Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

William had been practically cut off from the family's financial support.

Aside from basic necessities like food and servants' wages, he had been left with nothing.

And now, the Duke was restoring his funds.

To the uninformed, it might seem like a reward.

But Edwin knew better.

This was one of the hardest tests the Duke could give.

Giving a man who had barely started leaving his room a large sum of money and expecting him to manage it wisely—

That was the Duke's idea of a test.

If William squandered it carelessly or wasted it on frivolous luxuries, it would erase any lingering expectations.

"Understood. However, there is a slight problem."

"A problem?"

"Some of the funds meant for the Third Young Master have been siphoned elsewhere."

The Duke's brows twitched.

I never authorized that.

That meant someone within the household was embezzling family funds.

"Who dares?"

"It seems the Second Young Master has been interfering."

"...What? The second?"

"For him, the amount is nothing more than pocket change. This is likely an attempt to suppress the Third Young Master."

"Tch. That damned inferiority complex."

The Duke clicked his tongue, recalling his second son.

A capable young man, yet narrow-minded and petty.

His maternal lineage had always made him resent the third son, but to hold a grudge this long?

"Shall I intervene?" Edwin asked.

"No. Leave it."

The Duke dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand.

"If William can't handle something this minor himself, then he's a lost cause anyway."

"But wouldn't that be difficult? He has no power, no faction, not even a single loyal subordinate."

"And whose fault is that?"

William had cut himself off from the world for a year.

If he had maintained his relationships properly, no one would have dared to meddle with his funds like this.

This was his own doing.

"Let's see how he deals with it."

If he came crawling back, whining about the injustice of it all—then there was no reason to keep any expectations.

But if he handled the issue cleanly and efficiently…

Perhaps he could re-enter the succession race.

The Duke stroked his beard, deep in thought.

Then, as if dismissing the entire matter, he reached for the stack of documents beside him.

He had far more pressing responsibilities than fretting over his third son.

William, despite leaving the Duke's office with confidence, spent the entire next day bedridden.

His body, already weakened from lack of activity, had been pushed to its limit.

And on top of that—

Facing the Duke's sheer presence had completely drained him.

This body is pathetic.

If something as simple as walking and talking left him this exhausted, how was he supposed to do anything?

He had already planned on building his strength, but now it was an urgent priority.

Luckily, the next morning, a reward arrived.

"Y-Young Master… What in the world did you do yesterday? Did you cast some kind of magic?"

Hans was staring at him, wide-eyed.

William, still groggy from just waking up, frowned.

"What nonsense are you spouting now? If I could use magic, do you think I'd be lying here groaning?"

"The Duke… reinstated your allowance after cutting it off for a year!"

William's grogginess immediately vanished.

He sat up and reached for the ledger Hans was holding.

He had intended to skim through it absentmindedly—

But the moment he saw the numbers, all traces of amusement disappeared from his face.

"This… is my monthly allowance?"

"Yes."

"They didn't accidentally give me a year's worth at once?"

"No, Young Master. That's just for a single month."

William stared at the amount again.

"…Was it always this much?"

"If anything, you receive the least among the Duke's sons."

"...You have got to be kidding me."

For a moment, he was speechless.

Yes, he had expected the Hern Duchy—the Emperor's right-hand noble house—to be rich.

But this?

Even for a single son's allowance, the amount was absurd.

With this much money, he could hire an entire mercenary company for at least two weeks—with change left over.

He had spent years struggling for coins, only to now have pocket money that could buy warhorses and enchanted weapons without denting his funds.

So this… is what it means to be a true noble.

A mix of bitterness and satisfaction welled up in his chest.

But then, a sudden thought struck him.

Wait. If I have this much money… I don't just have to improve my stamina.

I could change my entire physical condition.

His eyes widened.

Normally, a person's physical constitution was fixed at birth.

While one could train their body, some were simply born superior—gifted with natural strength, endurance, or magical affinity.

For warriors, one's innate physical talent was everything.

And for centuries, this belief had remained undisputed.

Until six years from now.

When the Alchemist Guild developed Nectar.

The Drink of the Warriors.

At first, people had scoffed at the arrogant name, calling it pretentious nonsense.

But after its effects became known, all criticism vanished.

Nectar was a miracle.

A potion capable of transforming even the most incompetent weaklings into warriors with natural talent.

It was so revolutionary that the entire Alchemist Guild rose from near collapse to one of the most powerful institutions in the Empire.

Even the Emperor had been forced to acknowledge their influence, as nobles fought viciously for a chance to acquire Nectar.

They had held unlimited power—for a time.

Only for three short years.

Once the continent fell into chaos and war, the Guild had paid the price for its arrogance.

Alchemy was a craft of peace, but in a world ruled by brute force, their power meant nothing.

Their fortresses were burned, their scholars slaughtered, and their methods lost.

Only fragments of the original Nectar formula remained.

Most considered the incomplete formula worthless—useless garbage.

After all, alchemy was precise.

A single miscalculation could turn a potion into poison.

Only a fool would gamble with an incomplete formula.

And yet…

There were always fools willing to take that risk.

Some died in their attempts.

But a rare few—including William in his previous life—had successfully recreated a lesser version of Nectar.

And now, with money at his disposal…

"Hans."

"Yes, Young Master?"

"Prepare to leave."

"Pardon? But you're still recovering—"

"We're going to an apothecary."

"…What?"

Hans blinked, completely bewildered.

"An apothecary? Why would you—?"

William only smiled.