Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: A Motley Crew
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The battle ended with the reconnaissance team slaughtering the barbarians in the blink of an eye.
And with that, Carlyle's first real combat experience came to a smooth conclusion.
While he hadn't played a major role in the fierce fight, he had proven his skill by cleaving a barbarian in two with a single strike.
*You did well.*
Carlyle patted Grimungandr, which hung at his waist, expressing his gratitude.
No matter what anyone said, Grimungandr was the true hero of this battle.
The reconnaissance team's victory was owed entirely to Grimungandr's warning.
They had been able to secure a decisive victory because the battle had been fought from a tactically advantageous position—an ambush followed by a surprise attack.
[Notification: Progress for has reached 10%! (1/10)]
*Excellent.*
A satisfied smile graced Carlyle's lips.
Carlyle's goal was to pass the [Noble Proof], reclaim his noble status, and be promoted from a rank-and-file soldier to an officer.
Having faced real combat so soon after being deployed, the quest was progressing quite rapidly.
*Nine more to go.*
Now that things were in motion, Carlyle wanted to get through the remaining battles and pass the [Noble Proof] as quickly as possible.
Of course, even if he fought in nine more battles, it would all be for nothing if he couldn't win the unanimous approval of the reconnaissance soldiers.
"What was that just now???"
Russell hurried over and asked Carlyle.
"What do you mean?"
"That move just now. You sliced that barbarian bastard in two with one blow."
"I just cut him."
"You just... cut him???"
"Yes."
"How does that make any sense?"
Russell looked utterly dumbfounded.
"Look at the size of him!"
Russell said, pointing to the corpse of the barbarian who had died at Carlyle's hand.
Like most barbarians, he had a very sturdy build.
He was at least 185 centimeters tall, a brawny man of well over 100 kilograms of muscle.
"Does he look like the kind of guy you can just cut in two?"
"He was."
"..."
Russell was left speechless by Carlyle's response.
Russell wasn't the only one who was surprised.
"I thought he was just a good-for-nothing, but the guy's got some skills, huh?"
"A Sigmund is a Sigmund, I guess."
The other reconnaissance soldiers were also visibly astonished by the power of the [Genesis] Carlyle had displayed.
"Everyone, listen up!"
"Listen up!"
At Begman's shout, the reconnaissance soldiers repeated the command in unison.
"Anyone injured?"
"No, sir!"
"Dead?"
"None, sir!"
"Good. Clean up quickly. We're returning to the fortress."
"Yes, sir!"
Following Begman's orders, the reconnaissance soldiers began to clean up the site where the battle had just taken place.
"Move those carefully. If they go off, it's your heads."
"Yes, sir."
The reconnaissance team removed the mana stone traps while looting the barbarians' corpses for their armor, weapons, and other belongings.
Once looted, the barbarians' bodies were burned.
Russell explained that they were dealt with this way because, due to their cultural traits, the barbarians didn't care whether their bodies were burned or not.
While moving a barbarian's corpse with Russell, a question popped into Carlyle's mind, and he spoke up.
"By the way."
"Hm?"
"What exactly is Senior Private Wilson doing?"
Carlyle asked because Wilson was doing something rather strange.
*Slice, shhlick.*
Wilson was meticulously scalping the dead barbarians one by one, with a delicate touch.
"Shh."
Russell lowered his voice, cautioning Carlyle.
"Just ignore it and pretend you didn't see anything. That's how Senior Private Wilson got the nickname 'the Barber'."
"So he's called 'the Barber' not because he cuts hair, but because he scalps barbarians?"
"Well, that's part of it."
"Sounds like there's more to it."
"Senior Private Wilson..."
Russell whispered in Carlyle's ear.
"...is actually bald."
"What? But..."
Carlyle said, glancing over at Wilson, who was scalping a barbarian's corpse in the distance.
"That's a wig. Made from the scalps and hair of those barbarian bastards."
"That's fucking messed up."
Carlyle squeezed his eyes shut.
No wonder that shaggy hair looked so unnatural...
"Why on earth does he do that?"
"Ah, that."
Russell shook his head and answered.
"He was engaged to a lady before he enlisted, but she dumped him."
"Don't tell me it's because he was bald?"
"Yep."
Russell nodded.
"From what I heard, his hair started falling out in clumps right before the wedding. He's got a grudge about it, so just pretend you don't know."
"..."
He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Still, after hearing the story, he seemed less like a complete madman and more like a pitiful soul.
"What's with this one?"
While moving another barbarian's corpse with Russell, Carlyle noticed something odd and tilted his head.
Three arrows were lodged in the corpse's groin.
"Ah, that. That's the work of Corporal Marder."
"No way."
Carlyle's face stiffened as he recalled Marder's nickname: [The Castrator].
And his guess was correct.
"Yeah, that's right. Corporal Marder's specialty is making eunuchs out of those barbarian bastards."
"..."
"Was it about a month or two ago? That day, the barbarian's a..."
"Thank you for the explanation."
Carlyle cut Russell off, not wanting to hear any more.
*So there are two psychos here.*
One guy was obsessed with scalping barbarians to make wigs, and the other's hobby was to aim for *that* place, of all things...
*Then what's with 'Piss-Stench'?*
Carlyle was curious why Russell had gotten that nickname, but he didn't bother asking.
Hearing it from a third party was one thing, but asking the person directly was another matter entirely.
Besides, a nickname like [Piss-Stench] couldn't have a good story behind it.
*Is it just me, or does this guy not seem normal either?*
Carlyle shot a suspicious glance at Russell.
"What? Is there something on my face?"
"No."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
"It's nothing."
Carlyle clamped his mouth shut and focused on his work.
* * *
After cleaning up the battlefield, the reconnaissance team returned to the fortress and rested in their barracks.
The reconnaissance team leader, Begman, went straight to his commander, Helen, to report what had happened during the scouting mission.
"It seems the enemy is starting to resume their activities."
Helen's expression grew serious.
The fact that barbarians had infiltrated their patrol route was not something to be taken lightly.
It was highly likely that the barbarians, who had been quiet for some time, would once again invade Decaron's territory and attack the various fortresses.
If that happened, there would be daily battles, big and small, resulting in enormous casualties, not to mention a temporary halt to mana stone mining.
"We'll need to conduct scouting missions more frequently for the time being. From now on, please pay closer attention to patrolling the surrounding area while the combat engineers are mining mana stones."
"Yes, Commander Helen."
"How was Carlyle? How did he behave?"
"The battle ended so quickly that it's hard to say for sure... but he's certainly no ordinary man."
"What do you mean by that?"
"The kid split a barbarian warrior in two with a single sword strike."
"What?"
Helen couldn't believe her ears.
She found it utterly unbelievable that the good-for-nothing, the one disowned even by the Sigmund family, possessed such martial prowess.
"Is that really true?"
"You may not believe it, but it's the truth. I saw it with my own two eyes."
"But..."
Helen looked confused as she recalled the Carlyle of the past.
*'Ooh, what a sexy body. Why are your boobs so big for a knight? You're making my mouth water. Hehehe.'*
How could a scoundrel who would grab a passing knight's wrist and spout such filthy, lewd jokes possibly have that kind of skill?
"It must be thanks to the Succession Sword, wouldn't you say?"
"Ah."
Helen nodded as if in understanding.
The Succession Sword, the symbol of the Sigmund family, was forged from [Rune Steel]—a metal mined only in Decaron—making it exceptionally strong, flexible, and incomparably sharp.
Moreover, it was imbued with the enlightenment and unique powers of his ancestors, making it capable of turning the tide of battle on its own.
In other words, even for a good-for-nothing, it wouldn't be too difficult to display a certain level of martial might as long as he possessed the Succession Sword.
Of course, no matter how powerful the Succession Sword was, if the wielder's skills were lacking, it would ultimately be nothing more than casting pearls before swine.
"How is he adjusting to unit life?"
"He's managing quite well."
"W-what do you mean?"
"His way of speaking is a bit insolent, but other than that, he hasn't caused any trouble."
"Really?"
"He doesn't talk unnecessarily, does what he's told without complaint, and seems eager to learn when taught something. And for all his faults, being a direct descendant of the Sigmund family, his basic military knowledge is quite impressive."
"I can't believe it. How could that scoundrel... Has he turned over a new leaf or something?"
"Based on what we've seen so far... I suppose you could say that."
"I-I see. Understood. Still, just in case, I want you to keep a close eye on him for the time being. He's a ticking time bomb that could go off at any moment."
"Don't worry, Commander Helen. I'll watch him carefully."
Begman said firmly, as if to reassure her.
* * *
Back in the barracks, Carlyle lay on his cot, lost in quiet thought.
*What a violent world.*
That was something he hadn't fully realized when he'd experienced it as a game.
But after his first real battle, the reality that this was a world ruled by sword and sorcery truly sank in.
*To think I've killed a man, looted his corpse, and even burned it.*
Carlyle shuddered as he recalled the events of the past few hours.
The sensation of cutting down a person for the first time was still vivid in his hands.
That feeling transmitted through the hilt, of the blade slicing through bone and flesh...
It wasn't a pleasant experience, and Carlyle was glad for it.
If he had found any pleasure in that sensation, he wouldn't have been able to bear the self-loathing.
That said, he didn't feel particularly tormented or have any desire to run away.
*What choice do I have? I just have to adapt and live.*
Might as well live since I was born... no, that's not it!
Perhaps because he was just living since he'd been transmigrated, he felt surprisingly at ease.
*Let's not overthink it. It'll just give me a headache.*
The next morning.
Carlyle was sent to a mana stone mining site and assigned to guard duty.
Protecting the combat engineers while they mined mana stones was one of the reconnaissance team's main duties.
Mana stones were the equivalent of oil on Earth, a resource so versatile that it was used in almost everything.
Thus, protecting the engineers who mined them was an extremely important mission.
"Is that him? The infamous Carlyle van Sigmund?"
"Shh! Keep it down. What if he hears you?"
"Hmph."
The combat engineers stared at Carlyle as if he were a monkey in a zoo.
Seeing the notoriously infamous Carlyle van Sigmund wearing the insignia of a private was, for them, like being handed a story they could dine out on for the rest of their lives.
Carlyle ignored the engineers' chatter and silently focused on his duty.
As long as he was living as Carlyle van Sigmund, he couldn't avoid being the subject of gossip wherever he went.
*I'd rather be on a scouting mission. Sigh.*
Carlyle wasn't particularly fond of his current assignment.
Standing guard by the mana stone-mining engineers was incredibly boring.
But a mere rank-and-file soldier couldn't pick and choose his assignments, so he had no choice but to do as he was told for now.
It went without saying that to get a unanimous vote in the final stage of the [Noble Proof], his everyday conduct was just as important as his performance in battle.
*What was around here again?*
Since he had nothing better to do, instead of spacing out and killing time, Carlyle looked at the map of the surrounding area and tried to recall his knowledge of the game.
Why?
Because the Blood-Soaked Land of Kuberin wasn't just home to the Decaron army and the barbarians.