Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

185 Whispers of Rebellion

William's eyes narrowed.

"Is that so?"

"Yes! This was never about scheming—it was about trust!"

Torkel's voice rose in urgency.

"The fate of the North rests in your hands, Your Highness! How could I not wish to see your strength for myself?"

William's expression remained unreadable.

"Congratulations, then. You've confirmed my strength," he said coldly. "And in doing so, you've lost my trust. I have no use for you. Leave."

Torkel clenched his fists.

"…Then use me."

William blinked.

"…What?"

"If you won't keep me at your side," Torkel said, his voice steady, "then at least use me as a disposable pawn."

William stared at him in stunned silence.

He had seen desperate knights before.

Men who had been rejected from knighthood, begging for a second chance. Those who knelt in the snow for days, waiting for acceptance. Those who threw themselves into battle, hoping to prove their worth. Those who left with the promise of returning when they had grown stronger.

But this…

This was the first time someone had willingly offered themselves up as a sacrificial piece.

Torkel met his gaze head-on, his expression unwavering.

"Your Highness gave me an answer I never expected," he said. "And in that moment, I knew."

His voice was resolute.

"You are the ruler I have been searching for. The one who will reclaim the North's lost glory."

Bloodline, ability, timing—he lacked nothing.

If this man was not fit to be king, then who in the world could be?

"I have no interest in personal glory. I don't care about making a name for myself in history, nor do I care about restoring my family's prestige. The only thing I desire is for the North to reclaim its former glory."

Even if William never placed him in a position of power, it didn't matter.

What mattered was how useful he could be to William's grand ambition.

And if he was to be discarded eventually, then he would ensure that he was wrung dry first—his every resource, every skill, every last drop of his value extracted before he was cast aside.

"So please, use me and throw me away. Squeeze me for every drop of usefulness I have, and when I am no longer of value, if you so wish it, you may take my head as well."

William said nothing.

Instead, he studied Torkel's face.

His eyes burned with desperation.

William had seen those eyes before.

The eyes of men who had entrusted their dreams to another.

Men who had aspirations of their own—yet despaired because they knew they could never achieve them alone.

So they wandered the world, searching for someone who could.

A savior to fulfill their impossible dreams in their stead.

Most of them ended in tragedy.

A dream that required another's strength to come true was rarely realized.

It didn't matter how much support they provided—reality was never so accommodating.

More often than not, the lords they placed their hopes in either concealed their true nature or simply met an untimely death.

In the end, these dreamers spent their lives in devotion, only to be left with nothing but regret and despair.

But they all had one thing in common.

Not one of them ever betrayed their chosen master. Stay updated with My Virtual Library Empire

William had never quite understood why.

Perhaps they simply refused to acknowledge that they had made the wrong choice.

Or perhaps the thought of switching allegiance—of replacing their chosen sovereign—was something they found unbearably disgraceful.

Even when given the chance, they never defected. They clung to their misguided faith until the bitter end.

And now, Torkel was looking at William with those same, unwavering eyes.

William exhaled, rubbing his chin in thought.

"True… It would be wasteful to dispose of someone before wringing out every last drop of usefulness."

Torkel's face lit up with hope.

"But," William continued, waving a hand dismissively, "if all I get for my efforts is nothing but filth-stained water, then I'll be very disappointed. Why should I waste my time?"

Torkel didn't hesitate.

"I have friends—many of them—among the younger sons of the noble families allied with Count Calix," he said. "And I know for a fact that many of them are unhappy with their lords' decision to side with him."

William's eyes narrowed slightly.

If that was true…

Then there was no need for a full-scale war against Count Calix and his allies.

If internal dissent was already brewing within those factions, all he needed was a well-placed push.

Torkel, sensing his skepticism, pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from his coat and held it out.

"I ask for nothing in return. Just use this information however you see fit."

The list contained the names of Torkel's so-called friends.

Alongside each name was the noble house they belonged to, their grievances against their own families, and even notes on their personal ideologies.

If the contents were true, this was an incredibly valuable resource.

If they were true.

William tapped the page with a finger.

"All of this means nothing unless it's reliable."

"I will stake my life on its accuracy."

"Your life means nothing to the success of this plan."

Torkel's jaw tightened.

"Then… what would it take for you to believe me?"

William glanced down at the list and idly flipped the page.

"Is there anyone among these names who could successfully lead a rebellion right now—without any help from me?"

Torkel fell silent.

A rebellion, no matter how small, was an act of war.

Even with a high chance of success, it wasn't something one could casually suggest.

"…There is one," he admitted at last. "A friend who has been preparing for some time now. Even so, his odds of success are only around fifty percent."

"Which house?"

"The third son of Viscount Beor."

William smirked.

A lesser house, but still a key ally to Count Calix.

And among the northern lords, the Beor family still held some degree of influence.

If their head was replaced with someone more favorable…

"Well then." William's tone was casual. "I'll be hosting a banquet soon. Invitations will be sent to the northern lords. It would be very convenient if, by the time of the banquet, Beor's new head was someone… more cooperative."

The implication was clear.

He was telling Torkel to make the rebellion happen.

Torkel's face was grim, but he nodded.

"…Understood. I'll see you at the banquet, then," he said. "And I'll make sure to bring my friend with me."

With those final words, he turned and walked away.