Chapter – 130
‘Has she really gone senile…?’
As if she had read Carlisle’s thoughts, Gorbade chuckled slyly.
“What, you think this old granny’s lost her mind?”
“Hasn’t you?”
“You little brat!”
“All right, all right! I get it, so calm down.”
Carlisle soothed Gorbade, who had been about to leap up from the bed in indignation.
“Then stop talking like that.”
“It only sounds strange because it’s true.”
“You picked me because I’m a good-for-nothing troublemaker?”
“That’s right, you rascal.”
“…How is that even a reason?”
Carlisle had no idea how to take her words.
She baptized him—using her own life force and mana—because he was a delinquent?
Even a passing dog would laugh at that.
What lunatic would hand a dangerous weapon to a wild beast like him?
What if he went berserk with it?
“You think that’s not a good enough reason?”
“Obviously.”
“Heh.”
Gorbade laughed.
“Sure, that’s one way to see it. But even a mad dog is needed sometimes—an untamed monkey that goes wild without caring about anyone watching.”
“That sounds like…”
Carlisle paused as if something clicked.
“You want me to dance the blade, huh?”
“Exactly.”
Gorbade tapped the bed with a satisfied thunk.
“You catch on quick. That’s the whole point. A great noble house like ours can’t avoid getting its hands dirty. But—”
“But that impossible thing… Sigmund actually managed to do.”
“Yes. Through sheer stupidity. For hundreds of years our Sigmund line lived like fools. And what did we get for it?”
“Nothing. Well… maybe an empty shell of honor.”
Coming from a Sigmund, who was born and bred for honor, such words were ironic.
But Carlisle wasn’t truly a Sigmund, so he said them without hesitation.
“So that hollow honor—is it really worth the blood we’ve shed?”
“Of course not.”
Carlisle’s lips curled into a cold smile.
The Sigmunds were widely respected.
For centuries, they had served as both shield and spear of the Allied Kingdoms, protecting the continent from the barbarians beyond the border.
But the cost was immense.
Countless relatives died.
They always yielded in disputes with other noble houses.
And the Sigmund temperament, which couldn’t calculate gain or loss to save their lives…
“There’s no house easier to fool than ours. Easy to take advantage of, and they don’t retaliate because they’re too busy protecting their precious honor.”
“Exactly. That’s why our only freedom lies on the battlefield. Pathetic, but true.”
“So that’s why you need me. If an upstanding Sigmund goes wild, the royal family will intervene and people will talk. But if a brute like me causes trouble… everyone will just shrug and move on.”
“That’s the reason I chose you.”
“Heh. Funny. You want me to carry infamy for the sake of the family.”
“As if you don’t already carry more than enough.”
“…You’re not wrong.”
Carlisle didn’t deny it.
His infamous reputation as the Sigmund family’s brute was known across the entire continent.
“Well, I get what you want. But don’t pull something like this again.”
“Hm?”
“I mean, even without your lecture, I’ve been aware of the family’s problems.”
“Is that so?”
“Whether I like it or not, the house needs to be stable for me to live comfortably. I need a hill to lean on. If I weren’t a Sigmund, a bastard like me would’ve been stabbed to death or executed ages ago.”
“I heard you were a clever lad… better than I expected.”
“Don’t expect anything. And don’t assume I’ll act exactly how you want.”
“You impudent brat—”
“Expect reasonable things, at least. I’m still a delinquent.”
Carlisle snorted and pulled the blanket over her.
“Get some sleep. You look exhausted.”
“…Rude boy.”
She grumbled, but her eyelids drooped almost immediately.
Soon enough, she was breathing softly in sleep.
Carlisle remained at her bedside for a while, adding magic-stone coal to the fireplace now and then.
Deep into the night.
Carlisle moved quietly toward the door.
“You’re leaving already?”
Her voice came from behind.
“You’re awake? Sorry.”
“I didn’t wake because of you. The older you get, the lighter your sleep.”
“Ah. Right.”
He recalled his grandmother from his past life—she, too, barely slept at night.
“Rest more. Don’t get up.”
“I will, you brat.”
“I’m going.”
“Be careful.”
“…!”
Carlisle froze mid-step.
“Be careful? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Has your hearing gone bad already, boy? I meant exactly what I said.”
“Why say something like that…?”
“My grandson is going to the battlefield. Can’t a grandmother tell him to be careful?”
“Heh.”
Carlisle let out an involuntary laugh.
He never imagined a Sigmund—born for war—would say such words.
Apparently, even a Sigmund felt the same worry when sending family off to battle.
“Kill many, win much. And don’t die. Not even a scratch.”
“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“You cheeky brat. When an elder speaks, just nod. Must you backtalk every time?”
“I’m a delinquent, remember?”
With a shrug, Carlisle resumed walking.
“I’ll be back, Grandma.”
“Go on.”
Carlisle quietly slipped out of the house.
Outside, darkness swallowed the world whole.
It was the new moon; not a sliver of light shone.
Thick fog and late-autumn drizzle made the night oppressive.
“Perfect weather for killing.”
Carlisle knew well—on nights like this, scouts and raiding parties often struck each other’s outposts.
“Well, tonight works.”
He murmured as he walked.
He didn’t head toward the inner city, but outward—toward the outskirts.
After about an hour, he stopped before a small mansion hidden along a back alley.
No lights. No sound. As if everyone inside had long since slept.
“If I remember right… this should be the place.”
Knock, knock.
Footsteps shuffled cautiously inside, and the door creaked open.
“Who—huh?”
The man peeked out and froze when he recognized Carlisle.
“C-Carlisle, sir? What brings you—ha, haha…”
“Thought so.”
Carlisle smiled as the lantern light revealed the man’s face.
“…S-Sir?”
“You’re Josef, right?”
“H-how do you know my na—”
Those were Josef’s last words.
Slash!
With a single ringing stroke, Josef’s face split clean down the middle.
Carlisle nudged the bisected corpse aside and stepped in.
Then click—locked the door.
“Wouldn’t want any rats escaping.”
He intended to leave no survivors.
Inside, despite the dark exterior, many people were gathered.
And their identities, ages, and backgrounds varied wildly:
A fruit merchant, a knight, a civil official, a vagrant, a brothel madam…
“C-Carlisle?”
“The Sigmund family’s mad dog?!”
They recognized him instantly—his face was infamous across Dekaron.
“I should really start carrying a mask.”
Carlisle didn’t flinch under their terrified stares.
“Though I guess it doesn’t matter. You’ll all die anyway.”
“W-what?”
His muttered words sent panic surging through the room.
“S-screw this!”
A knight lunged for the window.
A foolish choice.
SHRAAAK!
Dozens of black blades erupted around the window, skewering him instantly.
“Guh—!”
Blood sprayed as he became a human pincushion.
“Y-you lunatic!”
“Do you even know what you’re doing?!”
Carlisle grinned coldly.
“I know better than anyone.”
Step by deliberate step, he advanced.
Then he began cutting them down with Grimungandr.
It was a one-sided slaughter.
Screams. Blood. Bodies falling in halves.
Anyone struck once died instantly—split in two or pierced through the heart, head, or throat.
Those who tried to flee suffered worse.
Black blades erupted from every corner, impaling them mid-run.
To run from Carlisle—wielder of the First Lord of Hell, Grasim’s authority—was impossible.
The mansion had become entirely his domain, a cage of blades.
Five minutes later, no one breathed.
Carlisle calmly wiped the blood off his face with a handkerchief.
He surveyed the carnage without the slightest emotion.
He had seen far worse on real battlefields.
“Hm.”
He searched the mansion thoroughly.
At one point, a curtain in the second-floor parlor quivered.
Without hesitation, he thrust Grimungandr through it.
A short scream—then silence.
Carlisle spent nearly an hour making sure no one remained alive.
Rats must be exterminated.
That was the reason for his midnight massacre.
This mansion was in fact a secret royal intelligence safehouse.
Everyone inside had been a spy.
And although the spies thought they worked for someone else—most likely believing they served House Loren—they had no idea they were actually gathering information for the royal family.
They’ll be baffled. They won’t even know who the killer is.
Have fun with that, Gordon.
With a smirk, Carlisle melted into the darkness.
