Reincarnated as the third son of the Duke

207 A Mage's Oath

"In any case," William continued, "I expect you to bring in other mages from your order. If they're competent, I'll find a place for them. If they're useless, I'll toss them out."

Colin let out a strangled laugh.

Or rather, his mouth curved into a grin—but tears streamed down his face.

It was finally sinking in.

Everything he had suffered for, everything he had endured for centuries—

It had ended, just like that.

"So… that's it?" Colin murmured, his voice trembling. "Three hundred years of suffering, erased overnight? Just like that?"

He clenched his fists, his whole body shaking.

"Masters above… is this real?"

William said nothing.

He simply watched.

He couldn't truly understand what Colin was feeling, but he knew what it meant to escape the shadow of constant death.

And this wasn't just about Colin—it was about all of them.

Every mage who had spent their lives hiding, every scholar who had feared execution for the knowledge they held.

They were free now.

After a long while, Colin wiped his swollen eyes and let out a deep breath.

"…I haven't spoken to the masters in thirty years," he muttered. "I never thought I'd say their names again."

William leaned back in his chair.

"I hate to ruin the moment," he said, "but don't think this is a happily-ever-after for your kind. Just because I lifted your sentence doesn't mean I did it out of kindness. I expect results."

"I know."

"And if you don't deliver, I'll throw you out again. I didn't pardon mages because I pitied you—I did it because you're useful. Keep that in mind."

Despite William's cold words, Colin's smile only deepened.

"My mentor once told me," Colin said, "that mages were meant to stand beside their lords, offering counsel and power. Back then, the rank of a mage's liege depended entirely on the mage's ability."

William raised an eyebrow. "Your mentor wasn't alive to see that era, was he?"

"Of course not. That was over three hundred years ago," Colin admitted. "But that's how it was. Even in our golden age, there was hierarchy. There was competition. And there was punishment."

The weak were discarded.

The incompetent were overlooked.

Simply being a mage did not entitle one to respect.

William had already done more for them than anyone else had in centuries—he owed them nothing more.

"Use whoever you want," Colin said, his voice steady. "If they're incompetent, discard them. If they resist, execute them. That's how things worked before."

William tilted his head. "Even if they're your people? Even if you finally got to live in the same world as them?"

Colin didn't hesitate.

"If they can't even accept that, then they were never worth saving in the first place," he said.

"And if any of them are foolish enough to turn against you, I'll burn them to ash myself."

In other words, Colin had no sense of kinship with his fellow mages.

He was telling William to use them however he pleased—as tools to be discarded if necessary.

It was a ruthless stance. But in a way, it was also the smartest one he could take.

Right now, mages had barely regained a foothold in the world.

If they started protecting incompetents under the banner of camaraderie, their group would soon swell into a power bloc.

And history would repeat itself.

'It would lead to another rebellion, just like the one three hundred years ago.'

These were people who had suffered persecution despite wielding the power to work miracles.

Even the weakest of them—the least skilled—were bound to carry resentment.

It wouldn't be strange for them to rally around Colin, the first mage to be officially recognized, and start making demands.

But Colin had cut that problem off before it could begin.

'Good.'

Whether his words were carefully chosen or spoken with sincerity, William didn't care.

Either way, it worked in his favor.

Colin wasn't pledging allegiance to mages as a whole—he was pledging it to William, personally.

Even if another mage tried to stir trouble, Colin would see to it himself.

William smiled.

"Your title will be Chief Mage."

Colin froze.

"…!"

"You know what that means, don't you? Or do I need to explain?"

"N-No! I understand!"

Colin answered so quickly that he bit his tongue, groaning in pain.

But even as tears welled up in his eyes, his mind buzzed with disbelief.

Chief Mage.

A title once found only in the grandest noble houses—those of marquises and dukes.

It was the highest rank a mage could hold within a household, overseeing all others in service to their lord.

Even the royal family had abolished the position long ago.

And yet…

'Is this really okay? If I take the title just because I was first, won't the others resent me for it?'

Colin hesitated before voicing his concern.

"Y-Your Highness, forgive me, but isn't the Chief Mage position normally earned through skill and competition—"

"Are you saying you aren't skilled enough?" William asked.

"Of course not! I am a Magister, after all!"

"A Magister?"

"It's the ranking system for mages," Colin explained. "We begin as apprentices, then advance through three stages: Mage, Magister, and finally Magus."

William raised an eyebrow.

That was new information.

But it made sense—if knights and swordsmen had their own unofficial rankings, why wouldn't mages?

"What's the difference between them?"

"The details are complex, but to put it simply… Mage refers to a beginner, Magister to an expert, and Magus to a master."

William tilted his head.

"So by that logic, you're just… an expert?"

Not a master?

Yet Colin had confidently declared himself qualified for the role of Chief Mage.

Sensing William's skepticism, Colin let out a tired sigh.

"Your Highness, magic has been hunted for three hundred years. Most orders have lost even the basic knowledge required to properly train a mage."

"…Ah."

William understood immediately.

In a world where sword techniques had nearly vanished, even a swordsman who mastered a second-rate style would be considered a Sword Saint.

Colin, as a Magister, was probably one of the strongest mages left.

The real miracle was that his order had managed to preserve so much knowledge despite centuries of persecution.

William smirked. "Well, if you're confident in your skills, that's all that matters. Any objections from others, you can handle with results."

"That's true, but…"

"If you're still worried, you could always drink this."

William reached into his coat and pulled out a vial, shaking it lightly in front of Colin's face.