Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 86 - The Fragility of War’s Honor

86 The Fragility of War’s Honor

If William were still wearing his mask, there might have been some room for maneuvering. But now that identities had been revealed, there was no need for formalities.

William didn’t hesitate.

"If that’s how it sounded, then I apologize," he said smoothly. "However, I cannot ignore the possible consequences of your plan."

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Bernhardt’s eyes narrowed. "Possible consequences?"

William’s expression remained composed.

"You suggest that we crush the enemy quickly, then show them mercy to demonstrate our superiority. It’s a fine plan—if it works. But where, I wonder, is the guarantee that it will?"

Bernhardt scoffed. "Are you suggesting that the Imperial army could fail? That our forces—gathered from all across the Empire—might be defeated by a mere provincial rebellion?"

"I am not here to argue morale, Lord Logran." William’s voice remained sharp. "I am asking for practical proof. You have made claims—now back them with evidence."

Bernhardt’s expression hardened.

The audacity of this boy.

A child, barely past his teenage years, questioning his grasp of military reality?

Bernhardt’s fingers curled against the table.

"Fine," he said coldly. "If you want evidence, then allow me to provide it."

He raised three fingers.

"First. We outnumber the rebels overwhelmingly. Krefeld is the largest province in the East, yes—but even their full army cannot compare to the combined might of the Imperial coalition."

He lowered a finger.

"Second. Our forces are composed entirely of trained professional soldiers—many of them knights. In contrast, Krefeld’s forces are made up of a mix of conscripts and local militias."

Another finger went down.

"And third. There is no terrain advantage for the rebels. The Empire has spent years mapping out every strategic position in Krefeld—we know their roads, their fortresses, their supply lines. There are no surprises waiting for us."

He lowered his final finger.

"There," he said, his tone sharp. "Do you require any more proof?"

William shook his head.

"No, Lord Logran," he said calmly. "Your points are all valid."

Bernhardt’s smirk returned.

But William wasn’t finished.

"However," he continued, his voice quiet but firm, "you seem to have made an assumption before making those points."

Bernhardt’s smirk faded slightly.

"…What assumption?"

William’s next words shattered the tension in the tent.

"The Grand Concordat."

Silence.

Expressions shifted.

The Grand Concordat—the unspoken law of war, upheld for centuries. The agreement that prevented wars from spiraling into true disasters.

William met Bernhardt’s gaze directly.

"What," he said softly, "will you do… if the enemy decides not to follow it?"

The Grand Accord outlined the rules of engagement on the battlefield, though it was neither an official treaty nor a codified law. It was, at its core, a set of recommendations issued by the Empire’s founder and first emperor.

Yet, despite its unofficial status, the weight it carried was immense.

The reason was simple: the emperor himself had upheld the Grand Accord to the very end.

In essence, the contents of the Accord were straightforward. No use of poison, no assassinations. No feigned surrenders followed by betrayals. Any treaties made must be honored in full.

The list went on, but ultimately, it was about preserving the bare minimum of trust in warfare. Without such an agreement, war would devolve into an endless, nightmarish cycle of atrocities.

The problem, of course, was that these were merely recommendations.

No rule, no matter how sacred, could bind those who were determined to break it. This was precisely why the Grand Accord had never been written into law—because laws held no power over those who refused to abide by them.

After all, what use was a legal text when the opposing side had already thrown it aside?

"Even if we hold the advantage in both numbers and quality, and even if we have superior knowledge of their terrain, our destination is the heart of Krefeld. The moment they decide to break the Grand Accord and use every weapon at their disposal, what should have been a swift campaign will spiral into a brutal, chaotic slaughter."

"Krefeld breaking the Grand Accord? Ridiculous."

Marquis Bernhardt scoffed, casting a disdainful look at William. His expression was one of pure skepticism, as if he were questioning whether the man before him even understood the significance of the Accord.

"Do you have any idea why the Grand Accord has remained intact for centuries?" Bernhardt asked, his voice calm yet cutting. "The moment one side violates it, they open the gates of hell. And that hell will always burn the weak far more than the strong."

In theory, if one discarded all restrictions, even the weak could challenge the strong. But in reality, such defiance could only ever be short-lived.

Because when both sides resorted to any means necessary, the advantage always tilted toward the stronger force. The powerful had access to a far greater arsenal, and their reach extended across every battlefield. How could the weaker side hope to withstand such a storm?

"And that’s not all," Bernhardt continued. "The Grand Accord also serves as a restraint on victors, preventing them from indiscriminately brutalizing the defeated. If the losing side upholds the Accord, then even the victors must show restraint in their punishment."

By adhering to the Grand Accord, a defeated force demonstrated that, despite having the means to resort to dishonorable tactics, they had chosen not to. As a result, even a conquering army was bound by custom to show leniency.

Crimes deserving of execution were instead punished by confiscation of wealth. Acts that might warrant extermination were reduced to executing only those directly responsible.

To ignore these unwritten laws and impose unrestrained punishments was to invite the disdain of the entire Empire.

"To break the Grand Accord is to cast away even the smallest protections it offers. Do you really think Krefeld, as the weaker side, would risk everything for the sake of a single victory? Absurd."

William, however, was not so easily swayed.

"You believe the Empire will have the strength to march on Krefeld again, even if this campaign fails?"

"You doubt it?" Bernhardt smirked. "Do you think the Empire will waver just because a single rebellion was not immediately crushed?"

A single act of defiance might allow Krefeld to repel the Imperial forces—once.

But without the protection of the Grand Accord, they would soon find themselves overwhelmed by the second and third waves of Imperial troops. And by then, no rules would shield them from the Empire’s wrath.

That, at least, was Bernhardt’s reasoning. Even the First Prince gave a small nod of agreement.