Chapter – 121…
“I understand what you mean, but this isn’t something to say in front of her. We’ll talk later.”
“Yes, young master.”
Maranello seemed to take the hint and stopped himself from saying anything more ominous.
“I’ll tell the Grand Duke myself, so don’t mention it before I do.”
“Yes, young master. But… you call your father ‘Grand Duke’?”
“What else should I call the Grand Duke, if not Grand Duke?”
“Heh…”
“Anyway, I’ll take care of it. You just stay by her side and look after her. She doesn’t know much, so teach her what you can.”
“Understood.”
“You help her too,” Carlisle said, glancing at Evangeline. “Think of her as a little sister.”
“Yes, young master.”
Evangeline’s expression was cautious, but she didn’t dare to object to Carlisle’s command.
‘Maranello and Evangeline should be enough. That’ll save me a lot of headaches.’
Beatrice was, in truth, little more than a child. For Carlisle to personally look after and teach her would’ve been impossible—especially on a battlefield.
It was hard enough to keep oneself alive in war, let alone care for someone like her—a mindless being, a ticking time bomb of a monster.
‘I should speak with the Grand Duke. It’s about time we had a talk.’
Feeling the chill seep in through the carriage window, Carlisle knew the conversation was necessary.
This winter was expected to be the harshest in history. If they didn’t prepare properly, even Decaron would suffer—and Carlisle’s own life could become very complicated.
‘As long as Decaron stands strong and the Sigmund family runs smoothly, my comfortable future is secure.’
Carlisle could no longer deny it—he was the Sigmund family, and the Sigmund family was him.
The United Kingdom was a society built on bloodlines.
And among its thirteen great houses, that truth carried even more weight.
When the royal family’s secret one day came to light, the kingdom would fracture, and some noble house would seize centralized power.
When that happened, the other twelve houses would likely be wiped out, their lands seized.
If a rival like House Loren were to rise to power, Carlisle knew he would not be spared.
‘Annoying as it is, at least I won’t have to roll around the battlefield this winter.’
He expected that no major battles would break out in such deadly cold.
After all, who in their right mind would fight when tens of thousands could freeze to death?
Why would they?
This winter, the enemy everyone would fight was not each other—but the cold.
“……”
The Grand Duke Guntram’s face was complex as he looked upon his son.
“What brings you here?”
“What else? I’m on leave, so I came to pay my respects. Why, don’t you want to see me?”
“You?”
Guntram raised an eyebrow, half in disbelief.
“Last time you were on leave, you locked yourself in your room and then ran away when I called for you.”
“That was when I was still immature.”
“……”
Guntram was at a loss for words, staring at Carlisle.
“Do I have something on my face?”
Carlisle gestured at himself with feigned innocence.
“I heard the reports.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“Quite the achievement—for a stroke of luck.”
“Luck’s a kind of skill too.”
From his father’s tone, Carlisle could tell that Guntram already knew most of what had happened.
“But you turned your back on the enemy commander, didn’t you?”
“It was a pointless fight.”
“Did it never occur to you that the family’s honor was at stake?”
“I’ve stained the family name so many times already—what’s one more?”
“So, you’ve no interest in promotion, I take it?”
“Well, being stuck as a private isn’t so bad after being disciplined.”
“……”
Guntram rubbed his face in exhaustion.
He had thought the boy would be burning with determination after being passed over for promotion—but instead, he seemed content to rot as a lifelong private.
“Haah. So, what did you want from me?”
Guntram sighed deeply.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re preparing properly.”
“Preparing for what?”
“For winter.”
“If that’s what this is about, I don’t need your advice. We’ve already begun full-scale mining of magic coal. No one in their right mind would refuse a fuel source like that.”
“That’s good.”
Carlisle nodded.
“Then all you need to do is make sure there’s plenty in stock before winter hits.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“…?”
“Send some extra supplies to the Galadern family while you’re at it.”
The Galadern family ruled the southern region of the kingdom and were close allies of House Sigmund.
“To Galadern?”
“Yeah. It’s the south—if they get hit with an unexpected freeze, the damage will be severe.”
“True enough.”
“So let’s help them in advance. Once the cold sets in, there’ll be no time for favors.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Guntram agreed readily.
Carlisle’s warning about an unprecedented winter sounded far-fetched—almost absurd coming from someone who wasn’t of royal blood.
Still, the proposal itself was sound enough that the Grand Duke saw no reason to reject it.
“That’s all, then.”
“About the woman you brought into camp—who is she?”
“Oh, her.”
Carlisle told Guntram about Beatrice.
“I see.”
Guntram thought for a moment before speaking again.
“You wish to keep her alive?”
“She’s pitiful. It’s not like she chose to be born.”
“Then grow stronger.”
“…What?”
“If you can become strong enough to control her even when she loses herself, then—and only then—I’ll allow it. Until then, no.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
Carlisle frowned.
In the game Overlord, Beatrice’s combat power had been terrifying—so much that even the protagonist, Frey von Sigmund, dared not challenge her lightly.
To be strong enough to control someone like that? Impossible for the current Carlisle.
“If you can’t control her, then you’ll end her life yourself.”
“…!”
“Or did you plan to push that burden onto someone else?”
Guntram’s voice cut like ice, piercing Carlisle’s chest like a blade.
As the ruler of Decaron and one of the kingdom’s undisputed strongest, Guntram’s words carried weight.
He was a master swordsman, one of the mightiest in Sigmund history.
Someone like him would never take lightly the presence of a dangerous, unstable being like Beatrice.
“That’s… not what I meant. Fine, fine.”
Carlisle sighed.
“I’ll do what I can to get stronger. Can’t promise I’ll manage it, though.”
“Then I’ll postpone her sentence—for now.”
“For how long?”
“That depends entirely on you.”
“Hmm.”
“I’ll say no more. I trust you understand.”
“Yes.”
Carlisle nodded obediently.
He knew full well that his father would never compromise on a matter like this.
“Haaah…”
Back in his room, Carlisle slumped into his sofa with a heavy sigh.
‘That little stray has made my life a lot harder.’
Just thinking about the training ahead made his head ache.
How was Sigmund training?
It was not so much training as it was torment—an ordeal of constant pain and endurance.
True Sigmund training meant confronting your limits again and again, shattering them until nothing remained.
It was, by all normal standards, a form of torture.
Many ordinary people would’ve called it suicide.
And indeed, over the centuries, dozens of Sigmund heirs had died mid-training.
‘Should’ve never gone to that lab… I brought home trouble with legs. And now I can’t even abandon it. Damn.’
Still, it wasn’t all bad.
‘Maybe I’ll grow stronger faster than others.’
He recalled one of his unique abilities: [Silent Devotion]—the power to lose himself completely in training, focusing beyond human limits.
With that, perhaps he could manage to grow.
‘Even if not for Beatrice, I should at least be strong enough to protect myself.’
He thought back to his last opponent, the five-star barbarian warrior Asnatal.
Carlisle had to admit—as much as he hated to—Asnatal had been stronger.
If they’d truly fought to the death, could he have won?
‘Nine times out of ten, I would’ve lost.’
The conclusion was unavoidable.
‘If I become overwhelmingly strong, then I won’t ever have to—’
KRAAASH!
Without warning, the door exploded into splinters.
An old woman stormed in.
“…What the hell?”
Carlisle frowned, glaring at her.
She was bent with age, her hair snow-white, her face creased with wrinkles—but her eyes were sharp and cold, rivaling even Guntram’s.
“Still as pretty a face as ever, I see.”
“…?”
“I hear you’ve been dragging our family name through the mud again?”
“Well… you’re not wrong. But who are you?”
“‘Who am I?’”
The old woman’s eyes flared.
“You insolent brat! Not only have you no manners, now you don’t even recognize your great-aunt?”
“Great-aunt… Oh.”
Finally, Carlisle remembered.
‘Five years without a word, and she’s still alive? Huh.’
Gorbad von Sigmund.
Guntram’s aunt, sister to the previous Grand Duke.
To Carlisle, she was his great-aunt—and the eldest living member of House Sigmund.
By the time the events of Overlord began, she had long since passed, which was why she never appeared in the game.
“Oh. Hello.”
Carlisle greeted her awkwardly.
“What brings you here?”
“What brings me—? Hah!”
Gorbad shook with fury.
“I hear you’ve sullied our house’s honor, and then turned your back in a duel with an enemy commander! Is that true?”
“I did turn away. There was no point in a one-on-one—”
WHACK!
Her staff came crashing down toward his head.
“…!”
BOOOOOM!
Carlisle barely managed to draw Grimungand in time to block it.
But “block” was a generous word.
KRAAAAANG!
CRAAASH!
CLANG!
The clash unleashed a shockwave that blasted his room into ruin.
“…Kgh!”
Carlisle groaned in pain.
His hands shook violently, blood dripping down his palms as he clutched his sword.
‘Is she really my grandmother?’
He was dumbfounded.
So this was the Sigmund bloodline—
Even a near-centenarian matriarch could strike with monstrous power.
“Oh? You managed to block that?”
Gorbad smirked, raising her staff again.
“…!”
Carlisle didn’t even have time to think before he swung his sword.
