Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 81 - Masquerade of Fools

81 Masquerade of Fools

"The First Prince has no idea what he’s doing. This is nothing short of an insult to House Hern!"

His expression was dark with barely restrained frustration.

Unlike William, Gerard could not see this as ’just a game.’

He saw it for what it was—a mockery.

"Third Prince, there is no need to accept this nonsense. If you refuse to participate, neither the Grand Duke nor the Emperor would blame you."

William remained calm.

"…And what happens after that?"

Gerard faltered.

"…Pardon?"

William leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"You really think the First Prince will just let it go if I refuse?"

Gerard hesitated.

"…That is…"

William smirked.

"This is a man who thought it was a good idea to pull a masquerade game on feudal lords. If I reject it outright, do you honestly believe he’ll handle the situation rationally?"

Gerard’s mouth snapped shut.

William was right.

The First Prince had already proven he lacked the ability to navigate politics with any degree of skill.

If William humiliated him, he wouldn’t apologize.

He would retaliate.

"I don’t believe he has malice against Hern," William said. "He’s just an idiot. And honestly… this ’game’ has its uses."

"…Uses?" Gerard asked, incredulous.

William smirked.

"This actually makes it easier to read the other nobles. If we were all meeting formally, they’d be guarded. Careful. Restrained."

That was always the case.

Hern was the highest-ranking noble house beneath the imperial family.

That meant that, unless they were direct enemies, no lord would ever show their true thoughts in front of them.

But with masks?

For a little while, identity didn’t matter.

It wouldn’t last long—sooner or later, people would figure each other out.

But until then?

The nobles might let their true selves slip.

"If we have to entertain this nonsense anyway," William said, "we might as well use it."

Gerard still looked bothered.

"…I still think this will only cause unnecessary conflict."

William chuckled.

"It probably will."

But that wasn’t his problem.

Not unless it directly affected him.

For most nobles, revealing their true thoughts in front of the Duke of Hern was out of the question.

But William was different.

Unlike his father, who commanded absolute influence, he had the option of moving independently.

Which meant… this so-called masquerade game could actually serve a purpose.

"You never know when this kind of information might come in handy. The more I learn about these nobles, the better."

Gerard, unaware of William’s thoughts, gave a stiff nod.

"If that is your decision, then I will not stop you."

William had full authority over this campaign. If he had made up his mind, there was nothing Gerard could do about it.

"That said… under the First Prince’s rules, you are only allowed one personal guard when moving around the camp."

William sighed. "Right. Unfortunately, that means you’ll have to stay here."

"I understand. And who will you take as your escort?"

William smirked. "Raymond, of course."

Hugo was competent, but he lacked the presence of a knight.

It wouldn’t do for only William to walk around with a common-born guard while the rest of the nobility surrounded themselves with knights.

And if he could only take one person?

Then it had to be Raymond.

A former Black Lion Knight. A war veteran. The most fitting choice for the situation.

"Alright," William said, stretching. "Let’s see how these nobles are reacting to this absurd game."

With that, he donned the mask and made his way toward the First Prince’s ’outdoor banquet.’

The moment he arrived, William sighed.

"…Far fewer people than expected."

He had masked his identity perfectly, hiding beneath both the masquerade mask and the cloak.

Even so, the number of nobles in attendance did not match the number of banners at the camp.

At best, only about half had shown up.

Raymond, who had been scanning the area, let out a dry chuckle.

"Not surprising. No one has any reason to entertain the First Prince’s antics."

"So instead of outright refusing, they just stayed locked inside their tents?"

"That’s right. Why cause trouble when you can simply ignore the nonsense?"

William smirked. "Honestly, it’s impressive that even half the nobles showed up."

Raymond nodded.

The more experienced nobles wouldn’t waste time indulging the First Prince.

They’d see this game for what it was—a pointless distraction.

And even if skipping the event mildly irritated the First Prince, it wasn’t worth worrying about.

William’s gaze swept across the masked nobles.

"…So that means the ones who showed up are either weak houses that can’t afford to offend the imperial family… or people too clueless to understand the political risk."

"Or," a voice interrupted, "they’re here because they need connections."

William and Raymond immediately turned toward the speaker.

Standing nearby was another masked noble, accompanied by his own guard.

William’s eyes narrowed.

The man’s voice and the way he carried himself…

He was young. Likely around the same age as William.

But what caught William’s attention was the scar peeking out from beneath the mask—a faint mark just below the lips.

"…Nigel Crecy?"

The other noble flinched.

"You… know who I am?"

Of course he did.

How could he not recognize Nigel Crecy—

A mere baron who, despite having one of the weakest titles in the Empire, managed to maintain his independence until the day William died in his past life.

A man who mastered diplomacy in a way that allowed him to survive against all odds.

William had even worked under him, briefly.

"He had a gift for pushing just hard enough to intimidate but never provoke. An expert at weaving false alliances, baiting powerful forces into indecision…"

Nigel had no military power.

No strong backing.

And yet, with sheer diplomatic prowess, he had never been devoured by larger forces.

A born survivor.

"Of course, I can’t just expose that I know all of this about him."

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William quickly adjusted his expression.

"I recognized the scar," he said smoothly. "I wasn’t sure at first, but I guessed."

"Ah… this?"

Nigel let out a dry chuckle, reaching up to trace the faint scar.

"A pointless little wound. It seems to have become far more famous than I’d like."

William chuckled.

It was a well-known story.

Nigel’s older brother had once accidentally thrown a hawk’s prey at his face during a hunt, leaving him with that permanent mark.

At least, that was the official story.