Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: The Wanderer's Deception
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The Watchers, or the King's Eyes as they were sometimes called... it was a term for officials of the Royal Intelligence Bureau.
Their mission was to convey the will of the royal family to the twelve houses.
‘A relic of the past.’
Carlyle scoffed inwardly.
Them conveying the royal family's will—that is, messages based on prophecy—was a thing of the past.
Now that the prophetic ability passed down through the royal bloodline had vanished, they weren't messengers of the king's will, but mere deceivers.
Their mission was to pretend to deliver the royal will, deceiving and manipulating the houses to make it seem as if the prophetic ability still existed.
Of course, even they were unaware that the royal family's prophetic ability had disappeared, so they likely had no idea what they were truly doing.
“Listen.”
The Watcher did not reveal his identity or name.
It was their privilege. The moment one became a Watcher, they became a representative of the royal family, and thus were not required to reveal their origins or name to anyone.
Not even to the Sigmund family, who were among the top three of the twelve great houses.
“By the will of the royal family, I have come to deliver their intent.”
For a moment, Carlyle almost snorted with laughter.
‘As if. You're just here to check if the master of Grimungandr has appeared.’
Why?
Because if a new master of Grimungandr appeared, heralding the second coming of the Chaos King, the royal family would be terrified.
That's why the royal family dispatched a Watcher to every investiture ceremony to check if Grimungandr's master had emerged.
It was enough to arouse suspicion that they had lost their prophetic ability, yet no one thought so.
The twelve houses vividly remembered how the royal family had manipulated, deceived, and toyed with them for the past several hundred years.
It had reached a point where they didn't even dare to harbor suspicion.
“I will ask.”
“Yes.”
“Which ancestor's will have you inherited?”
“I don't know.”
“...?”
A flicker of bewilderment crossed the Watcher's face.
It wasn't just the Watcher.
The onlookers were just as bewildered by Carlyle's words and actions.
“C-Carlyle!”
“That boy!”
“Has that brat lost his mind?”
Even for a scoundrel, to give such a blunt answer to a Watcher...
‘Tsk. They said Carlyle van Sigmund was a scoundrel for the ages.’
The Watcher wasn't even angry.
For some reason, he felt it was just a scoundrel being a scoundrel, and found himself accepting it.
“You don't know? What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I don't know which ancestor made it.”
“Hmm?”
“This is it.”
Carlyle presented Grimungandr to the Watcher.
“This is... the Succession Sword?”
The Watcher frowned, looking at Grimungandr.
A rusty, old longsword with nicks all over its blade... it looked more like a piece of scrap metal than a sword.
***
“Heh.”
The Watcher let out a dry, incredulous laugh.
The Succession Swords of the Sigmund family, every one of which was said to be a masterpiece.
Yet Carlyle's was so shabby it was hard to believe it was a Succession Sword at all.
But on the other hand, he thought it suited him perfectly.
‘Indeed. A piece of scrap metal is a perfect match for this scoundrel.’
The Watcher, well aware of the rumors about Carlyle, nodded to himself.
The problem was the identity of that piece of scrap.
To report back to the royal family, he needed information on the Succession Sword that had chosen Carlyle.
“Do you truly know nothing?”
“I don't.”
“Hmm.”
Meanwhile, Grand Duke Guntram, who had been watching the scene quietly, turned to Maranello at his side.
“Sir Maranello.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Could you bring me the Record of Succession? It seems we'll be needing it.”
The Record of Succession was a tome that chronicled the Succession Swords housed in the Cradle of Swords, containing information on every blade within.
Of course, information on some swords was lacking, but that was only because their creators had not wished to record the details.
But as for who forged which sword, what it looked like, and that it was stored in the Cradle of Swords—not a single one was omitted.
‘Was there something like that in the Cradle of Swords?’
Even Grand Duke Guntram, the family head, didn't know about the sword that had chosen Carlyle.
Just because he was the head didn't mean he had memorized all several hundred Succession Swords.
“Your Grace. I believe it is this one.”
Maranello, who had already returned with the Record, opened it to a specific page and showed it to the Grand Duke.
“Ah, so it was this one.”
Grand Duke Guntram nodded as if he finally remembered.
The sword's name was The Wanderer.
It was a Succession Sword forged by an ancestor named Rompen, a free knight who had roamed the continent performing countless eccentric deeds. The Record described it as nothing more than a heavily rusted piece of scrap with a chipped blade.
“Representative of the royal family.”
“Speak.”
At Grand Duke Guntram's call, the Watcher nodded with a haughty expression.
It was a perfectly natural act.
As a representative of the royal family, the Watcher was to be treated as if he were the king himself, regardless of whom he faced.
But that was only what the regulations dictated.
“...!”
The Watcher flinched, a sudden realization making him shudder.
No matter his status as a Watcher, it was unwise to act as if Grand Duke Guntram were his subordinate.
If the Grand Duke so wished, he could kill a man with a mere glare.
“...Please, speak.”
The Watcher said again, this time cautiously.
“The Succession Sword that chose my son was forged by our ancestor, Rompen, who was active as a free knight.”
“I see.”
The Watcher glanced at the Record of Succession that Maranello offered him and nodded.
“The Wanderer... I understand.”
The Watcher reacted as if there was nothing more to see.
And why would there be? His curiosity about Carlyle's Succession Sword was merely a formality, a basis for his report to the royal family.
He hadn't held even a sliver of expectation that Carlyle would emerge with Grimungandr.
‘So it's a disguise.’
Listening to the exchange, Carlyle realized what had happened.
If he had disguised it as a sword not listed in the Record, it would have raised suspicion. This was a rather good choice.
“The confirmation is complete, so there seems to be nothing more to discuss on this matter. My confirmation was merely a formality, after all.”
The Watcher spoke as if there was nothing left to see and turned back to Carlyle.
“Carlyle van Sigmund. The royal family congratulates you on your investiture and expects you to fulfill your responsibilities and duties as a member of the Sigmund family.”
“Yes, well. Thank you.”
The Watcher clicked his tongue inwardly at Carlyle's indifferent reply.
‘He may have a handsome face, but he's nothing but a scoundrel. Tsk. To think the Sigmund family would produce such a worthless brat. I should wrap up this mission and get back quickly.’
With that thought, the Watcher turned to Grand Duke Guntram.
“This concludes the official schedule for the investiture ceremony. On behalf of the royal family, I congratulate your son.”
“Thank you.”
And with that, Carlyle's investiture ceremony was over.
***
The members of the Sigmund family were surprised that Carlyle had been chosen by a Succession Sword, but at the same time, their reaction was one of inevitability.
“The Wanderer. I didn't even know a Succession Sword like that existed.”
“It suits him well, though.”
“Isn't it probably the weakest of all the Succession Swords?”
Of course, Carlyle didn't bat an eye at the reactions of his family members.
‘All the better.’
Having them mistake Grimungandr for the Wanderer made things easier for Carlyle.
No one would have any expectations, let alone any curiosity.
“A Succession Sword is merely a symbol of inheriting an ancestor's teachings; it isn't everything. So please, do not worry too much. Lord Rompen was also a renowned figure, so the Wanderer might hold some deep meaning and enlightenment.”
Maranello seemed genuinely concerned, but Carlyle, the person in question, was not.
“I'm fine with it.”
“Pardon?”
“I like it. It doesn't stand out.”
Carlyle said, casually lifting Grimungandr.
“But, Young Master.”
“That's enough. Let's drop it.”
Carlyle had no intention of telling Maranello about Grimungandr either.
It might be different for other matters, but the moment Maranello learned the truth, it would only be a matter of time before his father, Grand Duke Guntram, found out as well.
“Congratulations.”
“Congratulations, brother.”
Selena and Frey approached and offered Carlyle their half-hearted congratulations.
“You've done well. Now that you're a proper adult, I hope you'll show a somewhat different side of yourself.”
“...”
His father, Grand Duke Guntram, also offered Carlyle words that were close to congratulations.
The Grand Duke showed no sign of disappointment.
On the contrary, he looked utterly relieved, as if he'd just dodged a bullet.
He was simply grateful to have avoided the shameful incident of his son not being chosen by any Succession Sword—a disgrace that would have been recorded in the family's history.
If Carlyle had not been chosen by any of them, Grand Duke Guntram would have had to exile his own son with his own hands.
‘It's actually Grimungandr, though.’
Carlyle scoffed inwardly at his family's reactions.
Grimungandr was a demonic sword presumed to be potentially the strongest and worst Succession Sword in Sigmund history.
If they knew such a dangerous object had fallen into the hands of a scoundrel for the ages, they would all be shocked speechless.
If that happened, the core forces of the Sigmund family might try to monitor Carlyle 24/7, 365 days a year.
No one could even begin to imagine the disaster that would unfold if he were to go on a rampage with Grimungandr, so it was no exaggeration to say that no one would leave him be.
“Well, I'm tired, so I'll be going now.”
Carlyle bid his family farewell and returned straight to his room.
“The jet-black sword...”
Carlyle, with a bit of curiosity, stroked Grimungandr disguised as the Wanderer, before suddenly feeling tired and falling asleep in his shirt.
How long had he been asleep?
“...ve it back.”
A sinister, spite-filled voice came from somewhere.
‘What is this?’
Carlyle frowned and woke from his sleep, only to feel his breath catch in his throat.
“Ghk, kgh...!”
It was as if someone were strangling him; he couldn't breathe properly.
“Wh-what... Hup!”
Opening his eyes, Carlyle was horrified to see someone who looked exactly like him strangling him.
It was a blood-soaked Carlyle... his face twisted like a demon's, his eyes a reverse of black and white.
“Give it back... my body... I said, give it back... Kihihi!”
“Kgh, kghh!”
“Give it back... Kihihi! Give me back my bodyyyy—!!!”
“Kghhh!”
Each time the blood-soaked Carlyle tightened his grip, the pressure intensified, making it harder and harder to breathe.
‘I'm... going to die.’
As his consciousness began to fade, Carlyle fumbled, reaching out his hand.
Thanks to having carelessly left Grimungandr by his bedside, his fingertips brushed against the hilt of the sword.
He gripped it tightly!
Having managed to grasp Grimungandr's hilt, Carlyle swung the sword with all his might.