Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 178 - The Gates of Asagrim

178 The Gates of Asagrim

"Yes, my lord?"

"Just to confirm—was this architectural style common in ancient times? Did they frequently build walls like the White Walls?"

"I don’t believe so," Raymond said, shaking his head. "If that were the case, there would be other ruins with similar structures scattered across the continent."

But there weren’t.

The only two fortresses constructed in this style were Tibron and Asagrim.

Which meant that building such a structure had never been a simple task.

That left only one logical conclusion.

One of these walls had been built first.

And the other was a copy.

"When was Tibron’s wall constructed?" William asked.

"Right after the Unification of the continent," Raymond replied.

"And Asagrim?"

"It would have been built after the founding of the Northern Kingdom, so if we compare the dates—"

"Ahem! KHHHM!"

Glenn let out an exaggerated, throat-ripping cough, cutting Raymond off.

It was obvious he was trying to steer the conversation away.

But at this point, there wasn’t a single person who hadn’t already reached the conclusion in their minds.

So the White Walls were originally built by Grimaldi. The Imperial walls were nothing more than an imitation of the North.

"Well then, let’s get moving!" Glenn suddenly shouted, his voice unusually loud and enthusiastic.

"After such a long journey, we’ve finally arrived at our destination!"

His attempt to drown out any further thoughts with sheer volume was painfully obvious.

But the others simply exchanged knowing glances before following his lead.

They had nearly reached the gates of Asagrim when a commotion caught their attention.

"What is the meaning of this!? The sun is still high in the sky, and you refuse to let in any more pilgrims!?"

"This is absurd! Only ten people were allowed in before us! This is tyranny!"

A large crowd of Northerners had gathered in front of the gates, their voices rising in anger.

Their protests grew louder and louder, a wave of frustration and outrage that filled the air.

And then—

"Silence!"

A thunderous roar exploded from within the walls.

The voice carried an unnatural force, as if it had weight of its own.

William and his companions watched as ordinary people—those without any magical reinforcement—staggered under the pressure of the voice alone. Some even fell to their knees.

Only those trained in combat breathing or physical reinforcement managed to endure the impact.

Eyes widening in intrigue, William turned to his group.

"Can any of you do that?"

"I can’t," Raymond admitted. "It’s not just a matter of strengthening their vocal cords. They projected their voice outward in waves. That’s not something you can learn in a year or two."

"They must have practiced that technique relentlessly to use it so naturally," another agreed.

"I might be able to do something similar," Felicia mused.

She took a deep breath, then let out a soft whistle.

The sound carried an almost ethereal resonance, sending ripples through the air.

Though she had kept it subtle, it was clear that if she had chosen to shout instead, the effect would have been eerily similar to the one they had just witnessed.

"You copied it just from watching?" Raymond asked in disbelief.

Felicia shrugged.

"My father taught me a similar technique. Not with my voice, but with a sword—dragging the blade along the ground to create a disruptive resonance. The core principle isn’t too different."

"A blade and a voice are nothing alike!"

"This is why geniuses are—!"

As the group bickered, Glenn remained silent, staring at Felicia with an unreadable expression.

He had known she was talented. She was the adopted daughter and disciple of a Sword Saint, after all.

But even he hadn’t expected her to mimic a technique so effortlessly—one that only a handful of knights in the Whispering Hawk Order could perform.

Even if she’s older than William, she’s still just a teenager…

He had thought of her as a cub. A young predator that had yet to grow into its full potential.

But now, he realized—

She was already a hunter capable of devouring lesser beasts.

And given time, she would become a monster that even the strongest warriors would fear.

As Glenn shuddered at the thought, another roar erupted from inside the gates.

"Leave at once! Anyone who continues to protest will be considered traitors against His Majesty and executed for treason!"

This time, there was no magic in the voice.

But the previous outburst had left such a deep impression that the crowd instinctively recoiled.

The knight standing atop the wall scanned the gathered Northerners, his gaze cold and unyielding.

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Then, with a sharp turn, he began to step away—

"I won’t accept this!"

A voice rang out.

A young man pushed through the crowd, rising to his feet.

His clothes were worn and tattered, but the way he moved—sharp, controlled—marked him as a trained swordsman.

The knight atop the wall sneered.

"So you openly declare yourself a traitor?"

"Treason? Don’t be ridiculous!" the young man spat. "I’ve never set foot in the Imperial Palace. I’ve never once raised a sword against His Majesty. I’ve never even entered Tibron! How the hell can I be a traitor!?"

"Silence, fool! Do you dare speak His Majesty’s name so carelessly—"

"Asagrim is a sacred land of the North!" the young man bellowed. "We don’t need permission to walk upon our own soil! Or am I wrong!?"

He turned to the crowd, seeking their support.

The previously subdued Northerners exchanged hesitant glances—

And then, one by one, they began to rise.

"He’s right! Asagrim is our land!"

"We have every right to be here!"

"I’m sick of being called a traitor every time I so much as breathe!"

The tension that had briefly settled erupted once more, the anger surging even higher than before.

William and Glenn exchanged wary glances.

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Things were escalating too quickly.

The knight atop the wall narrowed his eyes.

"Archers, prepare to fire!"

The sound of bowstrings being drawn tight filled the air.

The crowd went silent.

And then—

—Creak.

William’s fingers twitched toward his sword.

This was about to turn very ugly.

A suffocating silence fell over the gathered pilgrims as the archers atop the walls took aim.

The tension was palpable.

The soldiers’ eyes gleamed with killing intent, their fingers steady on the bowstrings, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.