Then, Maurice asked:"So, what about the faction the family should side with? Where should we stand in this war?"
The Werner family resided in the southwest of the kingdom, meaning they were far from the direct impact of the orc invasion.
This was also the case for most nobles belonging to the moderate faction advocating for negotiation. But...
The Viscount stared at Maurice as if testing him.
"Do you think we should side with the faction calling for negotiations?"
Maurice hesitated for a moment before answering cautiously: "Not necessarily. Negotiating with the orcs could be political suicide. If we side with the wrong faction, we might lose everything. But participating in the war could be costly as well."
The Viscount nodded, seemingly in agreement."Your perspective isn't bad, but you haven't asked something important: What is the strength and rank of the nobles who oppose the campaign versus those who support it?"
This time, Arthur spoke up: "The strength among the nobles... Isn't it obvious? The total power of the nobles from the other regions is greater... Wait, Father, are you saying that the other dukes support the campaign?"
"The news I received from a friend at the royal court suggests that the other dukes did not show opposition in the meeting, which indicates either their support or silent acceptance. This means it's likely a kind of settlement with the royal family and Duke Kriman on certain matters—perhaps even an exchange of interests.
We may be far from the front lines, but that doesn't mean we are safe from the consequences. If the orcs invade with a unified army, the kingdom will suffer great losses once again, and our family won't be exempt from paying the costs.
If the orcs win, nothing will remain to protect us. And if the kingdom launches a northern campaign and the pro-war faction triumphs, they will take the largest share of the spoils, leaving us with nothing. Worse, some old rivals—or even supposed allies within this faction—might seize the opportunity to take a piece of our family's wealth or influence."
Arthur realized that his father was considering a potential strategy to deal with the future outcomes of the campaign.
"Then, what should we do?"
The Viscount smiled again, and this time, there was a hint of cunning in his expression."We will support the war, but we will ensure that our resources are not drained. At the same time, we will keep channels open with the other faction. If the winds shift, we will be ready. Of course, to do this, some sacrifices must be made, and the family's stance must be demonstrated appropriately at the start."
Arthur and Maurice nodded, understanding that this was the only reasonable approach.
The Viscount then turned his gaze directly to Arthur, his eyes carrying an order that left no room for argument.
"Prepare to depart, Arthur."
A cold shiver ran through Arthur's body, as if he had just taken a sudden blow.
His eyebrows shot up in complete surprise at the sudden decision.
"Me?"
The Viscount nodded slowly before responding in a steady voice.
"Fighting for the kingdom is the duty of House Werner. You are the third son—you have no choice in the matter."
Arthur felt frozen, the Viscount's words ringing in his ears like a death sentence. He never expected to be thrown into war so soon.
He had barely started adjusting to this world, and now he was being sent to fight?
He sat in silence, staring at the middle-aged man before him, while the air in the grand hall grew heavy with tension.
He didn't need to look around to know that his brother was just as shocked as he was.
The proof was right in front of him—Maurice, his older brother, was staring at their father with wide eyes, struggling to process what he had just heard.
Yet, Viscount Rosson did not seem disturbed by his sons' reactions.
On the contrary, he remained perfectly calm, as if he had expected them.
Arthur felt the air grow even heavier. His body was present in the hall, but he felt as though he had been pulled away from reality.
"I arrived in this world just a few days ago… and now I'm being sent to a war I know nothing about."
In truth, from Viscount Rosson's perspective, this decision was neither a whim nor a punishment for Arthur's failed attempt to steal the Life Essence potion.
The real reason was much more pragmatic.
His eldest brother, Valerian, was the rightful heir, and the family had invested vast resources in preparing him from a young age.
Valerian had undergone rigorous training, inherited the full teachings of the Werner family's knightly traditions, studied at the kingdom's academy, and had even begun learning how to manage the territory under the supervision of their grandfather.
Meanwhile, their second brother, Morgan, had been designated as a backup—should anything happen to Valerian, or if he died before producing an heir.
But Arthur?
He was merely the third son. He had no defined place in this arrangement.
So when war broke out in the northern lands, it was clear who would be sent as the family's representative.
It wasn't a kind decision, but it was a logical one.
Wars were treacherous paths, but they were also paths for the chosen.
Even the family's founder, Carsen Werner, had once been nothing more than an obscure knight before he gathered a small army and seized the entire city of Crest from the hands of invaders.
Now, in the past decades, after a relatively peaceful period and an increase in the number of nobles and their offspring, the rules of the game had changed.
Land was no longer granted easily, fiefdoms had become rare, and even absolute loyalty was not enough to gain power.
Knights who fought for other lords might spend their entire lives in wars without ever gaining a single inch of land.
For Arthur, however, this was not a bad option.
If he wanted to achieve anything in this world, he needed power, land, and reputation. And only through war could he obtain them quickly and directly.
"I want to be my own master, not a vassal at the mercy of others."
Arthur took a deep breath, then lifted his head, staring at his father with eyes devoid of hesitation.
"I understand, Father. I will go."
A heavy silence filled the hall.
Even the servants, who were accustomed to staying in the shadows, could not hide their astonishment.
Arthur picked up his spoon and dipped it into the cold soup before him, but he did not taste it. His eyes remained fixed on his father, as if trying to pierce through his thoughts.
At that moment, suddenly, Viscount Werner spoke in a stern voice:
"Kneel, Arthur!"
Arthur's hand froze.
He set the spoon aside and then realized what was happening.
Pushing his chair back, he dropped to his knees before the long table, his heart pounding.
The duke slowly stood up, drew a sharp sword from his waist, and leaned slightly forward to place it on Arthur's shoulder.
The cold blade touched his skin, making him clench his fists and take a deep breath.
"Arthur Werner, in the name of the warrior, I grant you courage. In the name of the light, I grant you justice. And in the name of the sacred protector, I grant you the strength to defend the innocent."
Then, in an even firmer tone, he continued: "Now, swear by the seven virtues of knighthood that you will do your utmost to fight darkness and the enemies of the kingdom, to stand as a champion for the weak, a defender of the oppressed, and an enemy to all who spread corruption and treachery."
Arthur lifted his head with conviction and declared in a clear voice: "Father, I swear by the light and the seven virtues that I will be a friend to the weak, courageous against my enemies, a punisher of the corrupt, a protector of justice, loyal and truthful, and that I shall remain faithful until death."
Crack!
The viscount struck Arthur firmly on the shoulder, the sharp sound echoing through the hall.
Arthur felt a sting of pain spreading across his shoulder, but he did not flinch.
"Remember, as a knight, you will face countless hardships. I hope you remain steadfast and never forget your oath."
It was harsh, but Arthur did not object. He muttered inwardly but remained calm and replied firmly,"I will. For the light, I serve."
The viscount's brows relaxed slightly before he held out the sword horizontally in his hand and said, "Take the sword, then. I may not yet see your virtue clearly, but when it comes to your combat skills, I am certain you are worthy of this title."
This was a knight's sword—a symbolic weapon that carried the weight of responsibility more than it carried steel.
Unlike the training sword Arthur was used to wielding, this one was designed for one-handed use, perfectly balanced to be paired with a knight's shield.
Arthur extended his hand, taking the sword and its scabbard from his father, then fastened them at his waist.
He felt the weight of the weapon, but it was more than just the weight of metal—it was the weight of the responsibility now placed upon him.
Viscount Rosson stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, observing everything with a cold gaze.
Then, in an official tone, he declared,
"Arthur, tomorrow—begin choosing your men!"
Arthur's expression froze for a moment, as if the cold wind had turned him to stone.
"Choosing my men?"
He knew exactly what that meant, and it was not a good sign.
"That means I won't be given the family's soldiers, doesn't it? No trained knights, no ready forces. I have to build my strength on my own?"
A strong urge to object welled up inside him, but he quickly suppressed it. His father was not a man who made decisions without reason.
Even if it seemed like he was putting him in a difficult position, there had to be wisdom behind it.
Arthur slowly lifted his gaze toward Viscount Rosson, trying to read his composed, unreadable expression.
His father was a man who never acted on impulse—every move he made was based on careful calculations, and he only moved when the time was right.
In a calm voice, trying to mask his unease, Arthur asked, "Is there a reason for this decision, Father?"
The viscount nodded slowly, then replied in a firm tone, "It's simple, Arthur. The situation remains uncertain, and it is unwise to send the family's main force into a war with unknown consequences. The soldiers of our territory are not mere tools to be sacrificed easily; these men are the backbone of our defenses, and training them took years of effort and resources. I will not risk them on a campaign that may bring little benefit to the family."
Arthur's expression darkened slightly. He understood that every noble family guarded its regular soldiers as jealously as it did its treasures, but this decision put him in a difficult position.
At first, he had been shocked by the order to be sent to an impending war, and now even the possibility of leading the family's soldiers had been taken from him!
One crucial thing must be understood here: Arthur was not a seasoned warrior—he had been just an ordinary programmer in his previous life.
He hadn't even killed a chicken before!
So how was he expected to stay calm after learning he was going to war?
If not for the memories of this body's original owner and his realization that defying the viscount's orders might be even more dangerous than the battle itself, he would have exploded at the old man before him with a torrent of curses and insults.
After all, in the worst case, he had expected to be given command of a trained squad—battle-hardened men who had fought before.
That meant he could hide behind them throughout the campaign while the military commander assigned by the family handled the actual leadership.
This way, he had planned to survive until he returned to the castle, using the next two years to gather enough summoning cards in preparation for his coming of age—when he could finally leave this family.
But now? His father had just stripped him of his most important means of survival!