaaaar!――!!”
With a deafening roar, Asnatal grew to 3 meters tall.
[Growth].
A technique used by 5-star or higher barbarians to increase size, strength, and destructive power.
Whoosh, swoosh!
Asnatal swung the massive club furiously at Carlyle.
‘If I get hit, I’ll die.’
Carlyle narrowly dodged the [Growth]-enhanced strikes, aiming only for openings.
“Sigmunds don’t act like vermin!”
“Ugh.”
“The power that slaughtered my kin was far more than this!”
Asnatal pressed him mercilessly.
“Carlyle!”
“He’s going to kill him for real!”
The scouts were frantic, but the warriors’ human wall blocked them completely.
“You’re doing well, considering,” Begman said.
“What nonsense?” Kudo asked.
“Carlyle is stalling for time.”
“For time…?”
“Even though the barbarian chief is strong, Carlyle isn’t getting completely overwhelmed. Remember what he did before?”
“Oh, right.”
Begman recalled Carlyle punishing the evil warlock Crowley.
Yes, Carlyle was weak for a Sigmund, but his potential wasn’t this limited.
“Right now, Carlyle is stalling until reinforcements arrive.”
“I see…”
“If he succeeds, we all might make it out alive.”
“Only if our allies arrive in time.”
Russell, the most battered, looked desperate.
“Shut up, you—this is all your fault for being greedy!”
Russell bowed his head in guilt.
He had tried to assassinate Asnatal, the tribe chief, and failed.
“Why… whatever, it’s fine.”
Begman sighed, knowing scolding Russell now wouldn’t help.
“It’s past the time they should have arrived…”
Begman calculated roughly.
The allies should have launched a large-scale assault, but there was no sign of them. Something had gone seriously wrong.
Carlyle had successfully dodged and stalled for nearly ten minutes.
‘Was there a change in plans?’
Begman’s words crossed Carlyle’s mind:
“Do you think war is logical and rational? It never goes as planned.”
Originally, a large contingent should have struck the Predator Tribe camp, but not a single ally appeared.
He could not stall any longer.
“The game’s over.”
Asnatal, enraged, roared, “I’ll make sure you don’t run like vermin anymore!”
“…This is bad.” Carlyle muttered.
Then—
Pwoooouuu!
From the distant barbarian watchtower, a horn blared.
“…!”
Asnatal was startled and looked in the direction of the sound.
“It’s an ambush! Reinforcements are coming!”
The Predator Tribe warriors shouted urgently.
Finally, the Dekaron forces had begun their assault.
“So it was part of the plan from the start.”
Asnatal turned to Carlyle.
“You were merely bait?”
“Exactly.”
Carlyle nodded.
“Heh. Truly cunning, like continentals. You always defile the sacredness of battle.”
“Sacred battle? Nonsense. War is just violence—killing enemies and taking what they have. How can that be sacred?”
“You continentals will never understand, nor do I wish to.”
Carlyle straightened, activating [Berserk Mode].
