Caleb slowly raised his head. His face was contorted with pain, and blood trickled down his cheek from the cut left by Reinhard's sword. He took a deep breath as if preparing to accept the inevitable, then clenched his teeth and dropped to one knee before the heir of House Deira.
— I have lost... — his voice was hoarse but filled with dignity. — If that is the case, then take my life. I would rather die by your sword than be executed for insulting the heir.
A dead silence hung over the training hall. The knights who had witnessed the duel stood frozen, awaiting the verdict. They knew that Reinhard had every right to kill Caleb. Moreover, since Caleb had insulted Reinhard and was then defeated in a fair fight, there was no reason to spare him.
But Reinhard only smirked.
— Ha-ha, what would be the point? I have no intention of taking your life.
Caleb lifted his gaze, stunned.
— However… you will owe me.
His words were almost casual, yet they carried a cold certainty. Caleb clenched his fists but said nothing. He understood that his fate was now tied to this young mage.
Reinhard turned and walked toward the exit. There was no sign of exhaustion or weakness in his posture, as if he hadn't just fought a battle to the death. At the threshold, he glanced back over his shoulder and said:
— That was fun.
Then he left, leaving behind a shaken Caleb and knights who now looked at the heir of Deira in a completely different way.
In his room, Reinhard sat in a chair, leaning back in a relaxed manner. The maid—a woman in her fifties—carefully treated his wounds. Her movements were steady and practiced, yet each touch carried a sense of care.
— Why would young master do something so reckless… — she murmured as she wrapped a bandage around the deep cut on his side.
Reinhard remained silent.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
In my past life, I did everything alone. No one could be trusted, no one could be a reliable ally. But now…
If he wanted to conquer this world, he would need allies.
Although… Allies? No.
I don't need allies. I need tools that will do exactly what I require.
Yes… Tools.
That's what he needed.
Tools that he could use to achieve his goals.
The maid finished bandaging him and set the remaining supplies aside.
— Be careful, young master.
Reinhard silently rose and headed for the door.
The corridors of the main estate were spacious and majestic. High ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, massive black marble columns, and red carpets stretching like rivers of blood across the floor all emphasized the power and wealth of House Deira.
But what drew his attention the most were the portraits on the walls.
Each one depicted former heads of the family. Their cold, proud gazes stared directly at him, as if evaluating whether he was truly worthy of bearing the Deira name.
Reinhard paused briefly in front of the portrait of his great-grandfather.
He had been a mage too.
But unlike Reinhard, he had failed to strengthen his family's power. He had been too soft.
Reinhard smirked.
— I won't repeat your mistakes.
He turned and continued on his way.
Before long, he reached a set of massive dark oak doors. They looked heavy and imposing, fitting for a place like this.
Reinhard slowly pushed them open, and with a deep, resounding sound, the great doors swung wide.
The hall beyond was filled with people.
All turned to face him, and at the center of the table sat his father—Duke Damian Deira.
Reinhard stepped inside calmly, surveying those present before speaking with a faint smirk:
— Well, well… "Family."