Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 69 - The First Step to Legend

The force gathering at Jude’s fingertips wasn’t a reinforcement spell like a knight’s—it was an external projection, a proper mage’s technique.

Had he fired it, Colin’s stomach would have been left with nothing but a gaping hole.

"But there’s no need for that," Jude had said, smiling coldly. "As long as you keep quiet, I see no reason to kill you."

"Then… What do you want from me?"

"Nothing much. Just a simple mana oath."

A mana oath.

A magical contract that permanently halved one’s magic power the moment its terms were broken.

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Colin had had no choice but to accept.

Fortunately, the terms had been simple.

"Just cast a spell for me when I ask."

At the time, it had seemed like a trivial price to pay.

But now…

Jude turned to him, his eyes glinting with dark amusement.

"Well then, shall we begin the attack? I’ve gathered every controllable beast I could find. Securing the sacrifices won’t be difficult."

"What?" Colin blanched. "Wait, the Greve attack was only supposed to be a diversion—"

"That’s their plan, not mine," Jude said, waving him off. "I’m just here to collect my share and leave. What happens after that is their problem."

Colin stared at him in horror.

Had Jude been planning this all along?

His gaze darted to the dark mage’s hand, where crimson mana was already swirling to life.

And suddenly, he remembered the mana oath.

"...Wait. The spell you want me to cast—"

"Exactly," Jude said, grinning. "I need you to fire off one big blast. Just enough to clear the way for my adorable pets."

"You lunatic—!"

Colin’s vision swam.

He wasn’t just being forced to help—he was about to actively assist in an attack on a city.

If he did this, he wouldn’t just be an enemy of the Empire. He’d be an enemy of everyone.

And there would be no escape.

What… exactly was he looking at?

Raymon found himself recalling the events from three days ago, still struggling to process them.

After a heated argument with Tristan, William had led the mercenaries toward Greve City.

"There’s intelligence suggesting the enemy might stage a feint attack on Greve. Everyone, gather up! We’re moving out!"

The mercenaries, many of whom had never even glimpsed a platinum coin in their lives, grumbled but obeyed nonetheless. They had already witnessed William’s capabilities firsthand, and more importantly, they knew that if things got messy, he would compensate them generously.

Raymon had been impressed by how effortlessly William commanded them. But what followed had left him utterly dumbfounded.

"If the enemy really does attack, I’ll tell you where to fall back. Otherwise, just take turns standing guard and don’t slack off."

A strategy that was so relaxed it bordered on recklessness.

Raymon had assumed they would be preparing for an assault. Instead, William was treating the whole thing like a minor inconvenience. What was even the point of bringing mercenaries if he wasn’t going to use them properly?

"Third Prince, even if we’re not fortifying defenses, shouldn’t we at least increase security?"

"We already did."

"That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about proper military positioning. The attack is supposed to happen in three days!"

William had simply chuckled at Raymon’s exasperation.

"We’re dealing with scattered bands of mercenaries. Even if we forced them into formations, they wouldn’t coordinate properly. It’d just lead to confusion. Rather than forcing them into a rigid structure they can’t handle, it’s better to establish only the bare minimum rules to prevent chaos. Mercenaries are used to that kind of setup anyway."

"That only works if you can maintain control over them in the heat of battle. As far as I know, Your Highness has never actually commanded troops before."

"There’s a first time for everything. For me, that time just happens to be now."

Raymon had let out a deep sigh.

William always had a plan. And not only that, he had the confidence and decisiveness to execute it.

But commanding soldiers on a battlefield—where blood and flesh were torn apart in an instant—was a different matter entirely.

Soldiers are not chess pieces.

Even elite warriors, trained to the brink of exhaustion, sometimes failed to follow orders under the horrors of war. Expecting mercenaries, who lacked discipline, to act differently was wishful thinking at best.

Morale was built on three pillars—training, trust in one’s comrades, and confidence in victory. William’s forces had none of these.

They’ve never trained together. They’ll split over the slightest dispute about payment. And they have no clue about the enemy they’re about to face.

If panic set in, the entire formation could collapse under its own weight.

The only silver lining was that the mercenaries wouldn’t dare flee. They all knew that if William died, Duke Sigmund would hunt down every last one of them and tear them to pieces. That alone would keep them from running.

If things fall apart, I’ll take command and salvage what I can. The Third Prince will learn an expensive lesson from this.

At the very least, the dark sorcerer had no idea the mercenaries had moved into Greve.

The enemy would likely assume the city was unguarded and send monsters for a quick raid. If the mercenaries didn’t scatter like headless chickens, they could hold the line.

That had been Raymon’s plan.

He had waited.

And waited.

Only to realize that all his worries had been for nothing.

"You idiots! What the hell are you standing around for?! Move unless you want to die!"

"Keep your distance from the guy next to you! Or do you want a hole in your gut?"

"Do I have to kick you in the ass to make you move?! If a line starts to break, reinforce it!"

William was everywhere at once, barking orders as he weaved through the chaos.

The mercenaries were undisciplined, a ragtag band of individuals with no cohesion as a unit.

And yet, William handled them as if they were an extension of his own limbs.

Commands flew rapidly, and though the mercenaries looked bewildered, they followed without hesitation.

Hugo, fighting among them, found himself marveling at his master’s ability.

He’s not even giving them time to think. He’s completely overwhelming them with orders while making sure he’s right there in the fray, overseeing everything.

With William so directly involved, refusing his commands was simply not an option.

And it didn’t end there.

"Krrrgh!"

"It’s climbing—!"

Slash!

The moment a gnoll’s claws reached over the low wall, William’s sword flashed.