Episode – 36
The Whisper of the Earth
It was an artifact crafted by Evangeline, the Earth Spiritist, using her grandmother’s heirloom — a gift she had given to Carlisle.
Then suddenly, a familiar voice brushed against Carlisle’s ear.
‘A hallucination?’
He doubted his own hearing — but no, it wasn’t.
Most likely, his innate ability, [Requiem Blade], which allowed him to perceive lingering emotions attached to objects or places, was letting him feel Evangeline’s emotions from the moment she created [The Whisper of the Earth].
“May this bracelet protect you, young master. Grandmother, please watch over him.”
Evangeline had poured her heartfelt wish into her grandmother’s keepsake, infusing it with her own divine power.
The Earth Spirit blessed the bracelet — and magic took root within it.
‘Ah.’
Carlisle was struck with awe at Evangeline’s warm sincerity.
He could feel her emotions, raw and real, through the lingering resonance of her wish.
‘I should treat her more kindly when I return.’
That was as far as his thoughts of Evangeline went.
Now was not the time to bask in sentimentality.
“VALHALLAAA!”
The barbarian warriors were pouring toward the fortress gate like a living tide.
If the entrance fell, the battle would devolve into a chaotic melee inside the fort — and since most of his allies were engineers, not soldiers, the casualties would be catastrophic.
‘No way I’m letting that happen.’
With a cold smirk, Carlisle channeled mana into [The Whisper of the Earth].
There was only one skill suitable for this situation.
[Notice: Skill [Mud Mire] has been activated!]
As his will took form, the soil before the fortress gate softened — then swiftly turned to thick, sucking mud.
Squelch! Squelch!
The sound of barbarian boots sloshing through the muck was oddly satisfying.
It meant the spell was working — better than expected.
“Wha— What the—!”
“My… my feet!”
Splosh! Thud!
The barbarians tripped and fell one after another, flailing helplessly in the mire.
The mud was knee-deep, and with their massive bodies and heavy armor, they were quickly bogged down.
“Sir Helen! Now!” Carlisle shouted.
“Understood!”
Helen caught on immediately and barked out orders.
“Strike them down! Watch your footing — don’t get stuck yourselves!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
The soldiers thrust their spears and loosed arrows at the barbarians struggling in the mud.
“Val… hallaa—!”
“Gahk!”
“Uaargh!”
The trapped barbarians could do little but die — pierced through by Dekaron spears and arrows.
No matter how strong or resilient they were, being immobilized in a swamp and beaten senseless was a death sentence.
‘So that’s how it is.’
Carlisle nodded, impressed.
Barbarians were infamous for their resistance to magic — their natural anti-magic power was so high that most spells barely scratched them.
They could endure elemental attacks through sheer toughness, break free from paralysis, confusion, sleep, or binds through brute force, and were often outright immune to fear effects.
But [Mud Mire] didn’t directly target them — it simply transformed the ground beneath them. Their magic resistance was useless.
‘Guess all that muscle doesn’t help when the ground’s your enemy.’
Still, Carlisle’s expression wasn’t bright.
Even if they were foes, seeing men die — watching blood and flesh splatter — was nothing pleasant.
But he didn’t look away.
‘I have to get used to it.’
This was a world ruled by sword and sorcery — by raw, primal violence.
If he wanted to survive here, he couldn’t flinch from such sights.
‘Sigmund would understand that better than anyone.’
As Carlisle steeled himself, refusing to avert his gaze—
“Enemies incoming! Block them!”
“They’ve breached the fort!”
Shouts erupted as barbarians scaled the wooden palisades, pouring into the fortress from above.
They weren’t fools — realizing the front gate was a lost cause, they changed tactics and attacked from the flanks.
* * *
The battle took a grim turn as barbarians swarmed over the walls.
A melee — close-quarters combat — had begun within the fortress.
‘This is bad.’
Carlisle’s eyes sharpened.
The defensive line holding the gate — reinforced by his spell — could now collapse from behind.
If the inner defenses fell, the result was obvious.
‘Everyone dies.’
Drawing Grimungand, Carlisle faced the oncoming horde.
He wasn’t the only one.
“Scouts! Protect the defensive line!”
“Yes, sir!”
Scout Captain Begman barked orders with the calm authority of a veteran who had survived countless battles in Kuberrin over the past decade.
He knew exactly what needed to be done.
“Rookie! Stick with me!”
He hadn’t forgotten Carlisle, the newcomer — likely fearing that his inexperience would get him killed.
“You and I will hold this position. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!”
Carlisle took his place beside Begman, facing the charging barbarians.
“Die, you filthy continent-born scum!”
“I’ll split your skull in half! VALHALLAAA!”
“I’ll skin you alive and feed your hide to the crows! Kehaha!”
Several barbarians lunged at them.
‘Focus.’
Carlisle’s senses sharpened.
‘I can see it.’
The enemy’s openings appeared — as if someone were whispering where to strike.
Swish!
Grimungand shot forward, leaving a dark arc in the air.
Requiem Blade — Heartpiercer.
A thrust perfected by a long-dead hero who had once defended Dekaron from a barbarian invasion.
Shlk!
The sword tip pierced the barbarian’s throat clean through.
“—!”
Carlisle froze.
It had been that easy?
Of course, he’d killed before — when he used [Heavenbreaker] — but still, the sheer simplicity of it shook him.
“Gahk—khh!”
Blood sprayed as the barbarian collapsed, lifeless.
‘Is this really right?’
Was life really this fragile? Was death really that simple?
‘Too easy… way too easy…’
Then—
Whizz!
A hand axe whirred past his nose.
Thunk!
“Ghk!”
The axe buried itself in the skull of another barbarian who had been charging Carlisle.
Startled, he turned to see who had thrown it.
It was Begman — aptly nicknamed “The Axe Killer.”
He wielded two hand axes with lethal grace, sometimes hurling them as deadly projectiles — and had just saved Carlisle’s life.
“You idiot! Trying to die already?!”
Begman roared.
“Keep your damn head in the fight!”
“…Sorry, sir!”
Carlisle admitted his mistake without excuse.
Getting lost in thought mid-battle was suicide.
Yes, this was his first real fight — and yes, he wasn’t originally from this world — but still.
“Stay sharp! Act like the Sigmund you’re supposed to be!”
That name again — Sigmund, Sigmund.
Carlisle frowned slightly but didn’t argue.
Like it or not, he was Carlisle von Sigmund now.
“Yes, sir.”
He reset his stance.
Thoughts could wait until after the battle.
For now, all that mattered was defending the line — and surviving.
‘Focus. This is war.’
He gritted his teeth and charged.
“UOOOHHHH!!!”
Slash!
Requiem Blade – Heavenbreaker tore through a barbarian’s chest.
* * *
The chaos raged on.
Barbarians kept hammering the entrance while scaling the walls in waves, forcing the defenders into relentless combat.
In the midst of it, the scouts proved why they were called the elite.
“Rookie! You’re doing great! Keep that up — you really are a Sigmund!”
Begman bellowed encouragement as he hacked enemies apart, both fierce and fatherly.
“You bastard! You’re my wig now!”
Wilson the Barber targeted only barbarians with long, flowing hair — indulging his bizarre obsession mid-battle.
Slash!
“My— my manhood! My—!”
Marder, the “Eunuch Maker,” lived up to his name — his arrows unerringly found their way between barbarian legs.
“Phew. What a mess.”
Kudo, who had single-handedly defeated a barbarian war champion earlier, joined the fray with his blade flashing, cutting down foes in fluid arcs.
And then—
‘Danger!’
Carlisle’s eyes snapped to Russell, known mockingly as “Pisspants.”
“Uaaaarghhh!”
Russell was isolated — surrounded by three barbarians.
‘I have to help him!’
Carlisle started forward, but—
“Leave him.”
Begman’s voice cut through the din.
“But—”
“I said leave him.”
“You mean… let him die?”
“Who? You? Or him?”
“What?”
Begman smirked.
“Do you even know who the strongest in our unit is?”
“Of course — Sir Helen, or maybe Kudo…”
Carlisle began, but Begman interrupted.
“The strongest in our unit…”
His eyes gleamed.
“…is Russell. Specifically — Russell after he pisses himself.”
What?
What did that have to do with anything?
“Are you seriously—”
Then—
“KYYYYAAAAAHHH!”
A blood-curdling scream tore through the air.
Carlisle turned — and froze.
Russell’s eyes glowed blood-red, his face twisted in rage, his soaked trousers glistening in the torchlight.
“Kill… them…”
His voice was low, feral.
“Kill them all… KILL THEM AAAAAALL!”
He charged the three barbarians head-on.
What followed was pure slaughter.
It was over in seconds — Russell dismembered all three like a demon unleashed, then kept hacking long after they were dead.
The timid, awkward Russell was gone — replaced by something monstrous.
“…You’re a berserker.”
Carlisle’s voice trembled as he muttered the only words that fit the scene before him.
