Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

157 The Unraveling of House Calix

At the same time, a searing pain tore through his palm, warm blood dripping onto the dirt.

It wasn't a surprise attack.

It wasn't some clever trick.

It was raw, overwhelming strength.

Not only had he lost the contest of blades, but he couldn't even withstand the impact.

"…Ah."

Clatter.

The fallen sword landed with a dull thud, but Palmir made no move to retrieve it.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the gathered onlookers.

They were watching him in utter silence.

Their faces were devoid of sympathy.

Only contempt filled their eyes.

The contrast between this battle and William's earlier duel could not have been starker.

Palmir's lips trembled as he fell to his knees.

He had lost everything.

It was over.

Palmir knew it in his bones.

The North had changed in many ways, but at its core, it remained a land of warriors.

It didn't matter what caused a duel. It didn't matter if it was fair. The strong commanded respect. The weak were ignored.

And there was no fate worse than being ignored.

His breath came slow and shallow as he lifted his head.

Tsk.

A sharp cluck of the tongue.

Palmir found himself staring into William's eyes—cold and piercing, his gaze like a knife sliding into exposed flesh.

"You lost."

"I… I…"

"Spare me the excuses. If you have something to say, say it now. The duel is over. This is your last chance."

Palmir's lips parted, then shut again.

There was plenty he could say. Plenty he wanted to say.

But what would be the point?

What weight did the words of a defeated man hold?

If he tried to negotiate, William would dominate the conversation, controlling it like a puppet on a string.

And Palmir—Palmir would be the puppet.

That was a game not worth playing.

Leave. Report what happened. Face the fury of House Calix.

Palmir clenched his jaw. This was a disaster.

He had come here to assert House Calix's power. Instead, he had done the opposite.

"…This won't be forgotten," he muttered. "House Calix will—"

Pfft.

William let out a quiet laugh.

Palmir's face burned.

William waved a hand. "Go on. Keep talking."

The words were light. Mocking.

It was a dismissal, nothing more.

Palmir's hands curled into fists, his fingernails biting into his palm. He had tried—desperately—to invoke his lord's authority, and William had treated it like a joke.

That was it. There was nothing left to say.

He turned and fled.

William watched him go, then clicked his tongue in mild disappointment.

"What an underwhelming man."

His gaze swept across the gathered crowd.

Seconds ago, they had all looked at Palmir with contempt.

Now, they looked at William with reverence.

Perfect.

The grandson of House Grimaldi, humiliating a knight of House Calix.

It was the kind of narrative that spread like wildfire.

One knight's defeat wouldn't shake House Calix, of course.

They were too deeply rooted in the North for that.

But pride mattered.

And William was the one who had stripped it from them.

His challenge to House Calix had already been laid bare. Now, all eyes were on them, waiting.

How will they respond?

They would want to ignore this, but public perception wouldn't allow it.

If they said nothing, everyone would take it as an admission of defeat.

Checkmate.

William pressed his lips together, suppressing the smirk threatening to surface.

House Calix would have to move soon.

Until then—

He turned toward the assembled lords.

It was time to secure more allies.

Far away, in the halls of House Calix, silence stretched thick and heavy.

Norbeck, the head of the family, sat still, fingers brushing against his beard.

A dry chuckle finally escaped his lips.

"So you just… left?"

Palmir flinched.

Norbeck's voice wasn't raised. He didn't shout, didn't rage.

And yet—

It was worse.

The sheer weight of his disappointment pressed against Palmir like an iron grip around his throat.

If he didn't justify himself now, he would be discarded.

"My lord, the squad leader wasn't ordinary," Palmir blurted out. "He had trained swordsmanship. Judging by his skill, he may have been a fallen noble—"

"Palmir."

Norbeck sighed.

"You know that's not the issue."

"My lord…"

"The issue," Norbeck continued, voice as cold as steel, "is that you lost. And because of that loss, you failed to even start negotiations. Worse, you have tarnished the name of House Calix."

Palmir's mouth opened, closed.

Norbeck's gaze sharpened.

"If you were going to lose, you should never have fought in the first place," he said. "You should have endured, no matter the provocation. Instead, you rushed in blind—and you handed William exactly what he wanted."

Silence.

Palmir felt his stomach sink.

William had gained far too much from this.

He had humiliated a knight of House Calix.

He had proven himself a warrior worthy of the North's respect.

And worst of all—

Now, no one would stand in his way.

"I sent you to put a leash on him," Norbeck muttered, shaking his head. "Instead, you removed the shackles that were already there."

Palmir's hands trembled.

He had witnessed firsthand just how much William had gained from this.

And he had been the one to hand it to him.

Norbeck studied him for a long, quiet moment.

Then, finally, he clicked his tongue.

"…You've done enough. Get some rest."

The words struck like a blade to the gut.

Palmir stiffened.

It was phrased as a kindness, but he knew what it meant.

He was being cast aside.

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House Calix would never entrust him with an important task again.

Panic seized his chest. His mouth opened, desperate to argue—

But then he saw it.

The expectation in Norbeck's eyes was gone.

A cold sweat beaded at Palmir's temple.

Slowly, he lowered his head and left the room.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Norbeck sat still for several moments, then let out a long, exhausted sigh.

It was the first time he had allowed the weight of the situation to show on his face.

His heir, Godfrey, stepped forward immediately.

"Father, are you alright?"

Norbeck exhaled sharply. "This has gotten complicated. If things continue at this rate, we might actually lose the rights to the Grimaldi name."

Godfrey stiffened.

"…Then what do we do?"