Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 47 - The Awakening of a Buried Genius

Felicia was just a maid.

She wasn’t a noble. She wasn’t even a man.

No one would ever recognize her as a knight.

Had she been born into the right body, with the right name, she could have conquered the heavens.

But in her hands, even the greatest talent in the world was worthless.

So she convinced herself it didn’t matter.

This is just a hobby.

I enjoy it, so there’s nothing to be upset about.

That was the lie she told herself for years.

Until now.

"I don’t know what you see, Father," William had said. "But I see a swordsman blessed by the gods. A genius, chained by status and gender, born to carve the sky and split the seas—but forced to suffocate instead."

The dam inside her shattered.

It was all a lie.

She never wanted to live and die as a maid.

She had always wanted to be a knight.

She wanted to carve her name into history with her sword.

She wanted to tell the world:

"I am here."

She had only given up because she thought it was impossible.

"Right now, many will mock my decision," William continued. "They’ll laugh, call it foolish. But one day, that laughter will turn into admiration. One day, they will say—’William Hern was the one who found the next Sword Saint before the world even knew she existed.’"

The dream she had buried was being spoken aloud.

Not just as a dream—but as a future.

William wasn’t lying.

He truly believed she could make a name for herself.

Her vision blurred.

She couldn’t stop the tears.

If I really can become a knight…

She had never considered loyalty before.

She had never needed to.

A maid didn’t choose who to serve.

But if she really, truly became a knight—

Then I want to serve this man.

The Grand Duke scoffed.

"You certainly know how to make things sound impressive."

His cold words cut through the air.

William met his father’s gaze, unflinching.

In the end, words meant nothing.

Only results mattered.

The Grand Duke turned away.

"I’ll be watching," he said. "Let’s see what comes of your decision."

With that, he strode off without another word.

But William saw it.

The slight twitch at the corner of his lips.

’You really can’t be honest, can you, Father?’

William exhaled quietly, suppressing a smile.

This was the Grand Duke’s way.

He wouldn’t openly acknowledge William’s actions—he would challenge him instead.

This way, William’s own efforts would elevate his people.

It was his father’s way of saying:

"I may not see your worth, but your master does. Be grateful for that, and serve him well."

It was a roundabout method, but it wasn’t a bad one.

Because of it, William’s sincerity had been laid bare for all to see.

"Thank you, Father."

William bowed his head slightly as the Grand Duke walked away.

For all his harshness, his father’s care still showed through in unexpected ways.

At that moment, a deep chuckle echoed through the training grounds.

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"Well now," came a voice from within. "Not only the Third Prince, but even His Grace has come?"

William turned.

Aizen had arrived.

The Sword Saint hadn’t even rounded the corner, yet he had already sensed their presence.

"Of course," the Grand Duke replied. "A recommendation for a disciple of the Sword Saint—as both the Duke of Hern and a fellow knight, how could I not be curious?"

Aizen stroked his beard, studying William with an unreadable expression.

"I see," he murmured. "You did say something interesting in your letter, Third Prince. But…"

His gaze flickered toward Felicia.

William didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward and motioned for Felicia to do the same.

"Sir Aizen," he said. "I’ve come to fulfill my promise. This is the one I spoke of."

Aizen’s sharp eyes swept over Felicia.

She stood stiffly under his scrutiny, then forced herself to bow.

"My name is Felicia. I—"

"Enough."

Felicia blinked.

"I don’t need your name," Aizen said flatly. "I don’t care who you are. Just pick up the wooden sword."

With that, he slammed a practice sword into the ground, motioning for her to take it.

Felicia hesitated only a moment before striding forward.

The wooden sword was embedded deep—nearly two hands’ width into the stone floor.

She grasped the hilt and pulled.

Aizen’s eyes narrowed.

"That mana control…" he muttered. "Where did you learn that mess?"

Felicia stiffened.

"W-What?"

"Your mana," Aizen said sharply. "It’s completely unrefined. Who taught you?"

His voice was laced with disappointment.

Felicia faltered under his glare.

Flustered, she struggled to find her voice.

Felicia’s voice wavered as she answered.

"I… I don’t have a master."

Aizen’s expression darkened.

"What?"

"No one ever taught me. I just… watched others and copied them."

For a long moment, Aizen said nothing.

"You’re telling me," he said slowly, "that without a single teacher, you figured out mana circulation and even learned to wield it?"

Felicia hesitated.

"Mana circulation…? What is that?"

Silence.

Even Aizen was momentarily at a loss for words.

"You don’t even know what it is?"

Felicia shifted uncomfortably.

"I never saw anyone do it, so… no, I don’t."

Aizen exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples.

"Mana circulation," he explained, "is the process of spreading mana throughout your body and then reabsorbing it."

Felicia frowned.

"I… don’t think I know how to do that."

"Ha! You’ve got to be kidding me."

Aizen clicked his tongue, frustration clear in his voice.

"Fine. Let’s see if you can copy this, then."

He stopped moving entirely.

The others exchanged confused glances.

He wasn’t doing anything.

What was there to imitate?

Felicia, however, froze.

She watched Aizen intently—then, as if uncertain, she mimicked his stance.

"…Like this?"

Aizen’s eyes widened.

For a moment, he stared at her.

The observers saw no change.

But between him and Felicia, something had shifted.

"Can you do this as well?"

Aizen’s voice was lower now.

Felicia hesitated for barely a second before nodding.

"Is… this right?"

The Sword Saint burst into laughter.

A moment ago, he had looked at her as if she were a mere pebble on the road.

Now, his gaze held calculation—the way a jeweler assessed the purity of gold.

"Pick up the sword."