Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

However, even the simplest of these sword forms had now become lost knowledge.

Only a select few were permitted to study them, and for everyone else, even watching such training was strictly forbidden.

Those who stole these techniques were branded as sworn enemies—an unforgivable crime among knights.

Hans shifted uneasily beside him.

"My lord, you might be fine, but I'm not! I'm just a servant—if they catch me watching, they might cut off my head!"

"Relax."

"How am I supposed to relax?! What if they stab me the moment you look away?!"

William sighed.

"Sword forms aren't something you can steal just by looking at them."

"…Huh?"

"These techniques don't just involve movements—they require mana control as well."

Unless someone could physically see mana, it was impossible to understand the real essence of a sword form simply by watching it.

Of course, if a trained swordsman observed another knight's movements, they could theorize what the technique entailed.

But for someone completely ignorant of swordsmanship?

It was utterly meaningless.

"Then why do the knights act so paranoid about it?" Hans asked. "Even if someone walks too close during training, they lose their temper instantly."

William chuckled.

"That's just them being pretentious."

"Pretentious?"

"Knights like it when commoners bow and scrape before them. They don't want you to realize that their precious techniques are useless to outsiders."

Hans blinked, his expression blank.

Realizing that he had been intimidated by something so pointless, he looked up at the sky, dumbfounded.

He had spent years fearing something that had been a complete farce.

Of course, there was another, far darker reason behind this paranoia.

Some knights intentionally use this belief as a tool for extortion.

There were corrupt knights who would pretend to practice their sword forms in public areas, then accuse passersby of spying on them.

With the belief that stealing sword techniques was an unforgivable crime, the accused had no choice but to appease the knight—often by handing over money or valuables.

The knight would continue harassing them until they were satisfied, at which point they'd graciously offer "forgiveness."

Of course, knights who pulled these tricks were viewed as trash even by their peers…

But as long as word never spread, they had nothing to fear.

In remote villages, it wasn't uncommon for knights to abuse their power in this way—treating the locals like their personal cash cows.

William glanced at Hans and made a mental note.

I should tell him about this later—once he's learned to control his emotions.

It was best to let him cool down before revealing just how corrupt some knights could be.

For now, William turned back to observe the knights' training.

But then—

A voice rang out behind him, laced with mockery.

"My, my. I never thought I'd see the Third Prince here again."

William turned.

A young knight stood there, his face completely free of sweat, despite the intense training session.

His small, sharp eyes barely opened, giving him the appearance of a snake.

His lips curled in an expression that was somewhere between a smirk and a sneer.

Everything about his posture radiated insolence.

He was clearly not approaching with good intentions.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" The knight gave a half-hearted bow, his gaze locked onto William's.

Despite standing before his lord's son, he was outrageously disrespectful.

William met his eyes with cold indifference and replied—

"…Who are you, again?"

"…"

The knight's smirk froze.

The knight's previously relaxed expression twitched. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, though he quickly masked it with a forced smile.

"Haha, you have quite the sense of humor, my lord. I am Hendrick, the one who personally guided you through your stances back then."

"Is that so? I don't quite remember."

William's response was devoid of sarcasm—it was a simple statement of fact. Yet the knight's face immediately crumpled in frustration.

Evidently, Hendrick hadn't expected him to forget.

Of course, it wasn't a matter of forgetting. William had never met this man before in the first place.

"Ahem. In any case, may I ask what brings you here today?"

"Must I have a reason to visit the training grounds?"

"Well, no, but I found it surprising. It has only been a year since the second young master reprimanded you… I didn't think you would return."

The distinct lack of respect in his tone made William's brows knit together.

What exactly had happened a year ago for a mere knight to speak so freely?

Without any prior knowledge of the situation, William could only probe.

"A year? I'd say it's been long enough. Avoiding the training grounds over an old incident would be ridiculous. I intend to visit regularly from now on, especially to learn the way of the sword."

"The way of the sword? You, my lord?"

"I admit I have been neglectful in my training, but I'm sixteen. It's hardly too late, wouldn't you agree?"

A person's path of mana wouldn't fully close until around the age of twenty-five. That meant as long as one started before then, they could still wield sword techniques and rise as a knight.

Of course, the later one started, the more difficult the journey. But it wasn't impossible.

And yet, despite William's logic, Hendrick responded with an exaggerated laugh, his voice booming across the training grounds.

"Haha! You really do jest, my lord! Sixteen is far too late to begin training in swordsmanship!"

"Too late? At sixteen?"

"Indeed. To master the way of the sword, one must begin before fifteen. Starting at sixteen, you may strengthen your body slightly, but that's all."

"That's strange. I was under the impression that the path of mana doesn't fully close until twenty-five."

For the briefest moment, Hendrick flinched. But he recovered quickly, his smile returning just as smoothly.

"You are correct, my lord. The path of mana does not close until after twenty-five. However, by sixteen, it has already narrowed significantly. Those who claim otherwise do so out of desperate hope, not reality."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed, my lord."

Nonsense.