Chapter – 138….
Sigmund’s fame reached even beyond the border, into the barren and brutal lands of the barbarians.
To the Barbar tribes, Sigmund was both a mortal enemy and a warrior worthy of their greatest respect.
They called him the first and final enemy of the Barbar people—sometimes even the enemy of a thousand years.
So much so that Barbar parents would frighten their children by saying, “If you misbehave, Sigmund will come for you.”
“Are you truly Sigmund?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t lie!”
Mallaga snapped back sharply.
“Sigmund could never look as weak as you! The real Sigmund would be taller, broader, and have thicker arms and legs!”
“…And why is that the standard?”
Carlisle looked at him in disbelief.
‘Just how do these barbarians imagine Sigmund?’
Judging from their words, the barbarians seemed to picture Sigmund as some kind of humanoid ogre.
It wasn’t hard to understand. Everyone had their own image of distant enemies.
“I refuse to believe it, you ugly continent-dweller. You said you considered me a brave warrior—why mock me now?”
“I told you I’m Sigmund.”
“You persist in this deceit…!”
Mallaga jumped up, ready to lash out, but the scouts cut in.
“He really is Sigmund. Even if he doesn’t look it.”
“Honestly, we can barely believe it ourselves, but he’s Sigmund.”
“I don’t know how barbarians see him, but on the continent he’s kinda famous as the Sigmund family’s notorious troublemaker…”
At Wilson’s words, Mallaga’s ears perked up.
“Troublemaker? The disgrace of the Sigmund line?”
“Hm?”
“I’ve heard of that. That the Sigmund family has a legendary disgrace.”
A disgrace.
A wretch.
A human piece of filth—one of the harshest insults imaginable.
Apparently Carlisle’s infamy had reached even the barbarian lands.
“So you’re the disgrace of the Sigmund family?”
“Probably.”
“Mm. If you’re the disgrace, that I can believe. The real Sigmund couldn’t possibly look this weak.”
Mallaga nodded, finally convinced.
The reasoning was bizarre, but Carlisle didn’t care.
He’d been called worse.
Being infamous among barbarians too was… admittedly a bit surprising, but not enough to complain about.
“Well, we’ve all introduced ourselves. Let’s eat.”
Right then, Andre the cook brought out the dishes.
“I will not refuse. No brave warrior ever refuses food offered in hospitality.”
“You also die at the dinner table pretty often, though.”
Carlisle jabbed with a pointed remark.
Barbar cuisine typically involved roasting or steaming whole slabs of meat and hacking off pieces at the table—and people frequently stabbed each other mid-meal.
“Refusing an invitation is cowardice. But attacking a guest violates a warrior’s honor.”
“Sure, sure.”
“But… how do you continentals fight after eating things like this? Are you serving me weeds because I’m an enemy? I’m no goat!”
Mallaga roared at the sight of salad and bread.
“To treat a guest with nothing but roots and grass—”
THWACK!
“Gah!”
Andre smacked him on the head with a frying pan.
“You little bastard! Eat what you’re given or get out! I’m not dealing with your tantrums!”
Even a valuable prisoner didn’t get to throw a fit about the menu.
Mallaga only picked up a fork once the meat arrived.
Though “picked up a fork” was only a manner of speaking.
CHOMP, CHOMP!
He tore into a huge steak and pork ribs with his bare hands.
‘Ugh.’
His beastlike devouring was so revolting that Carlisle set his fork down, feeling his appetite vanish.
He had a weak stomach—sharing a table with someone with zero manners was torture.
“Chomp, chomp… Your continental food… chomp… is edible enough… chomp chomp… though lacking in the rich… chomp… flavor of ours…”
“…Ugh.”
Carlisle grimaced.
“Anyway, just stay quiet here for a while.”
“Mm?”
“Until your father comes to get you.”
“You intend to use me as a bargaining chip? To extort something from my father? If that is your plan—”
“I told you already. You’re not a prisoner or a hostage.”
Carlisle drew a line.
“Even if you’re Awanga’s son, there are hostile tribes nearby—and plenty of our Decaron soldiers. So lie low for a few days. When your father comes, we’ll hand you over. No conditions.”
“Is that truly so? Urgh—!”
In that moment—
‘I should kill him.’
Carlisle had to muster all his patience not to give in to the impulse.
“If we wanted anything, we’d have asked already. Or tortured you.”
“I am Mallaga, son of Awanga! I will never submit to torture!”
“Funny, you screamed pretty well last time. Want me to fry you again?”
Then, as if waiting for his cue, Lieutenant Melvin chimed in.
“If needed, I can use a little lightning magic—”
“Read the room.”
“S-sorry.”
Melvin shrank instantly, looking like a scolded puppy.
“Anyway. We don’t want anything special. Just behave.”
“Mm.”
“You’re an enemy, sure, but we won’t insult a warrior’s honor.”
“A warrior’s honor… Words unfit for a disgrace like you.”
“If I were really that bad, I wouldn’t have saved you. I know at least that much.”
“…Very well.”
Mallaga nodded.
“I shall remain quiet until my father arrives. But do not dare use my life to demand anything of him. The Stormfury Tribe does not negotiate with enemies.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Carlisle stood.
“Take care of him. Don’t beat him or anything. He’s a valuable guest.”
“Got it. But where are you going? You’re barely eating.”
“Lost my appetite.”
Carlisle grabbed an apple from a fruit basket and left.
“As expected, you’re weak. Chomp chomp…”
Mallaga shook his head and buried himself back into the feast.
“Sergeant Marder, can I borrow Hugin for a bit?”
“What for?”
“Gotta send a letter to the Grand Duke.”
“Take him.”
Marder handed Carlisle the three-eyed raven perched on his shoulder.
Where else could it go?
It was being sent to the ruler of Decaron.
‘He’ll understand.’
Carlisle skimmed the letter and tied it to Hugin’s leg.
“Take this to the Grand Duke.”
“Caw!”
With a powerful flap, Hugin shot into the sky and disappeared.
Its speed was incredible—within half a day the letter would reach Grand Duke Guntram.
That night—
“Mm?”
Guntram received the letter from the strange three-eyed bird.
“…What in the world.”
He read it—and doubted his eyes.
Carlisle wrote that he had accidentally captured Awanga’s son, was keeping him safe, and planned to return him soon—so there was no need for concern.
‘How can he say not to worry about something this serious?’
Guntram closed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on.
Awanga’s son was an extremely valuable hostage.
The problem was that provoking the Stormfury Tribe now could disrupt the already-fragile front lines.
Kidnapping and assassinations had their proper timing—this was not it.
Fortunately, Carlisle had no intention of threatening Awanga.
According to the letter, he saved the boy merely to make Awanga owe him a debt.
‘Awanga… he must be quite old by now.’
Guntram remembered the rival warrior he once crossed blades with.
‘But he was flexible for a barbarian. Try to use him carelessly, though, and you’d pay the price.’
Sudden as this was, Guntram found Carlisle’s judgment unexpectedly sound.
Other tribes were unpredictable, but the Stormfury Tribe was… comparatively reasonable.
The letter even suggested sending them some mana-coal—enough to endure the brutal winter.
If they returned Awanga’s son alive and gifted valuable fuel…
‘This could lead to peace with the Stormfury Tribe. Remarkable. Was the boy always this clever?’
Guntram saw Carlisle in a new light.
Who would have thought that the same reckless troublemaker would open the door to peace with one of the five great Barbar tribes?
“Your Grace, is something wrong?”
Maranelo asked, sensing his unusual expression.
“See for yourself.”
Guntram handed him the letter.
“This looks like Young Master Carlisle’s handwriting… Hm?”
“Well?”
“This is… astonishing.”
“Finding Awanga’s son was mere chance, but the response is not bad.”
“No, Your Grace.”
Maranelo shook his head.
“‘Not bad’? This could change the course of the war entirely. The Stormfury Tribe has long been the tribe most friendly to the continent. If we secure peace with them, the burden on the north will be vastly reduced.”
“Perhaps so. But optimism must be tempered. I only mean the boy’s judgment wasn’t poor.”
“Heh heh heh…”
Maranelo did not miss the Grand Duke’s faint smile.
He might be known as the iron-blooded ruler of the north, but even he couldn’t hide his pride when it came to his son.
