Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: An Unreliable Witness
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No way. Even for a scoundrel, killing someone?
A brief wave of disgust for this body's original owner, Carlyle van Sigmund, washed over him.
‘How dare he, Guntram's son, kill one of his own people?’
He was so dumbfounded by what kind of degenerate could cause such an outrageous incident that he felt dizzy.
‘My life is on the line.’
Carlyle thought so because he knew Guntram's character all too well.
The Sigmund Family was one of the thirteen houses supporting the Nürburg Kingdom, a martial family responsible for the defense of the northern regions.
Guntram, the head of the Sigmund Family and the Grand Duke of the kingdom, was a man of uncompromising principle.
Not only was he a stickler for rules and principles, but he was also ruthlessly strict when it came to the responsibilities and duties of the nobility.
There was no way such a man would let Carlyle off for killing a resident of his domain.
Even if it was his own flesh and blood, he would surely hold a formal trial and deliver a punishment befitting the crime.
‘So that’s what he meant.’
Carlyle finally understood Guntram’s words.
- You should not have woken. It would have been better if you had never woken at all.
No wonder he hadn't shown his face since, as if he couldn't stand the sight of me. To think his words weren't born of simple hatred.
Right, first things first, let’s hear the whole story.
“What happened that day? Did I really kill someone?”
“So you truly don’t remember. I did wonder why you were acting so nonchalantly.”
“Tell me. What happened that day?”
“The Young Master, in a drunken rampage, cut down and killed a resident of the domain. Afterward, fearing the Grand Duke's severe punishment, you attempted to flee, but fell from your horse and tumbled off a cliff. By a stroke of luck, a search party found you, and your life was spared.”
“I wouldn’t call it a stroke of luck.”
Carlyle vehemently disagreed with Maranello’s statement.
A crime of this magnitude was a capital offense.
And Guntram was more than capable of sentencing someone to death.
Even if it was his own son.
“Hmm.”
*Slice—!*
An image of his own severed head flying through the air flashed through his mind.
‘That would be… problematic.’
Of course, Carlyle had experienced death before, but that had been an unforeseen accident.
An accident and a beheading were two very different experiences.
‘Should I run?’
The thought crossed his mind for a moment, but it was impossible.
Unless Guntram knew and was willing to turn a blind eye.
Perhaps the fact that he'd even managed to attempt a midnight escape was a sign that he'd been given one chance to flee.
“I’m in deep trouble. What do I do?”
Carlyle asked Maranello.
“To be frank… there are no other good options. You know this, Young Master. The Grand Duke has forgiven your countless transgressions and indulgences until now.”
“Hmm.”
Until now, Carlyle had tormented his father, Guntram, by causing all sorts of trouble—theft, arson, drunken violence, assault, and more.
Guntram had tried everything—cajoling him, scolding him, even subjecting him to harsh physical punishment—but nothing had worked.
He would be quiet for a time, but in the end, he could never break his old habits and would inevitably revert to his scoundrel ways.
As if that weren't enough, he had now committed murder. Guntram's patience must have finally reached its limit.
‘So he was doomed to die anyway.’
Whether he died falling off a cliff or was beheaded by his own father, Guntram, death was death.
“Young Master, humble yourself now. At the trial, show sincere remorse and beg for forgiveness. It is the only way to live.”
“You think that will work?”
“That, I cannot say.”
“Hah.”
Hearing Maranello’s answer, Carlyle ran a hand through his hair, looking weary.
***
That afternoon.
“Father is going to hold a trial.”
Selena, who had appeared unexpectedly, advised the half-dazed Carlyle.
“Beg him. Beg him for all you're worth. Vow that you’ll never do it again, that you’ll become a new man. Remember this. If you don’t, you will be executed.”
“…I’ll keep that in mind.”
After Selena, the story's protagonist, Frey, also paid him a visit.
“Brother, it’ll be hard to get past this one. If you don’t want to be executed, you have to beg Father. It’s the only way you’ll live.”
“…Right.”
Still, the fact that they came to offer their sincere advice must mean they still had some affection for him.
But it didn’t seem like it would change anything.
‘Begging won’t reduce the sentence.’
Carlyle rated the chances of that as very low.
Grand Duke Guntram, and by extension the Sigmund Family, valued the hearts of the people as much as their own lives.
The Sigmunds' territory, the Decaron Domain, was situated on the northern border of the Nürburg Kingdom, a region that had seen endless conflict with barbarians for ages.
In a place like this, for a ruler to lose the people's trust was a fatal mistake.
One wrong move could lead the people of the domain to collude with the barbarians or, in the worst-case scenario, even join them.
‘If I stay like this, my head will roll. I have to do something.’
Carlyle faced reality with a clear head and began to think of a countermeasure.
The crime committed by this body’s original owner—the real Carlyle—was far too great to hope for Grand Duke Guntram’s mercy simply by begging for it.
‘If I’d done it myself, at least it wouldn’t feel so unfair. Seriously, what a piece of work. Causing trouble right up to the very end.’
As Carlyle was sneering at the memory of the real Carlyle, Maranello brought news of the trial date.
“Young Master. The trial date has been set. A messenger will arrive shortly to deliver the official notice.”
“When is it?”
“One week from now.”
“That’s just around the corner.”
Carlyle frowned.
It was a tight schedule to find a way out.
“Young Master, if I may be so bold, may this old man offer a piece of advice?”
“What is it?”
“When the trial begins, say that you will atone through military service. It seems to be the only way to reduce your sentence.”
“Enlist?”
“Yes.”
“Enlistment…”
The Sigmund Family had always considered it a virtue to fulfill their noble responsibilities and duties by leading the charge in wars against the barbarians.
Maranello’s advice was, therefore, a reasonably realistic option.
“It’s not a bad idea.”
Even Carlyle thought he ‘might’ get a reduced sentence that way.
Though the chances were slim…
“Thank you for the advice.”
“It is nothing…”
“But.”
Carlyle asked Maranello, as if the thought had just occurred to him.
“Why are you being so good to me? I’m the worst scoundrel in the world, aren’t I?”
“Haha.”
Maranello chuckled.
“This old man does not look upon you favorably either. And this time, you have committed a grave sin.”
“…”
“However, this old man does not have the heart to watch the young master he has known since childhood die. Nor do I wish to see the Grand Duke's hands stained with the blood of his own kin.”
“Hmm.”
“Therefore, you must avoid execution at all costs, Young Master.”
Looking at Maranello, who was genuinely worried about him, Carlyle felt a sense of irony.
‘That Carlyle fellow had it better than me. He had someone who cared for him this much, even though he was an utter scoundrel who even killed someone.’
Carlyle gave a cynical sneer at the absurdity, recalling his past life, then turned back to Maranello.
“I’ll take your advice to heart. Thank you, Maranello.”
“Haha.”
Maranello chuckled again.
He couldn't recall the last time the word 'thanks' had passed the scoundrel Carlyle's lips.
Of course, he was currently in a situation where he might be executed by his own father, the Grand Duke…
“Alright, I understand. I need some time to think.”
“Yes, Young Master.”
***
After Maranello left, Carlyle was lost in thought for some time before a messenger appeared with news of the trial.
“…Therefore, I hereby command Carlyle van Sigmund to attend the trial to be held in one week, and from this moment until the trial commences, he is sentenced to house arrest.”
“…”
As the trial he had only heard about became a reality, his actions began to outpace his thoughts.
‘First, I need to find out what happened that day.’
With that in mind, Carlyle called for Maranello.
“I need you to do me a favor.”
“Please, speak, Young Master.”
“Can I see the incident report? I really don’t remember a thing. I need to know what happened to face the trial.”
“That should not be too difficult. Please wait a moment.”
“Thank you.”
Maranello was startled to hear the word 'thanks' from Carlyle's lips once again, but he quickly returned with the incident report.
‘Hmm.’
Carlyle carefully scanned the report.
Its contents could be summarized as follows:
1. Carlyle secretly left the castle at night and drank himself into a stupor at a tavern in the red-light district.
2. Heavily intoxicated, Carlyle caused a disturbance at the tavern, eventually drawing his sword and going on a rampage.
3. Fortunately, no one was killed inside the tavern.
4. After others managed to stop his rampage, Carlyle staggered out of the tavern, still drunk.
5. The next morning, Carlyle was discovered lying next to the victim, Alberto. Circumstantial evidence strongly suggests that Carlyle cut down Alberto and, while attempting to dispose of the body, simply fell asleep.
6. A witness exists who saw Carlyle kill Alberto.
‘This is an open-and-shut case.’
Carlyle squeezed his eyes shut in disgust as he reviewed the report.
But since he had started, he figured he should see it through and continued reading.
‘That looks familiar.’
Suddenly, a particular detail caught Carlyle's eye.
The witness’s name was strangely familiar.
‘Wait, who was Jeffrey again? Jeffrey, Jeffrey. I definitely know that name. Ah!’
As he searched his memories, a piece of information flashed through his mind.
“How interesting.”
A cynical smirk played on Carlyle's lips.
Carlyle's narrowed eyes remained fixed on the incident report—or more precisely, on the witness's name.
“What do you find so interesting, Young Master?”
Maranello frowned, a hint of displeasure in his expression.
What kind of person reads the report of a murder he committed and calls it interesting?
“The witness is far from ideal.”
“Pardon?”
“Just what I said. The witness is not a trustworthy person.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s possible I didn’t kill him—this man named Alberto.”
Carlyle's violet eyes gleamed.