Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 54 - The Chase at Bornholm

With introductions out of the way, Raymon shifted to logistics.

"The situation is urgent, so we intend to move as swiftly as possible," he explained. "Can you ride a horse at full speed for extended periods?"

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William took the reins of the warhorse they provided, testing the grip.

"I’ll learn as I go," he said nonchalantly.

In truth, he was already proficient.

During his time as a mercenary in his past life, he had ridden countless times—often under harsher conditions than this.

Though not as refined as a knight’s battlefield horsemanship, he was more than capable of maintaining speed over long distances.

However, just as he was about to mount—

"Uh… Young Master," Hugo called hesitantly.

William turned.

"What?"

Hugo gave a sheepish grin.

"I… I’ve never ridden a horse before."

"...What?"

William rubbed his temples.

Of course.

Owning and maintaining a horse was an expensive luxury.

For someone who had spent his youth as a street thug, riding lessons were hardly a priority.

But slowing their pace just for Hugo?

Not an option.

Even William, a high-ranking heir, was in a hurry.

There was no excuse for a mere servant to hold them back.

"We have no choice," Raymon said. "I’ll teach him while we travel."

"Do we have time for that?" William asked. "Proper training takes days at minimum."

Raymon shrugged.

"Practical learning is faster. Painful, but effective."

Before Hugo could protest, Raymon hauled him onto the saddle.

And thus began three days of absolute hell.

"Wait—wait! My ass is killing me!"

"Keep your legs tight against the horse! You’re bouncing like a damn hammer!"

"If I do that, the horse starts bucking!"

"Not too tight! Just firm enough to stay steady! Back straight—balance your weight in your hips!"

"Slow down a little, please—!"

"No time! If you fall behind, you’ll be left behind!"

"AAARGH!"

Hugo barely survived.

Had it not been for the physical endurance he had gained from sword training, his body would have been in shambles.

But through sheer stubbornness and Raymon’s relentless drills, he managed to keep pace.

By the time they reached the port, he was utterly exhausted.

Raymon dismounted first, surveying their route.

"From here, we take a ship straight to Vilun, the harbor city just outside Bornholm," he explained. "If the wind favors us, we’ll arrive in two days. If not, it may take four."

William nodded.

"And from Vilun to Bornholm?"

"Even at a relaxed pace, half a day on horseback."

William glanced at Hugo, smirking.

"Good. That means your ass will hold out."

Hugo was too exhausted to even retort.

With his body aching from three days of horseback torture, he could only groan in response.

William decided to let him rest while they traveled by sea.

However, there was one final concern.

"You don’t get seasick, do you?" William asked.

Hugo exhaled, shaking his head.

"Thankfully, no. I used to ride ships when I was younger—my father was a sailor."

"First I’m hearing of this," William remarked.

"It never seemed important," Hugo replied. "And I didn’t sail for long. My father died when his ship capsized."

His tone was casual—far too indifferent for a man speaking of his own father’s death.

But then again, among sailors, such losses were common.

Grief was a luxury they couldn’t afford.

"Still," Hugo added, stretching his sore legs, "at least I’ve got a basic idea of how to handle horses now. Might be useful later."

There was a determined edge in his voice.

He wasn’t thinking of now.

He was thinking of the future—when he became a knight.

William smirked.

Yes. It would be useful.

A knight’s equestrian skills were considered essential.

And even if his training had been brutal, it was better to learn now than struggle later.

Three days later, their ship docked at Vilun.

"Perfect timing," Raymon noted. "If we leave immediately after breakfast, we’ll reach Bornholm before sundown."

And indeed—

As the sky turned red, the fortress of Bornholm came into view.

They were close.

William and his party relaxed slightly, knowing their journey was nearly at an end.

But then—

A group of riders appeared in the distance.

"They’re coming this way," Raymon observed. "Some of them wear the crest of House Hern."

William frowned.

"Tristan? He wouldn’t bother coming to greet me."

"He’s there, but he’s not leading the charge," Raymon clarified. "It looks like they’re chasing someone."

William focused his enhanced vision.

Six figures—cloaked in black, fleeing on horseback.

Their faces were hidden beneath hoods.

No doubt about it—they were running from House Hern’s knights.

"This isn’t a misunderstanding," William noted. "They’re fugitives."

Raymon nodded.

"We should assist," he said. "They’re not being pursued for charity work, after all."

"Agreed," William said. "But we won’t be able to catch all of them."

With only five Black Lions, one would escape.

Hugo was too inexperienced, and William himself was technically the protected party.

Raymon furrowed his brow in frustration.

"We don’t have the numbers."

William smirked.

"You’re forgetting something," he said, drawing his sword.

Raymon blinked.

"Which is?"

"I’m not just sitting back and watching," William said.

He turned his gaze to one of the fleeing figures—the one furthest left.

"I’ll take that one," he declared. "You handle the rest."

"Wait—what?"

"Young Master?!"

Ignoring their protests, William spurred his horse forward.

Raymon cursed.

"Dammit! Intercept the others!" he ordered.

"But what about the Third Prince—?!"

"It’s too late! Just do as he says!"

William had already closed the distance.

The hooded fugitive sneered, drawing his sword.

"Out of my way, boy!"

William didn’t flinch.

He simply pushed his mana into his muscles, reinforcing his body.

The fugitive’s sneer faltered.

"You little—!"

The man swung his sword with full force, aiming to cut William down.

But he never had the chance.

CLANG—!

The sound of metal shattering rang through the air.

And in the next moment—The man was sent flying.

"What in the—?!"

"By the gods!"

The knights of House Hern came to an abrupt halt, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief.

A grown man had just been launched into the sky.

The cloaked fugitive spun twice in midair before crashing to the ground.

Thud!

"Urgh…!"

By sheer luck—or misfortune—he had landed on his back rather than his head, sparing his life.

But the impact had knocked him unconscious on the spot.

William clicked his tongue as he glanced between the fallen enemy and his own damaged sword.