Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 55 - A Clash of Wills

55 A Clash of Wills

Cracks ran along the blade.

"A shame. That was a good sword."

Knocking the man away had been satisfying, but he hadn’t expected his weapon to crack.

It seemed his opponent’s sword had been of high quality as well.

William discarded the damaged blade without hesitation and turned toward the stunned Hern knights.

"Why are you standing there?" he snapped. "He’s still alive. Restrain him."

One of the knights, still wary, narrowed his eyes.

"And you are…?"

William arched a brow.

"William Hern," he said coolly. "You serve my father, yet you don’t recognize me?"

The knight immediately paled.

"T-The Third Prince?! Forgive my rudeness!"

He quickly bowed his head and barked orders to his subordinates, who rushed forward to bind the fugitive.

William turned to survey the battlefield.

It seemed the Black Lions had also finished subduing the remaining escapees.

"Young Master!"

A familiar voice rang out.

Hugo arrived, breathless and visibly shaken.

"What in the world were you thinking?!" Hugo exclaimed. "That was reckless! You could have been seriously injured!"

William merely chuckled.

"I knew exactly what I was doing."

"How?!" Hugo demanded. "You didn’t even know your opponent’s strength!"

William crossed his arms.

"In mounted combat, most warriors follow predictable patterns."

Mounted combat was brutal and fast-paced.

With no solid ground beneath their feet, fighters risked losing balance with every move.

There were only a handful of viable attack methods when charging at full speed.

A knight could either:

Thrust forward—which was too risky without a lance.Slash mid-charge—the safest, most reliable method.

William had anticipated the latter and countered accordingly.

Strength dictated the victor.

He had used his superior mana control and training to maximize his strength at the moment of impact.

Against someone unprepared for such overwhelming force, the outcome had been inevitable.

William flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders.

Not even sore.

Had he attempted something like this in his previous life, his body would have been aching for days.

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

But now?

This body is something else.

Before he could dwell on it further, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"It has been a while."

A deep, weighty tone.

William turned to face the newcomer—his eldest brother.

The man atop the horse bore crimson hair, a trait from his mother’s bloodline.

Despite his sharp features, there was no warmth in his expression.

Tristan Hern.

House Hern’s firstborn heir.

William dipped his head in greeting.

"Yes, it has been some time, Elder Brother."

Tristan studied him in silence for a moment before speaking.

"There is much to discuss," he said. "But first, we return to the castle. We can talk on the way."

The journey to Bornholm Fortress was uneventful.

William, his party, and the Hern knights rode behind Tristan, passing through the city streets.

At a glance, Bornholm was well-maintained.

The defenses were solid, the roads were orderly—but there was something off.

The people.

William scanned the villagers.

Their eyes darted nervously toward the knights, their expressions uneasy.

"The atmosphere is… unsettling," William murmured.

Tristan responded without turning.

"There have been clashes between the soldiers and mercenaries. Minor incidents, but enough to make them uneasy."

William nodded.

"To the people, it’s impossible to tell if those ’minor incidents’ are just the beginning of something worse."

"Ridiculous," Tristan scoffed.

"There will be no large-scale bloodshed. If the mercenaries overstep, the knights and I will eradicate them."

His voice carried thinly veiled contempt.

"Conflict only occurs between equal parties," he continued. "Mercenaries forget their place. If they push too far, we will simply remove them."

William glanced at him.

There was no anger in Tristan’s tone—just cold certainty.

His brother had little patience for those he deemed beneath him.

William moved his horse closer, lowering his voice.

"Are the mercenaries truly that disobedient?"

Tristan scoffed.

"’Disobedient’ would be an understatement," he said. "They refuse to listen. Do you know who the ones you captured were?"

William’s brows furrowed.

"Who?"

"Members of the Imperial Liberation Front."

William’s expression darkened.

They had been captured so close to the castle?

That meant the security had been compromised.

House Hern’s soldiers were elite.

There was only one way enemies had gotten this close.

The mercenaries.

Tristan confirmed his suspicions.

"My best knights are stationed at the borders, dealing with real threats," he said. "The mercenaries were left to handle perimeter security."

William sighed.

"And they refused to work unless they were paid more."

Tristan’s teeth clenched.

"Exactly."

William could hear the frustration in his brother’s voice.

They had been hired to protect the fortress, yet they had neglected their duties, allowing rebels to roam freely.

"The arrogance of these filthy sellswords," Tristan muttered. "They demand more coin for doing nothing. If I had my way, I would behead them all and line the walls with their corpses."

William understood his frustration.

But he also saw the bigger picture.

Tristan had made a mistake.

"You let them see how desperate you were," William noted.

Tristan shot him a sharp glare.

William continued.

"They realized you were short on men."

To the mercenaries, that meant they had leverage.

And they used it.

Tristan had also stationed them too carefully.

Instead of spreading them out evenly, he had avoided placing them in dangerous zones.

To a mercenary?

That only meant one thing—there was something truly dangerous out there.

Rather than feel protected, they felt used.

They weren’t soldiers.

They weren’t loyal.

They were just hired hands—and they knew when to demand a better deal.

Tristan sighed.

"I won’t ask much of you," he said. "I know Jordi and Joshua forced you into this."

It was a statement—not an insult.

"Just oversee the mercenaries. Make sure they don’t run. If nothing else, having a Hern overseeing them will force them to reconsider desertion."

A glorified watchdog.

William let out a quiet chuckle.

Tristan hadn’t even framed it as a command—it was a dismissive statement.

As if he were insignificant.

How lowly does he think of me?

William exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

His brother was gravely mistaken.

"You seem to be under a misunderstanding, Elder Brother."

Tristan’s gaze hardened.

"A misunderstanding?"