Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

156 The Breaking Point

Harald stopped mid-sentence.

His body tensed as a sudden surge of energy erupted within him.

A torrent of power coursed through his veins, spreading like wildfire.

It was not painful.

On the contrary, it was refreshing—as if his entire being was being cleansed and renewed from the inside out.

"What… Hhhuuhh!"

Harald barely managed to stammer before clamping his mouth shut.

The raw energy within him felt as though it would burst forth if he spoke carelessly.

Moments passed, and he gradually regained control.

As he focused on the energy that had settled within him, he finally found his voice again.

"…What is this?"

"A miracle tonic," William answered simply.

Harald's hands trembled as he clenched them into fists.

"A miracle? Don't joke with me! This is beyond anything I've ever encountered!"

"Yes. It's an invention that could change the world," William replied, unbothered by Harald's outburst. "Which is why, if you go around talking about it, I'll be finished."

"…!"

Harald's pupils shook violently.

Because he understood.

This was no simple gift.

This was a secret capable of shifting the balance of power itself.

A single misstep, and this miracle could shift the balance of power across the entire continent.

By gifting such a dangerous treasure to Harald, William had openly demonstrated his trust.

So that's how it is.

Harald's tense shoulders relaxed, and a deep, satisfied grin spread across his face.

The mere fact that William had revealed this secret to him meant one thing—he fully intended to make his move someday.

"I suppose I'll have to live a long life," Harald mused.

Long enough to witness that day with his own eyes.

William, having secured Harald's unwavering loyalty, gave a pleased nod.

That was when a voice came from outside the door.

"Viscount, my lord. I have a report."

It was Raymond.

William was about to ask what the matter was when Raymond spoke again, his tone carrying a hint of urgency.

"Hugo is currently engaged in combat with a knight from House Calix. I believe you should see this for yourself."

Swordplay was not an art reserved solely for knights.

Through the generosity of certain knights—or by mere happenstance—fragments of their techniques had been leaked to the world.

Any mercenary worth his name would have at least one proper technique under his belt.

But even the most skilled self-taught fighter could never match a properly trained knight.

The difference in quality—in guidance, in experience—was simply too vast.

Or so they said.

Clang!

Then why the hell is this bastard deflecting all of my attacks!?

Palmyr swallowed the frustrated scream rising in his throat and took several steps back.

His sword vibrated violently from the impact, and a sharp, tearing pain shot through his palm.

His gauntlet concealed the wound, but there was no doubt—his skin had split open from the repeated strain.

He flexed his fingers, trying to ease the burning ache, when a mocking voice reached his ears.

"Your attacks are getting weaker. Getting tired?"

"Shut your mouth!"

Grinding his teeth, Palmyr glared at Hugo, but he didn't charge forward.

He couldn't.

If he kept pushing himself, his hand would be ruined.

At worst, he might be forced to retire as a knight altogether.

But I can't retreat either…!

To acknowledge defeat against a mere squad leader?

Here? In the North?

It wouldn't just cost him his knighthood—he'd never be able to show his face in public again.

As he wavered between two unacceptable choices, a familiar voice rang out.

"A truly spectacular sight. A knight, cowering before a mere squad leader."

Palmyr's entire body tensed.

He turned his head sharply, already knowing who he would see.

William stood a short distance away, watching with an amused expression.

A lifeline.

Palmyr seized the opportunity and shouted with all his might.

"Lord William! Do you call this justice!?"

William remained silent.

"I came to see you personally, yet your soldier refused to even relay my presence! Instead, he attacked me on sight! Is this the will of House Hern? Do you condone such insolence!?"

The gathered spectators murmured amongst themselves.

William slowly scanned the crowd before folding his arms across his chest.

Palmyr smirked inwardly.

He's frozen. He knows he can't ignore this.

"Speak, Lord William! Was this your order!? Or the act of an overzealous subordinate!?"

William remained utterly indifferent, watching Palmyr as if he were no more than an amusing spectacle.

Palmyr pushed forward.

"If this was your decision, then you must take responsibility! If not, then your subordinate must be punished accordingly!"

Even as he raised his voice triumphantly, William's expression did not change.

The silence stretched long enough that Palmyr prepared to press the issue further—

—when William suddenly spoke.

"Why did you stop?"

"…What?"

"You were in the middle of a fight with my squad leader. You keep talking, but why have you stopped fighting?"

Palmyr's jaw tightened, his mind racing.

William turned his head slightly.

"Hugo."

"Yes, my lord."

"If a man is foolish enough to turn his back in the middle of a duel, why haven't you struck him down already?"

"…My apologies. I shall correct that immediately."

Find more to read at My Virtual Library Empire

"…!?"

Palmyr whirled around just in time to see Hugo advancing once more, his sword raised.

The moment their eyes met, Palmyr realized—Hugo had no intention of stopping.

This wasn't just an exchange of blows.

If he didn't defend himself, he would die.

"This is madness!"

"Then keep fighting. I don't care who wins or loses—just don't waste my time with excuses."

"This isn't a duel—it's a one-sided—"

Clang!

Palmyr barely managed to block as Hugo's blade came crashing down, forcing him back.

His injured palm screamed in agony.

He bit back a cry, struggling to maintain his grip.

Then—

"If you surrender, I will kill you."

Palmyr froze.

William's voice carried an undeniable chill.

"There are no tricks to save you here. There is no escape from this fight. You will either carry your defeat home or be buried in the ground. Make your choice."

Palmyr's blood ran cold.

He had miscalculated.

William was not a man who would let him slip away with some convenient excuse.

There would be no graceful exit.

Damn it! If only I had backed down sooner! If only I had faked an injury!

Regret flooded his mind.

Then—

Clang!

"Gaaah—!"

His sword flew from his grasp, spinning high into the air.