Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke-Chapter 63 - Echoes of the Mage Rebellion

The first man sighed. "We can’t save everyone. Our best bet is to salvage what we can."

A heavy silence followed.

Not long ago, everything had been going according to plan.

Now, their situation had flipped on its head.

"…What about the mages we hired?" the second man asked. "If we recall our people too suddenly, the installations will be delayed."

"They claim it depends on how many points have already been set up," the first man replied. "But I suspect that’s just an excuse. If things go south, they’ll find a way to blame it on us."

"Hmph. Black sorcerers."

The second man’s face twisted in disgust.

He spat onto the ground. "I told you to stop using that word."

The first man blinked. "What?"

"I mean it," he hissed. "Even if no one’s around to hear, do you want to invite trouble? If word leaks—even within our own ranks—it’ll be a disaster."

The first man waved him off. "What does it matter? The moment our safehouses were exposed, we were dead men anyway."

"It’s not just about the enemy. You forget that even our allies despise the term. Do you really want to anger the mages who are working with us?"

’Black sorcerers’—it was a label given to those who delved into magic that involved human lives, blood rituals, or the manipulation of souls.

In the Empire, the practice had been outlawed for centuries.

Merely researching such arts was not a crime.

But magic required practical application.

And the moment a single human sacrifice was made in the name of progress, it was over.

Such acts had condemned an entire school of mages, branding them as criminals regardless of their individual practices.

The result?

Even legitimate magic practitioners took offense to the title. To call a mage a ’black sorcerer’ was no different than spitting in their face.

"These people have already been falsely labeled by the Empire," the second man continued. "If one of them overhears you tossing around insults—"

"They’ll do nothing," the first man scoffed. "They should be grateful we’re giving them a place to use their talents."

The second man sighed inwardly.

He knew why his comrade hated magic.

The Mage Rebellion had not been a revolt against the Empire itself.

It had been a war against the nobility.

The mages had fought to strip the aristocracy of its influence, seeking to claim power for themselves.

To someone like his comrade—a man raised to believe in noble supremacy—such an act was unforgivable.

’But this isn’t the time for his arrogance.’

They needed the mages.

If the sorcerers turned on them, the consequences would be catastrophic.

He exhaled slowly. "For now, don’t provoke them. We need them to finish their work."

His companion frowned, but after a moment, he nodded. "Fine. I’ll hold my tongue."

It wasn’t much, but it was the best compromise he could hope for.

With their immediate plans settled, the two men parted ways, both keenly aware of how quickly their situation was spiraling out of control.

William had assigned mercenaries to their designated locations, lying in wait for any stray members of the Imperial Liberation Front to fall into the trap.

If even one rebel was caught, he would personally step in—before Tristan could intervene.

At the same time, he had subtly checked in on the prisoners they had already captured.

Six men. A significant number.

Even if they tried to hide the presence of a mage, there had to be some information worth extracting.

But Tristan’s report was disappointing.

"They haven’t spoken a single word since their capture," the First Prince admitted. "No matter what methods we use, they refuse to break."

William’s eyes narrowed. "Surely you didn’t rely on words alone."

"Of course not," Tristan replied. "We tortured them. But they’re either completely numb to pain or highly trained to resist it. They show no reaction."

William let out a quiet breath. "I see."

There were drugs that could suppress pain entirely.

They worked by deadening the nerves, rendering a person incapable of feeling even the most brutal of wounds.

The downside?

They also dulled other senses—taste, smell, even touch.

It was said that once the drug was taken, there was no way to reverse its effects.

Only the most extreme fanatics or professional assassins would willingly use such a thing.

’And yet, all six of them took it?’

That meant physical torture was useless.

The only option left was psychological warfare—shaking them mentally until they cracked.

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William’s mind was already moving to formulate a strategy when he asked, "Would you permit me to interrogate them?"

Tristan’s expression hardened. "No."

William had expected resistance, but Tristan’s response was immediate.

He opened his mouth to argue, but Tristan cut him off.

"I know what you’re thinking. You’re weighing the pros and cons of informing the Imperial Court. And as long as that possibility exists, I won’t let you near them. I’d rather keep you in the dark than risk you making a decision that tips the scales."

"This could turn into a massacre," William warned.

Tristan’s tone remained firm. "You’re overreacting."

He shook his head. "If a mage is involved, they’re nothing more than a disgraced remnant of the old expelled orders. A band of outcasts, hunted for three centuries. Do you truly think they have the power to threaten us?"

William hesitated.

The logic was sound.

For over three hundred years, the Empire had waged relentless war against rogue mages.

Most of the outlawed schools had been wiped out.

Those that remained were forced into hiding, struggling to find students to continue their lineages.

The majority of them weren’t powerful spellcasters.

They were survivors.

Desperate individuals barely scraping by.

Tristan knew this.

That was why he didn’t take William’s concerns seriously.

"Stop worrying about nonsense and return to your duties," Tristan said. "I’ll handle the interrogations. If I find anything worth sharing, I’ll send word."

With that, he turned and walked away.

William remained still, watching his brother’s retreating figure.

His lips curled into a dry, humorless smile.

’He’s not entirely wrong.’

Most rogue mages were pathetic remnants of the past.