Chapter – 122
“Why on earth are you doing this?”
Carlyle took a step back from Gorbad.
“Why are you doing thisss?”
Gorbad glared at him, eyes blazing with disbelief.
“You were born a Sigmund, and yet you dare turn your back on your enemy—and then ask me that?”
BEEEP!
“Ugh.”
A sharp ringing pierced Carlyle’s ears, his face twisting in pain.
Gorbad’s rebuke hit like thunder—it felt as though his eardrums might burst.
“Why did you turn your back on the enemy?”
“Because there was nothing to gain from it.”
“Nothing to gain?”
“It was already a won battle. Why should I risk my life for some pointless one-on-one duel? The only thing that increases is the risk of loss.”
“You insolent wretch!”
BEEEP!
“Ghh—!”
Carlyle clutched his ears, writhing in pain.
Drip, drip…
Blood trickled down from his ears as though his eardrums had ruptured.
“You really must have a death wish, don’t you.”
“What did I even do wrong?”
“How are you any different from those damned Lorens?!”
“…What?”
“You—born of Sigmund’s blood—turn your back on an enemy and even speak like those cunning Loren bastards!”
It was clear Gorbad saw in Carlyle’s words and actions the same calculating, conniving traits that defined the Loren family.
“I’ll beat that nasty habit right out of you.”
“There’s no need for tha—”
“Die!”
Gorbad swung her staff once more.
“…!”
Carlyle instinctively ducked.
FLASH!
A blinding light streaked past. Something icy brushed the top of his head.
And then—
CRACK! CRASH!
The stone wall behind him split cleanly in two and collapsed into rubble.
BOOM! BOOM! CRASH!
The inner castle erupted into chaos.
“Mobilize!”
“Move out, now!”
Dekaron’s knights stormed out, racing toward the source of the disturbance.
Not only the knights—Sigmund retainers and even direct blood relatives rushed to the scene.
And what they found was utter devastation.
“G-Good heavens…”
“What in the world happened here…?”
The scene before them was nothing short of a ruin.
Splintered wood that once formed furniture was scattered about, the building had collapsed into rubble, and thick dust choked the air, limiting visibility.
It looked for all the world as if a high-tier offensive spell had struck.
“Lord Carlyle! Lord Carlyle!”
“Brother!”
Maranello, Evangeline, and Beatrice cried out as they approached the site.
But—
“Stop right there.”
Gorbad, leaning on her staff, stepped into their path.
“E-Elder…?”
Maranello flinched, recognizing her.
“It’s been a while, Maranello. You’ve aged quite a bit.”
“What brings you here, Elder?”
“What brings me here?”
Gorbad smiled thinly.
“I heard some brat was dragging our family’s name through the mud, so I kicked open my coffin and came to see for myself.”
“Heh…”
Maranello could only let out a hollow laugh.
Gorbad had left Dekaron years ago, saying she wanted to see the world before she died.
For her to return now could only mean one thing—Carlyle’s reputation had reached her ears, and it had made her blood boil.
As the family’s eldest and most senior member, she couldn’t just stand by while such a disgrace tarnished the Sigmund name.
“Grand-aunt!”
“Grandma!”
Selena and Frey, arriving a moment later, recognized her instantly.
“Oh, my sweet little ones. Have you been well?”
Gorbad’s eyes softened with affection.
“I’ll chat with you later, dears. For now, this old lady has a rascal to straighten out. Hohoho.”
Just then—
“…Khuh!”
Carlyle pushed aside chunks of stone and forced himself to his feet.
His appearance was pitiful—hair disheveled, clothes torn to shreds, his body covered in blood and bruises.
Blood dripped freely from his wounds; he was clearly in critical condition.
“Are you all done staring? Go on, all of you—get back to training and stay out of this.”
Gorbad waved them away.
“Thank you for your efforts, Elder. I’ll take my leave, then. Ha ha…”
Maranello bowed and withdrew.
After all, when the family’s great elder decided to discipline a wayward child, a steward had no place to interfere.
One by one, the onlookers dispersed, until only Gorbad and Carlyle remained.
“Already on your feet? You should’ve stayed down. A mongrel like you could’ve stayed in the ground forever, for all I care.”
“…Ha, fuck.”
The curse slipped out before Carlyle could stop himself.
To him, this was nothing but senseless violence.
He had been doing everything in his power for the sake of the Sigmund family—and yet this old hag had appeared out of nowhere to beat him half to death.
“Tsk. Watch that filthy mouth.”
Gorbad’s eyes gleamed coldly.
“Seems you haven’t learned your lesson yet, to curse at your elder like that.”
“What, am I not allowed to swear now? Fuck.”
Using Grímungand as a crutch, Carlyle pushed himself up.
“You okay, master?”
A small dragon fluttered over, worry in its voice.
“No, obviously not. Can’t you tell? Ugh.”
“Want me to help?”
“No.”
Carlyle shook his head.
“I’ll handle this. You stay out of it. No need for both of us to get hurt.”
“But—”
“I said stay out of it.”
As he spoke, violet flames flared in his eyes.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
His heartbeat quickened.
Crackle, crackle!
Arcs of lightning crawled across his body.
Berserk Mode.
A privilege of Sigmund blood.
Slowly, his wounds began to close.
“Tch.”
Even as Carlyle activated his berserk state, Gorbad didn’t flinch—she merely clicked her tongue.
“You’re using berserk mode just to heal scratches? Pathetic.”
“…”
Carlyle didn’t respond.
“I don’t know what’s keeping you clinging to life, but I’ll personally send you back to your coffin, old hag.”
With that, Carlyle lunged forward—his speed explosive.
WHOOSH!
Grímungand pierced the air, aimed straight for Gorbad’s neck.
Sonic Thrust.
Carlyle’s ultimate piercing technique, forged through countless duels with Maranello.
Gorbad twisted slightly—just enough to evade.
The strike had been almost invisible, yet she dodged it with minimal motion.
“Ho, your thrust is excellent. Did you spend all your training years on that one move?”
“…!”
“But tell me—”
She flicked her staff, deflecting Grímungand’s blade with a light tap.
“—can you really call yourself a Sigmund with only that?”
CRACK!
“…!”
The pain was so intense Carlyle couldn’t even scream.
Gorbad’s staff shattered his shoulder, splitting his collarbone clean through.
The berserk regeneration closed the wound instantly—but it didn’t dull the agony.
‘This damned hag—why the hell did she have to show up? Normally, she shouldn’t have even—oh.’
Suddenly, Carlyle understood.
In the original timeline, Carlyle von Sigmund was supposed to die in an accident.
Had that happened, Gorbad would never have returned.
But because he’d survived—thanks to the soul that now inhabited his body—she’d heard of his misdeeds and come storming back to Dekaron.
In other words, Gorbad’s appearance was a variable—a direct result of his continued existence.
“Before I die, I’ll make that rascal a proper man. Hohoho.”
Gorbad’s smile was both eerie and resolute as she swung her staff again.
That night.
Grand Duke Guntram sat across from his aunt, Gorbad, in private conversation.
“I must sincerely apologize for the trouble, Aunt.”
“Trouble? What are you saying, my dear nephew?”
“As the head of the house, it is shameful that I couldn’t even raise my own son properly. Of course I owe you an apology.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Gorbad shook her head.
“Raising children doesn’t always go as one wishes. Besides, you’ve succeeded with two of them—so it’s hardly a failed harvest.”
“Even so…”
“Don’t worry yourself. I’ll fix that brat’s manners myself.”
“I understand your intentions, but forcing him too hard might push him toward death instead of reform.”
“Then I’ll just beat him just enough to keep him alive each day.”
“…Pardon?”
“This old woman has her ways. Leave him to me. As a proud Sigmund, I’ll make reforming that boy my final mission before I die.”
“Haha…”
Guntram could only laugh weakly.
Carlyle was undeniably hopeless—a walking disaster.
But Gorbad, too, was known for her fiery temper and unyielding will.
If she meant to “fix” Carlyle herself, things were bound to get loud and messy.
“Don’t worry so much. When I say reform, I don’t mean changing his personality.”
“What do you mean, then?”
“I don’t mind having a scoundrel or two in our family.”
“…What?”
“The head may not agree, but this old woman thinks our house has lived too honestly. Since the fall of the Chaos King, we’ve been nothing more than the royal family’s loyal hound—used and discarded at their whim.”
“…”
“Despite our great power, we’ve spent centuries cowering under the crown’s gaze, terrified of giving them any pretext to strike at us.”
Her voice trembled with long-buried anger.
It was a sentiment shared by many in the North—a deep resentment toward royal exploitation.
“I think it’s not so bad for our house to have a black sheep or two. Tell me—if someone like him commits the unthinkable, can’t we just say he’s not really one of us?”
Guntram’s eyes widened.
She meant to use Carlyle as the family’s sword of shadow—to do the dirty work the Sigmund name could not.
“But that boy isn’t strong enough yet for such a role.”
Gorbad smiled faintly, eyes glinting with purpose.
“When I say I’ll reform him, I mean I’ll make him strong enough to bear that burden.
Strong enough to be truly worthy of the Sigmund name.”
A knowing smile creased her wrinkled lips.
