Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

144 Chains of the North

Torik's expression twisted in alarm. "You have no reason to interfere in this!" he snapped. "This is an internal family matter—just turn around and leave!"

William tilted his head. "And if I don't?"

Torik stiffened. "What!?"

William's smirk didn't waver. "That conversation earlier was… interesting, to say the least. Let me see if I remember correctly. Something about how you planned to ride the coattails of Count Calix and reap the rewards of his 'new order' in the north?"

Torik cursed under his breath.

His eyes flickered across William's group, assessing their numbers, before his lips curled into a condescending sneer.

"And what? You think you can stand against me with that sorry force?" He let out a short, derisive laugh. "I must say, this is amusing."

William remained expressionless. "And what's so amusing?"

Torik's eyes gleamed with mockery. "You have… what? A washed-up old knight, a mercenary girl pretending to be a knight, and a bunch of ten ragtag misfits? Ah, should I also count the naïve young lordling who doesn't know any better?"

William's lips curled slightly.

"So that's how we look to you?"

He turned his head slightly. "Raymond. Felicia. Clear a path. Hugo, take your ten and make sure they're not surrounded."

"Understood, my lord."

The moment the words left his lips, the formation shifted.

Raymond and Felicia moved to the front, weapons drawn, while Hugo and his squad smoothly fell into defensive positions, flanking them on either side.

Despite himself, Torik's fingers twitched.

The soldiers moved with precision—there was no hesitation, no wasted motion.

Even so, he forced a grin onto his face. "Impressive training, I'll admit. But no matter how well-drilled they are, ten men aren't enough—"

"Charge."

William's voice was calm.

And then the slaughter began.

Torik blinked.

One moment, his men stood between him and William's forces.

The next, they were collapsing like wheat before the scythe.

The ones who tried to resist barely managed to lift their weapons before they were cut down.

Then, cold steel pressed against his throat.

"Move and you die."

Felicia's voice was as sharp as the blade she held to his neck.

Torik swallowed hard.

The moment his Adam's apple bobbed, the sword pressed deeper against his skin.

"Tell your men to drop their weapons," she ordered.

Torik hesitated.

"Or do you want to die?"

"I—DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" he shouted.

The remaining soldiers, stunned and trembling, did as ordered. Swords, axes, and spears clattered against the frozen ground.

Torik licked his lips. His mind raced.

"W-what do you plan to do with me?"

Felicia's expression didn't change. "That depends on my lord's orders."

Torik's pulse hammered in his throat.

"Ransom!" he gasped. "I'll pay! I can pay you! Just name your price—!"

"Shut up."

Felicia's voice was cold.

The noble flinched.

His eyes darted frantically around the battlefield—then froze.

His knights.

Three of them.

All dead.

He had seen one fall—felled in three strikes by the old man he had dismissed as a "washed-up knight."

But the other two?

He hadn't even seen what happened.

The mercenary woman—Felicia—had barely moved. He had blinked—and his knights were off their horses, lying in pools of their own blood.

A cold sweat ran down his back.

What… what did I just say earlier?

"You idiot."

Torik barely had time to react before two shadows loomed over him.

William and Harald.

The latter let out a long sigh, shaking his head. "All that talk about understanding the 'shifting political landscape,' and yet you couldn't even see the disaster coming right in front of your nose. Is this what you call 'strategy'?"

Torik bit his lip. His face burned with humiliation.

Harald, seeing the state of his son, merely sighed again. He wasn't even angry anymore—just tired.

William turned to Harald and spoke, his tone polite.

"What would you like to do with him?"

It was a small gesture, but one that didn't go unnoticed. Experience tales at My Virtual Library Empire

He was deferential, showing Harald the respect owed to an elder noble. Unlike before—when he had been a proxy ruler during the rebellion—here, he held no official title. He was merely the third son of Duke Hern.

And he acted accordingly.

Harald's lips twitched into a humorless smile. He appreciated the gesture.

"Do you have rope?"

William arched a brow. "I brought plenty. The north is known for its treacherous snow, after all."

"Good." Harald exhaled. "Tie them up. I want them taken as prisoners."

Torik stiffened.

William studied Harald carefully. "Are you certain?"

Harald chuckled bitterly. "He's a pathetic, backstabbing bastard, but…" He let out a slow breath. "He's still my son. And whatever else he may be, I have no desire to execute him on this spot."

"As you wish."

William gave the order.

Hugo's squad moved swiftly, binding the soldiers in tight restraints.

It was a strange sight—ten men capturing a force twice their size—but the prisoners were too terrified to resist.

Torik sat in stunned silence, staring at the bound men.

Everything had collapsed so quickly.

The noble lifted his gaze, his throat dry.

William.

His name had been spoken before—he had heard it clearly.

But only now did the full weight of it sink in.

This man… was not ordinary.

William must have sensed his gaze because he turned to him, tilting his head.

Then—

"Let's talk," Harald said suddenly.

William glanced at the older man.

Harald's expression was unreadable as he studied William's face.

"You said you're the grandson of Duke Klaus Grimaldi?"

William met his gaze, unflinching. "I did."

Harald's eyes narrowed.

"Then sit down."

His voice was low.

"We have much to discuss."

"Shouldn't we tend to your wounds first?"

William's gaze drifted over Harald's bloodied torso, the numerous cuts crisscrossing his skin.

They weren't fatal, but there were far too many. If left untreated, infection would set in sooner or later.

Harald grunted. "Bah, I'd like to say I could just spit on it and walk it off, but I'd rather not push my luck. Better to patch up before I start making things harder for everyone else."

"Then use this instead," William said, retrieving a small red potion from his pack. "It'll do a better job than spit."

Harald's eyes widened.

"A—A potion?"

His reaction was almost comically exaggerated. William blinked, momentarily at a loss.

Sure, potions were expensive, but was this really something to be so shocked about?