Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

Ah, my brave knights! ⚔️ I know you are all most eager for today's chapter, but before you embark upon your reading, allow me to make one thing clear— the Kingdom Building shall commence henceforth! 🏰

Tell me, did any among you foresee what is to unfold in this very chapter? Nay, I dare say none have, nor shall they! 😏

I bid thee, dear readers, lend me thy steadfast support this day! Leave thy noble comments upon this chapter and, should thy hearts be moved, offer a token of encouragement, that I may forge ahead with ever greater fervor! 💰✨

-------------------------------------------------

200 Bloodstained Words

"What?"

"I will prepare the connection immediately," Glenn continued, ignoring the question entirely. He turned away, moving toward the corner of the room.

William watched as the man hastily set up the soundproofing artifacts.

Glenn always took great care not to expose his magical tools to unnecessary eyes—yet he had left the door wide open.

He was rattled.

Badly.

"Your Grace," Felicia muttered, stepping closer. "If you wish, I can remove this insolent man at once."

William shook his head.

"No. Let him work."

He already had a suspicion of what this was about.

Instead, he quietly shut the door and signaled Felicia to guard the entrance.

Whatever was about to happen—no one else should hear it.

"Your Grace," Glenn urged, "are you prepared? We must proceed immediately."

William gave a slow nod.

"I've been ready. Get on with it."

Without further delay, Glenn produced a crimson stone from his robes.

As it rolled in his palm, a pulse of light flickered to life—

And then, a translucent figure emerged in the air.

William stiffened.

"…Your Majesty?"

The Emperor.

But not as William had ever seen him before.

The once-powerful sovereign lay pale and frail, his form half-reclined, one hand clutching his stomach.

The corners of his lips were stained with blood.

William's breath hitched.

What the hell happened to him?

—"Ah. Good. You're not too late," the Emperor's voice rasped, weak but steady.

The moment he spoke, William's spine snapped straight.

He had no time for formalities.

No time for anything else.

—"There is no time for pleasantries," the Emperor continued. "So let's get straight to it."

William opened his mouth.

"Your Majesty, what in the world—"

—"Sigmund is dead."

William's world tilted.

He didn't understand at first.

Someone was dead?

Who?

"…Who?" His own voice sounded distant.

—"Your father, Sigmund Hern. My friend. My most trusted ally."

William felt the breath leave his lungs.

Sigmund Hern, his father was dead.

William stared, his mind racing.

This was impossible.

The greatest nobleman in the Empire, a man of unshakable will, someone more steadfast than steel itself—

Gone? Just like that?

William's mind felt slow, as if wading through thick fog.

The Emperor's lips pressed together.

—"He died this morning."

His voice trembled, betraying the deep grief he was trying to suppress.

William had seen the Emperor many times—stern, authoritative, resolute.

But now, in this moment—

He was just a man who had lost his closest friend.

—"He fell in battle," the Emperor said. "Struck down by an attack we did not anticipate."

William's fingers curled into fists.

It was such a mundane cause.

So common.

Too simple.

Even the most experienced warriors could be caught off guard.

Even the most powerful could fall to bad luck.

That was war.

But William refused to accept it.

Something about it felt wrong.

His Majesty needed Sigmund more than ever.

The Imperial Court's strength had already been stretched thin.

They had poured their resources, their best warriors, their most powerful artifacts into securing the north.

So why—

"Why wasn't my father protected?"

William's voice wa

s steady.

"Your Majesty," he said, "may I ask for more details? How exactly did my father die?"

"William, this is not the time—!" Glenn protested.

—"Enough," the Emperor cut in.

The authority in his voice was undiminished.

Even bedridden, even weakened—

He commanded.

And Glenn fell silent.

William clenched his jaw.

The answer that followed would change everything.

The Emperor's voice was quiet but unyielding.

—"Every son has the right to know how his father died. It is not just for you, William—it is for my friend's honor as well. So let no one stand in the way."

Glenn hesitated, but in the end, he lowered his head in submission.

The Emperor exhaled slowly, as if even speaking took effort.

—"I wasn't there to see it for myself. I only have the report from the knight who fought beside him."

The night sky trembled with the impact of catapult fire.

Stone and flame rained down on the fortress, battering its defenses, shattering its walls.

The city had no hope.

"The walls are down!"

"Damn traitors are finished!"

"Kill them all!"

The Imperial soldiers cheered as another section of Krepfeld's defenses collapsed into rubble.

For years, Krepfeld had defied the Empire, violating the Grand Accord, scheming in the shadows with assassinations and poison.

They had butchered prisoners of war, faked surrenders, slaughtered envoys sent in good faith.

Now, there would be no mercy.

"…So it ends," Sigmund Hern murmured.

Standing at his side, Tristan watched his father carefully.

"You don't look pleased."

"And yet you look elated."

"Of course I am," Tristan said without hesitation. "Justice is finally being served."

Sigmund let out a quiet breath.

"You think only the guilty will pay?"

Tristan hesitated, caught off guard.

"The hatred festering here will not be satisfied with kings and generals alone," Sigmund said. "The soldiers will want more. And the nobles will let them."

Tristan set his jaw. "They knew what would happen when they betrayed the Empire."

"Their rulers did. But what of their people?"

No answer.

Before Tristan could reply, Ludwig approached—the second-in-command of the Crimson Wings.

"Your Grace," Ludwig said with a bow. "I admire your foresight. And your compassion is… noble."

He paused.

"But right now, it is irrelevant."

Sigmund chuckled dryly.

"Indeed," he admitted. "Wisdom does not stop an avalanche."

He turned, his expression hardening.

"Ludwig. Is the Dragon Fang ready?"

"At your command."

Sigmund nodded.

"Then let's finish this. It's time to take Erich's head."

The inner palace fell within the hour.

Crimson Wing knights swept through the halls, cutting down what little resistance remained.

The rebel army had been shattered, their morale crushed under fear and exhaustion.

But King Erich was still alive.

Sigmund found him standing among the bodies of his own men, blade drawn.

The king was breathing heavily, blood streaking his face, but his stance was steady.

"It's over," Sigmund said. "Surrender."

Erich wiped blood from his cheek.

"Can you end this… with just my death?"

Sigmund narrowed his eyes.

"…What?"

"I asked," Erich repeated, his voice hoarse, "if my death will actually end this war."

Sigmund didn't answer.

Because he knew the truth.