Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

"It seems I was truly foolish. Seeing how much anger you have toward me, I now understand my mistake."

William lowered his head slightly, his voice calm and composed.

"I will carve your advice into my heart, Father, and never forget it."

"...Is that all?"

"Yes. So now, you may rejoice."

"...What?"

The unexpected response made the Duke narrow his eyes.

Rejoice?

"I have heard that when a father scolds his son's foolish actions, it is out of love," William continued. "For so long, I resented the fact that you never once showed anger toward me. But I was mistaken."

"...!"

"So now it's your turn to be happy, isn't it? Your son has returned from the brink of death. You've already shown your anger—so shouldn't you stop holding back and take my hand? What's a few tears between family?"

The audacity of his words left the Duke momentarily stunned.

Even Edwin, the ever-composed steward, gaped in silent shock.

William's words had been respectful, but the meaning was crystal clear.

You left me alone for so long—now that I've survived, is scolding me all you have to offer?

And, more subtly—If all you can do is reprimand me, do you even deserve to call yourself a father?

Come on, take the bait.

William forced himself to maintain a neutral expression, though he could feel the tension in his body.

What he had just done was nothing short of insanity.

He had called out Duke Sigmund Hern—a man as untouchable as the Emperor himself—right to his face.

Any normal noble would have flown into a rage, had him locked in a monastery, or worse.

But William had studied this man.

The Duke had always valued ferocity over submission.

A cowardly rat that scurried away at the first sign of confrontation? Disgusting.

But a wild dog that dared to bite back? That was worth keeping.

A long silence stretched between them.

For William, it felt like two hours, but in reality, it was only twenty seconds.

Then, finally—

"Hah."

Not a yell.

Not an explosion of rage.

But a scoff.

The Duke shook his head, as if exasperated. Yet, beneath that irritation, there was something else—something close to amusement.

It worked.

William nearly sighed in relief, but he kept his expression composed.

The Duke leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing him with renewed interest.

"You've learned how to talk back to me, I see."

"People change, Father. And if someone can return from the brink of death and remain the same, are they even human?"

"Then I assume you'll no longer be locking yourself away?"

"After being confined for over a year, I've had enough of staring at the same four walls. I think it's time to put an end to that."

William paused, then casually rolled up his sleeve.

His arm was so thin it could have belonged to a sickly patient.

"But first, I'll need to put some weight back on. In this state, I can't even wield a sword properly."

The Duke's brows furrowed.

"A sword? You?"

"I may never have a reason to use one," William admitted. "But if a man can't even take care of his own body, what can he accomplish? At the very least, I should be able to protect myself."

"Hmph."

The Duke leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly.

At first glance, he seemed displeased.

But William could tell.

He was holding back a smile.

"That's quite the speech."

"I only speak my true feelings."

"Whether it's the truth or just bravado… that remains to be seen. Now go."

"Yes, Father."

William bowed deeply before exiting the office.

The moment he was far enough away, he exhaled sharply.

I actually pulled it off.

At the very least, he had managed to shake off the image of a helpless, pitiful child.

His father wouldn't dismiss him so easily now.

But that wasn't enough.

This was only a temporary victory.

If he failed to prove himself, the Duke would eventually dismiss him as a fool with nothing but empty words.

He needed to produce results—fast.

Not a problem.

William's lips curled into a smirk.

He had spent years surviving as a mercenary in a brutal, war-torn era.

Compared to that, making something of himself as a noble?

That was child's play.

With a newfound confidence, he made his way back to his room, already considering how to make his mark in this new life.

"Hah."

Duke Sigmund Hern stroked his beard, still lost in thought.

Even though it had happened mere moments ago, he could barely believe it.

That useless brat had stood before him and spoken with such confidence?

"Did you see that?"

"See what, Your Grace?"

"He looked me in the eye when he spoke."

"Yes. And he did not waver in the slightest."

A year ago, that boy couldn't even hold eye contact.

Back then, he had always shifted his gaze, his eyes darting around like a fish lost at sea.

His complaints had been weak, half-hearted grumblings, spoken through clenched teeth.

And if the Duke so much as raised his voice, he would flinch like a beaten dog.

No courage.

Nothing but resentment and self-pity, unable to even voice his own thoughts.

But now?

Now, that same boy had laid down his life without hesitation.

Declared his resolve right to his face.

"...So his mother gave him more than just her face, after all."

"Is he not still Your Grace's son? That blood does not simply disappear."

"Don't be so quick to assume," the Duke said flatly. "For all we know, it could just be empty words."

"Even so, there is no doubt that he has changed."

The corners of the Duke's lips twitched ever so slightly.

He had all but given up on that child.

But now, he had shown a glimpse of potential.

And if there was one thing that Sigmund Hern could never ignore…

It was strength.

"Still, it's too early to believe in him completely. There's always a chance he's just putting on an act."

"Then… do you intend to test him?"

"It's not much of a test. Just give him some spending money," the Duke said, stroking his beard again. "The same amount as before he locked himself away."