Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 57 - The Oathbound Prince

"Let it go," William commanded, halting Raymond with a simple gesture.

Reaching down, he grabbed an empty bottle from the floor. Without a word, he hurled it toward the center of the tavern’s ceiling with all his strength.

Glass shattered, raining shards upon the drunken crowd.

"The hell!?"

"Bastard!"

The mercenaries jolted from their stupor, cursing as they stumbled to their feet, their rage flaring. But before they could charge, William spoke again, his voice cold and unwavering.

"I am William Hern, third son of Duke Sigmund Hern, and younger brother to your employer, Duke Tristan Hern."

A heavy silence settled over the room. Expressions of anger twisted into ones of apprehension. Striking a noble, especially one of Duke Hern’s lineage, was tantamount to a death sentence.

Seizing the moment, William continued, "I wished to have a conversation, but you seemed incapable of coherent thought. A bit of shock therapy was necessary. It worked, thankfully. Or should I fetch some honey water to help you sober up?"

The name alone was enough to keep the mercenaries from making a move. The weight of his lineage made them hesitate. Yet, even as they faltered, one man stepped forward.

"No need for honey water, I’m plenty awake now. But I have to ask, what the hell does a Hern noble want with us?"

"You dare—!"

Raymond’s hand instinctively went to his sword, ready to cut the man down for his insolence. But William stopped him, resting a firm hand on his shoulder as he turned his attention to the speaker.

The man was rugged, his face adorned with scars and a thick, unkempt beard. His gaze was sharp, filled with the cunning of a seasoned warrior.

’He’s the one holding this group together.’

To the untrained eye, his words might seem like the drunken ramblings of a foolish mercenary. But William saw the careful calculation behind them.

’He stepped in just as I was about to take control, deliberately using harsh words to show they weren’t at a disadvantage. The timing was impeccable—before negotiations could even begin, he shifted the dynamic to prevent us from taking the upper hand.’

A dangerous opponent. Not just an experienced fighter, but one with political instincts and sharp wit.

’But still, too arrogant.’

No matter how skilled, there was always a margin for error. And this man seemed convinced of his own infallibility.

"What’s your name?"

"The boys call me Red Blade Sven."

"Sven, then. Tell me, why are you all still here? From what I’ve heard, your contract has already ended. If you were paid, you should be working."

Sven smirked, tilting his head in amusement. "That’s not quite right. Unfortunately, our contract with Lord Tristan was never finalized. We were hoping to get hired for a higher price, but he offered less than we were worth. What were we supposed to do? Work for scraps?"

"I see. And you took the money?"

"Oh, of course! It wasn’t much, not even close to what we asked for, but hey, it’d be rude to turn down free coin, wouldn’t it? Right, lads?"

"Damn right! Lord Tristan sure is generous!"

"Drinks and food, all on him!"

Laughter echoed once more, a mockery of the duke’s failed negotiations. These mercenaries had no intention of honoring their deal, twisting the money they had received into nothing more than a ’gift.’

William rubbed his temple.

’This won’t work.’

Tristan had already botched the negotiations, and Sven had no reason to compromise. Worse yet, the mercenaries had already deduced that they were desperately needed, and the trust in Sven among his men was absolute.

With the current balance of power, any attempt at bargaining would be futile.

"Don’t take it personally," Sven added, clearly mistaking William’s silence for resignation. "Give us the right price, and we’ll work like dogs. We might drink and joke around, but we get the job done."

Even as he spoke, there was no hiding the smug confidence in his voice. He thought he had already won.

William exhaled slowly, then smiled faintly.

"Is that so? If I pay enough, you’ll do anything?"

"Within reason, of course."

"Then I suppose this should be sufficient."

With a casual motion, William reached into his coat and tossed a heavy pouch onto the table.

The string came loose upon impact, spilling its contents.

A pile of platinum coins gleamed under the dim light of the tavern.

Gasps rippled through the room.

"P-Platinum coins!?"

"Wilhelm the Great’s commemorative coins! These are priceless!"

"What in the—!"

Even the Black Lions flinched at the sight.

Wilhelm the Great’s platinum commemorative coins—rarely minted, worth hundreds of standard gold coins apiece, and instantly exchangeable anywhere on the continent.

And William had just casually thrown down a bag filled with them.

Sven swallowed hard, the confidence in his voice wavering. "Ahem! I see you’re a man of reason. If this is your offer, then we—"

"By the name of William Hern," William interrupted, his voice carrying through the room, "I hereby offer this entire sum to anyone who kills Red Blade Sven."

A stunned silence followed.

Sven’s face drained of color.

And the hands of the mercenaries twitched toward their weapons.

Sven’s grin froze in place, his hand halfway to the pouch of coins, as William’s next words struck like a thunderclap.

Updat𝓮d from frёewebnoѵēl.com.

A heavy silence descended upon the tavern.

The command itself wasn’t unheard of—many employers had ordered mercenaries to turn on each other, staging fights for entertainment or cruel amusement. Usually, such demands were dismissed as foolish boasts, not worth a second thought.

But this was different.

No one could ignore a sum of this magnitude.

"The hell did he just say? That kind of money, all for one kill?"

"That’s not just some reward… even noble families would be shaken by that amount."

"Still, he swore on his name. And the Hern family. That’s not something you just take back."

The murmurs among the mercenaries grew louder, their cohesion cracking under the weight of William’s words. Sven’s confidence faltered. He had spent years forging their unity through countless battles and hardships, only to see it unravel in moments.

If he let this continue, some of them would break. The promise of wealth was a siren’s call too strong to resist.

"Hold on! Sir, what in the hell are you—"

Sching!

Before Sven could finish, William drew his sword.