Silence.
The Grand Duke's face turned to stone.
"...What did you just say?"
William remained unfazed.
"I have already gathered evidence. If you wish, I can present it to you now."
The proof was brought in imdiately.
William had Hugo deliver the prepared docunts—evidence gathered straight from the source.
The Grand Duke sifted through the files, his sharp eyes scanning every line. Manufacturing sites. Distribution routes. Sale schedules. Concealnt thods.
Each detail was laid out with ticulous precision.
By the ti he reached the last page, the Grand Duke's entire posture had shifted.
"Bernhardt! That bastard dares to pull sothing like this under my very nose?!"
CRACK.
The table split down the middle as the Grand Duke's fist slamd into it.
The lapis-lazuli table—renowned for being as strong as steel—had cracked from the force.
He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury.
William simply watched in silence, waiting for the storm to pass.
Finally, the Grand Duke exhaled sharply and sank into his chair, rubbing his temples.
"Damn it. I should report this to His Majesty imdiately and drag that disgrace of a marquis before a tribunal—"
"It won't be that simple," William interjected. "The entire operation was conducted under the na of his trading firms. If you present this evidence, the Marquis will simply sever his ties and discard them."
"Of course," the Grand Duke muttered bitterly. "That conniving bastard."
Bernhardt, for all his arrogance, was no fool. There was no way he would leave a direct link to himself in any illicit dealings.
Even if this evidence was brought forward, it would remain in the realm of suspicion. Not enough to bring the Marquisate down.
The Grand Duke's face twisted with frustration.
William studied him for a mont before speaking again.
"Are you truly satisfied with this outco?"
The Grand Duke shot him a glare.
"Do I look satisfied?"
William's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Then perhaps… we should ensure the Marquis never realizes we are onto him."
The Grand Duke frowned. "Explain."
William clasped his hands behind his back, voice steady and asured.
"Not long ago, the very man who was overseeing this operation defected to . He has pledged himself to my service."
The Grand Duke stiffened.
William continued, unfazed.
"A man like Bernhardt would never consider the possibility of betrayal. Not when the matter at hand is drug trade. He will never believe one of his n would switch sides—because he knows that once exposed, a traitor like that has no future."
The Grand Duke's expression darkened. He understood all too well what William ant.
A criminal, a peasant, a nobody from the underworld.
Such a man had no worth beyond utility. Even if he defected, no noble house would dare to reward him. His fate would be exploitation, then disposal.
But what if he found a lord willing to give him a future?
William's voice was smooth, certain.
"If we allow him to move within Bernhardt's ranks, he could cause more damage than any external force. We wouldn't just cripple his trade networks—we might even find irrefutable proof of his direct involvent."
The Grand Duke fell silent.
For a long mont, he weighed the risks. He scrutinized William, searching for any sign of hesitation.
Then, at last, he spoke.
"Can this man be trusted?" His voice was quiet, dangerous. "He was willing to peddle narcotics once before."
William smiled slightly.
"I do not trust him. But I trust his dream."
The Grand Duke's brows furrowed. "Dream?"
"He wishes to beco a knight," William said simply. "He wants his na to be rembered in history."
The Grand Duke scoffed. "Ridiculous. A street rat dreaming of knighthood?"
"But what man doesn't dream of greatness?" William countered.
He understood that feeling all too well.
And because of that, he knew Hugo would never betray him.
A lord who would grant him that dream was a rarity beyond asure.
Even if it cost him everything, Hugo would never let go of that chance.
The Grand Duke stared at him for a long mont. Then, he asked,
"And if you are wrong? If this man brings ruin upon us instead?"
William t his father's gaze without flinching.
"Then I will stake my life on it."
Silence.
Then—a chuckle.
The Grand Duke smiled for the first ti that night.
"...Very well," he said.
Then, turning away, he gave his final command.
"When you've recovered, co to the training grounds."
William blinked. "What?"
"I will teach you the Lionheart Sword. You are now a true contender for the next head of this house."
William's breath caught.
The Lionheart Sword.
A technique reserved only for the heir of Hern.
This was it. The acknowledgnt he had been waiting for.
The battle for succession had truly begun.
William's eyebrows twitched slightly.
Lionheart Sword.
A sword technique that only the chosen successor candidates and a select few close aides were allowed to learn. Among the ancient sword techniques, it was renowned for its overwhelming strength and ferocity—one of the most formidable techniques ever known.
Knights, commoners, even re farrs—there was hardly anyone who had never heard of the na Lionheart Sword. Tales of it echoed through childhood stories and distant regional legends.
And now, Grand Duke Sigmund had just declared that he would teach it.
William bit down on his lip, struggling to control his emotions.
At last...!
In his previous life, despite wandering across the continent, he had never acquired a high-level sword technique. Even the ager techniques he managed to obtain were nothing more than diluted versions of the skills taught to ordinary knights.
To a re rcenary, even those scraps had been valuable. Yet, William had never been satisfied.
How many tis had he been bested by knights who once couldn't even stand against him, only to return years later with superior skills, knocking him to the ground?
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