Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

Chapter 85 85 The Weight of Words and War

85 The Weight of Words and War

The nobles closest to them, sensing the tension, swallowed nervously, their bodies rigid with unease.

But neither man spoke.

After a few seconds, Bernhardt was the first to avert his gaze. William followed suit, turning away just as easily.

Without another word, William moved toward his designated seat—directly to the right of the Supreme Commander's throne.

At that moment, murmurs spread across the tent.

"Is that boy really the Grand Duke's representative?"

"But he's barely sixteen..."

"Shh! Keep your voice down. He might hear you."

The hushed whispers died down quickly, but the weight of the nobles' stares remained.

Among them, Bernhardt Logran's scowl deepened, his displeasure clear.

Though technically just a representative, William's seat was positioned at equal rank to the marquis—a fact that clearly didn't sit well with the older man.

A battle-hardened veteran, a noble patriarch, now forced to sit on the same level as a sixteen-year-old boy? It was insulting.

But before the atmosphere could become more unbearable—

"The Supreme Commander, His Highness the First Prince, has arrived!"

The herald's voice rang out through the tent.

The entrance flaps were pulled open, and a young man with platinum-blond hair and emerald-green eyes stepped inside.

His looks alone were flawless—the kind of beauty fit for a hero in a legend.

And yet, the scowl on his face and the unmistakable irritation in his gaze completely undermined his noble image.

Claude Finn Bay Astraia.

The First Prince of the Empire and the Supreme Commander of the coalition army.

William's eyes, however, bypassed the First Prince entirely.

Instead, his gaze locked onto the man following behind him.

Though taller than Claude, the man kept his back slightly hunched, as if trying to minimize his presence.

Like the First Prince, his hair was platinum-blond, but unlike his older brother's emerald eyes, his were a piercing glacial blue—cold, distant, and yet somehow exuding a more regal aura than Claude himself.

William's lips curled slightly.

Cedric Finn Bay Astraia.

The Second Prince of the Empire.

A man once known as the Imperial Family's Last Hope.

William, along with the other nobles, bowed slightly.

"We are grateful for Your Highness's generosity."

The First Prince merely waved a hand dismissively. "Enough of that. What I truly wish to hear is your opinions on the rebellion. What should we do with Kreffelt?"

Straight to the point. His question was broad, encompassing both how the rebellion should be subdued and what should be done with Kreffelt afterward.

The first to step forward was none other than Bernhardt Logran.

"The best course of action," the marquis said smoothly, "is to resolve this matter as swiftly as possible. End the conflict quickly, and once victory is secured, show them mercy."

Claude's expression darkened. "Mercy? You're suggesting we forgive traitors who dared to rise against the Empire?"

His words were calm, but the threat behind them was clear.

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."

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. Kreffelt 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, Kreffelt'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 Kreffelt—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?"