Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

183 The Thousand Blades and a Rogue Heir

If such a large number of identical suits of armor and weapons had been forged, then there was only one logical conclusion—their creation had been done with war in mind.

It was likely that the enchantments woven into the equipment were designed to amplify in power when activated in unison, their effects multiplying exponentially.

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This is incredible.

William had thought that just two hundred sets of such armor would be more than enough. But this? There were a thousand.

What would happen if all one thousand warriors clad in this armor activated its enchantments at the same time?

If the power displayed by the Crimson Wing Knights—brief as it had been—could be replicated on a scale several times larger…

If William were to command those thousand warriors and lead them straight into the enemy lines, crushing them head-on…

Just imagining it sent a thrilling shiver down his spine.

At that moment, Felicia approached, holding several books in her arms.

"My lord, I've looked through some of the texts, but…"

"Did you find anything useful?"

"My apologies. They're all written in the ancient tongue—I can't make sense of them."

"Is that so? Hand them over, I'll read them."

Felicia's eyes widened in shock. "You can read ancient script?!"

Though the ancient language was considered part of noble education, it was notoriously difficult. Only a handful of scholars could claim true proficiency in it.

Yet William, at just sixteen, could read it fluently?

"Well… let's just say I learned it properly at some point."

"Amazing!"

Her eyes sparkled with admiration, and William averted his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable.

He had pretended it came naturally, but the truth was that he had only managed to master the language through sheer blood-and-sweat effort in his past life.

Back as a mercenary, negotiations had a way of going south whenever the other side started muttering in the ancient tongue.

He had lost count of how many times they had turned on him mid-talk, having whispered among themselves before suddenly launching an ambush.

After enough near-death experiences, he had no choice but to learn the language—even a brute-force education was better than dying blind to their schemes.

Fortunately, the tutor he had managed to hire back then had been both competent and decent. He had gotten a proper education out of it.

Who would have thought it would come in handy again now?

Life really is unpredictable.

Chuckling to himself, William opened the book and began reading.

Then he froze.

"…Artifact forging techniques?"

What lay before him was no ordinary text—it was a comprehensive guide detailing the process of recreating magical artifacts that had long since become obsolete in the modern era.

The books contained more than just the secrets of artifact crafting.

They covered alchemical processes for refining reagents, metallurgical techniques for forging long-lost enchanted weaponry, and even methods for enhancing magical equipment.

Every single page held knowledge capable of shaking the foundations of the world.

But there was one major issue.

Magic was essential to every part of the process.

Even setting aside the crafting itself, just understanding the books in their entirety required knowledge of magic.

William might be able to read the words, but he lacked the technical understanding of magic's deeper principles. The texts were littered with terminology that only a trained mage could properly interpret.

Unless he recruited a mage under his command, these books would remain little more than paper and ink.

Clicking his tongue in frustration, he shut the book.

Not that it mattered much in the immediate future. With the Emperor's eyes already watching his every move, it wasn't the right time to build up power openly.

When war broke out, the Emperor's surveillance would inevitably weaken, and mages would start emerging from the shadows.

All he had to do was wait.

And until then, those thousand enchanted suits of armor would more than suffice.

With his inspection complete, William and Felicia left the treasure vault.

The moment they stepped out, the entrance shut behind them as silently as it had opened.

William barely had time to glance outside when Raymond approached with a troubled expression.

"My lord, we have a bit of a situation."

"A situation?"

William tilted his head. Everything important had been taken care of. What problem could there be now?

"Don't tell me the pilgrims and the palace guards got into a fight?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just… there's a certain individual who's insisting on meeting you, and turning him away might cause unnecessary trouble."

"…And who exactly is this troublesome guest?"

"The second son of Viscount Harald."

William blinked.

For a moment, he was speechless.

What the hell is he doing here?

At this time, Harald's second son should have been busy with his heir's education under his father's watchful eye.

"...A noble's son can't just be ignored," William muttered. "I suppose I should at least hear what he has to say."

Raymond hesitated.

"But, my lord, just moments ago, you told the pilgrims you'd be exploring the White Palace alone. Wouldn't bringing him in now contradict that?"

"There's no need to take him all the way to the throne room," William said with a shrug. "We'll speak to him right here. No reason to let Glen start getting suspicious."

Glen was well aware of the close ties between William and Harald's family in the North.

If he were seen meeting with Harald's son, no one would think twice about it.

On the other hand, if they tried to meet in secret, whispering in dark corners, that would only arouse unnecessary suspicion.

"Fine," William decided. "Bring him in. I need to find out why he came to me instead of his own father."

"Understood."

Raymond nodded and strode toward the castle gate, soon returning with a young man in tow.

William's brow twitched the moment he saw the guest's face.

"…You?"

The man standing before him was none other than the fool who had loudly proclaimed that William should take the throne.

"Ah, we meet again, Your Highness," the young man said cheerfully. "Torkel Osgor, at your service."

William exhaled in disbelief, sinking onto the steps and eyeing Torkel with a mixture of irritation and amusement.

"I have a lot to say, but let's start with the most pressing question—why the hell are you here instead of with your father?"

"I did go to see him," Torkel admitted with a grin. "I just ran away afterward."

William narrowed his eyes.

"…What?"