SLSL 124

Chapter – 124

“Ugh, urgh…”

While unconscious, Carlisle groaned in pain.

The bruises he had sustained from Gorbad’s beatings were so severe that it would not have been an exaggeration to say his entire body was falling apart.

Of course, now that he had awakened the blood of Sigmund, a good night’s rest would be enough to recover completely…

“You’re weak as a newborn foal! Pathetic!”

Gorbad looked down at Carlisle, who was lying in bed groaning, and clicked her tongue in displeasure.

“Heh.”

Maranello gave a dry laugh at her reaction.

“For someone said to be endlessly kind and compassionate, your words are rather harsh.”

“What nonsense are you spouting now? I’m simply saying I can’t stand that the boy carrying our family’s bloodline is so weak!”

Gorbad glared at Maranello.

“And yet, you’re still massaging him as you speak.”

Just as Maranello said, Gorbad’s hands were busy kneading Carlisle’s arms and legs with care.

The Baptism of Muscle.

This technique, known simply as Baptism, was a secret art unique to the Sigmund family.
It involved channeling mana through muscles, fascia, and blood vessels via massage to aid recovery and permanently reinforce the body’s durability.

However, it was a technique that only those who had reached at least the 8-star level could use, and it placed a tremendous burden on the caster.
Receiving it was an extraordinary privilege — people would line up to get even one session if given the chance.

“I’m not doing this because I like the brat,” Gorbad said gruffly. “I’m helping him recover faster so I can beat him up again sooner!”

“So, you’re giving the illness and the cure at once?”

“How is this giving both? He’s the one who benefits!”

“That is true enough.”

For Carlisle, being baptized by a Sigmund was pure gain — his physical durability would permanently increase, and his future growth would become more stable.

For Gorbad, however, it was the opposite — pure loss.

Those who performed the Baptism lost not only mana but also a portion of their life force.

Beads of sweat formed on Gorbad’s wrinkled forehead.

Considering that she was already nearing her hundredth year, to repeatedly perform such a draining technique was no different from shortening her own lifespan.

Maranello spoke carefully.

“Aunt, even if it’s for the young master’s recovery, continuing the Baptism like this is too much. I worry that your health may suffer…”

“You really have grown soft with age. The man once called the Reaper of the North now frets like an old woman.”

“…What?”

“Even if I’m old, I’m still a Sigmund. I’ll endure this through sheer willpower. Besides…”

“…?”

“How many days do I have left, really? If this old life of mine can still serve the family, that’s enough for me.”

“But still…”

“Spare me your concern. I’ll make sure this insolent, foul-mouthed brat at least acquires the minimum strength worthy of our name.”

With that, Gorbad resumed the Baptism, her hands pressing firmly into Carlisle’s muscles.

“Aunt…”

Maranello couldn’t bring himself to say more as he watched Gorbad’s few remaining black hairs turn completely white before his eyes.

He understood her feelings — her loyalty to the family, her love for her descendant — but it pained him to see her pour even her life force into it.

‘I hope the young master realizes how much his great-aunt is doing for him.’

Maranello could only hope.

“Hmm.”

When Carlisle opened his eyes, he immediately noticed something strange.

‘Why does my body feel so light?’

For the past couple of days, every time he woke up from unconsciousness, his body felt refreshed, his mind clear — almost like he had enjoyed a deep, peaceful sleep.

Just days ago, he had awakened in unbearable pain after each beating.
Now, despite Gorbad’s attacks growing fiercer, he felt stronger.

‘Maybe it’s the regenerative power in the Sigmund bloodline…’

As he sat up, Gorbad spoke, as if waiting for him.

“So, after all that beating, your body’s starting to loosen up?”

Sigh.

Carlisle let out a long breath.

“It’s all fine and well, but can’t we take a break for once?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s been a week — barely eating, barely sleeping, just getting beaten every day. Can’t I at least eat in peace?”

“You insolent brat!”

Gorbad raised her cane threateningly.

“Have you no manners?! How dare you speak to your elder like that!”

“What’s the big deal?”

Carlisle didn’t flinch.

“Plenty of grandkids talk casually to their grandmothers.”

“What did you say?!”

“I’m just saying, am I wrong?”

“Well… that may be true, but still—”

To be fair, in noble and common households alike, it wasn’t unheard of for affectionate grandchildren to speak informally to their grandmothers.

“Come on, Grandma. Let’s go eat.”

“Hmph…”

“Or eat with me. You must be tired after all that beating you gave me. Even old folks need proper meals.”

“….”

Gorbad was so taken aback she couldn’t even get angry.

“Come on, Grandma. Food’s waiting.”

“You impudent little—!”

“Let’s go already.”

“You… You dare grab your grandmother’s wrist?!”

“I’m just taking you to eat.”

“Unhand me this instant! Insolent boy! You’ve gotten far too used to grabbing women’s hands, haven’t you!”

“It’s not like that.”

“You brat!”

Ignoring her shouting, Carlisle pulled her gently along and looked back at Maranello.

“Lead the way.”

“Eh…?”

“I said, lead the way. I’m starving.”

“Ah, yes… understood.”

Maranello found the situation very odd.

‘This isn’t like him at all. Normally, he’d either try to run away or tell her to just kill him.’

Carlisle hated being forced into anything. He despised interference.

For him to quietly comply after days of torment — it was unimaginable.

‘Could he be planning to attack her or escape?’

Nervously, Maranello led Carlisle and Gorbad to a small dining hall.

“You’re being surprisingly obedient. Have you finally decided to behave?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You just seem unusually docile.”

“I’m not being docile — just going along with the flow. I’ve been meaning to train, but my body wasn’t cooperating. You helped with that.”

“So, you’re saying you used me?”

“Not exactly. Let’s just say our goals aligned. You wanted to make me stronger — forcibly if needed — and I needed that.”

“Well, I also wanted to fix your attitude.”

“That’s impossible, so give up.”

“You insolent…”

Just then, the maids brought in food, forcing Gorbad to halt her raised cane mid-air.

“Eat up, Grandma. You’re old, you need your strength.”

“You—! Huh?”

Gorbad blinked as Carlisle sliced a piece of well-cooked steak and placed it on her plate.

“They say the elderly should eat plenty of meat. I cut it up for you so it’s easier to chew. Make sure to eat your vegetables too.”

“You impudent child…”

Gorbad glared at him, but she didn’t actually seem displeased.

‘Master butler, why are you being so nice to that old witch? She’s been beating you senseless for days!’

The little dragon whispered in Carlisle’s ear.

“Quiet.”

Carlisle shushed it and calmly lifted a piece of steak to his mouth.

As he savored the flavor, his eyes softened.

‘I miss you… Grandma.’

Through Gorbad, Carlisle recalled the only person from his past life who had ever truly shown him familial love —
his grandmother.

At that very moment, as Carlisle was dining with Gorbad—

A carriage bearing the crest of House Loren arrived once more in Decaron.

“What? A delegation from the Loren family?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” reported his aide, Kristan.

The Grand Duke Guntram frowned in surprise.

It was indeed unexpected — the Sigmunds and Lorens had rarely communicated directly for centuries.

Even the rare instances of “interaction” were through royal mediation… or the battlefield.

Just a month ago, at Decaron’s Victory Commemoration Festival, the rift between the two houses had deepened even further.

“Who’s leading the delegation?”

“Lord Caldor, the eldest son of the Loren family.”

“The eldest, huh? I hear he’s as cunning and slippery as his father.”

“As one would expect from the heir of House Loren.”

Kristan gave a knowing smirk.

“What do you think their sudden visit means?”

“In my humble opinion… it must have something to do with Young Master Carlisle and Lady Alicia of House Loren.”

“Because of the Predator Tribe subjugation, perhaps?”

“It seems likely. Since the Schuburn forces moved under the young master’s request, House Loren may have drawn certain conclusions.”

“That would explain the visit. No matter how venomous a snake may be, a man is still a father when it comes to his daughter…”

The Grand Duke nodded, having roughly guessed the motive behind their arrival.

“Tell Lord Caldor to wait a moment. I’ll arrange an audience shortly.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Once Kristan left, Guntram let out a weary sigh.

“A womanizing, troublemaking son… truly a headache. This is all your fault.”

He turned toward a portrait hanging in his study —

Adelia von Sigmund, his late wife and mother of Carlisle, Selena, and Frey.

“Why did you have to make him so damn handsome? Because of that, I suffer daily. And now, even the daughter of House Loren seems to have fallen for him! Do you have any idea what a political disaster that could be?”

Guntram lamented aloud, but the woman in the painting merely smiled serenely, saying nothing at all.