Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 91 - The Death of Honor

91 The Death of Honor

"Oh, I know very well. The Grand Accord is dead. What a historic moment, isn’t it?"

A ripple of shock ran through the gathered nobles.

Jurgen, standing nearby, cursed under his breath.

"You… lunatics!"

Did they even understand what they had just done?

The Grand Accord was the only thing preventing war from descending into absolute barbarism.

Yet, the man before him showed no hint of regret.

The chief sneered.

"The Grand Accord… What was it, really? A promise to ’strike with fists instead of swords’? A joke of a law that let your Empire beat us down, so long as you didn’t go too far?"

Jurgen’s face twisted with fury. "The Grand Accord was for your protection, you fool!"

"No. It was made for you."

For the first time, the chief’s voice carried true power, shaking even the most seasoned warriors present.

"Because of the Grand Accord, we were never allowed to draw our swords. We had to fight with our fists while you crushed us beneath your boots. We were forced to suffer under an Empire that saw us as lesser beings. Tell me, noble lords—do you even know what it’s like to be beaten within an inch of your life and not be allowed to fight back?"

Blood still poured from his wound, but the chief barely seemed to notice.

His one remaining hand dug into his own flesh, as if trying to silence the pain through sheer willpower.

"Because we were a vassal state, everything about Krefeld was seen as lesser—our goods, our people, even our nobility. A mere baron from the Empire could sneer at one of our dukes, and no one would question it."

Krefeld had no natural defenses—its land was open, its climate temperate. There had never been a way for them to resist Imperial control.

And because they had upheld the Grand Accord, their options had been limited.

If they fought honorably, they would be crushed.

If they fought dishonorably, the Empire would burn them to the ground.

"For years, we have endured," the chief continued, his voice rising. "We have sharpened our daggers in silence, waiting for the day we could use them. And now, that day has come."

His wild, feverish eyes locked onto the First Prince.

A wave of killing intent radiated from him, raw and unfiltered.

The First Prince, for all his confidence, instinctively stepped back.

"A single victory is all we need."

His voice rang through the night.

"All we must prove is that the Empire is no longer invincible. Your sins have accumulated, your enemies are many. They have only been waiting for proof."

Jurgen’s face darkened.

"So you shattered the Grand Accord for this? You would burn your own homeland just to win one battle?"

The chief gave a hollow smile.

"Who’s to say you’ll even have the strength to burn us down when this war is over?"

His hand moved—

A dagger slipped from his sleeve.

And in one swift motion, he lunged.

Raymond moved swiftly, stepping in front of William to shield him.

But the dagger was not aimed at William.

Instead, the village chief turned the blade on himself.

"Do your best. Your real hell begins now."

Slash.

A deep, clean cut.

Blood gushed from his throat, spilling onto the dirt.

His lifeless body collapsed into the pool of his own making, a twisted smile still on his lips.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Even though the immediate threat had passed, an unseen weight pressed down upon them all.

Everyone there understood what had just happened.

A boundary that had stood for centuries had crumbled into dust.

It was William who finally broke the suffocating silence.

"First, we need to check the water supply."

Bernhardt nodded grimly.

No one dared scoff at William’s concerns anymore.

The coalition’s medics were called in at once to inspect the village wells.

At a glance, the water seemed clean.

But they could not afford to take any chances.

Their caution proved justified when, not long after, a medic entered the command tent with a hardened expression.

"The water is poisoned."

His words sent a ripple of unease through the assembled nobles.

"It’s not an instantly lethal toxin, but if consumed, it will cause severe abdominal pain and vomiting within two to three days."

Jurgen frowned. "So it’s not fatal?"

"Not immediately, no. However, it induces extreme dehydration that lasts for nearly two weeks. Without treatment, prolonged exposure could still be fatal."

A cold realization settled over the group.

But the medic wasn’t finished.

His hesitation did not go unnoticed.

The First Prince’s patience snapped.

"Speak! If it isn’t deadly, what’s the problem?!"

The medic flinched before reluctantly answering.

"This type of poison… it’s not used to kill. It’s used to incapacitate."

A heavy silence followed.

Every noble in the tent recalled the chilling words of the so-called village chief.

The sheer hatred in his voice.

The depth of his resentment.

What would have happened if the coalition had fallen into their hands, sick and helpless?

None of them dared imagine it.

"Is there an antidote?" the First Prince demanded.

"There is… but it requires specific herbs."

"Meaning?"

The medic bowed his head.

"Meaning that under war conditions, treatment will be difficult."

The First Prince clenched his fists, his complexion growing pale.

For the first time, true fear flickered in his eyes.

He turned to the gathered lords.

"What… what do we do now?"

None of them answered.

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Because none of them knew.

Their entire strategy had been built on a single assumption—that Krefeld would abide by the Grand Accord.

Now, that assumption had shattered.

For the first time in centuries, war had lost its restraints.

"If the enemy does not follow the Accord, their options multiply," one noble murmured.

"And yet we are completely unprepared," another added.

"If William was right about the water supply, what else might he be right about?"

"Even if we solve this, what new horrors will they unleash upon us next?"

Each whispered conversation carried the same grim realization.

They were not ready for this war.

The First Prince, desperate for reassurance, turned to Bernhardt.

His voice was edged with the last remnants of hope.

"Marquis, surely you have a plan? When you proposed this strategy, you must have considered the risks."

Bernhardt hesitated his eyes darted away.

"My apologies… I did not account for this."