155 The Spark of Rebellion
Despite having consumed an entire bottle of mead in one go, his gaze was not clouded.
No, if anything, his eyes had never been clearer.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was thick with raw intensity.
"If you truly intend to restore the Northern Kingdom…"
Harald exhaled deeply, then straightened his back.
"…then this old warrior shall be the first to raise his banner and march behind his Majesty."
Good.
William suppressed the smirk threatening to curl his lips.
Of course, he had no intention of abandoning Hern to settle in the North permanently. But that was only relevant if he was forced to choose between the two.
If he could claim both? He most certainly would.
The Emperor would never allow it, though. If William took control of Hern while also aiming for the Northern throne, the Emperor would turn against him in an instant.
The man’s fondness for William only extended as far as his role as a loyal subject. The moment he grew into a power capable of threatening the throne, he would no longer be a promising young noble—he would become a potential traitor.
For now, planting the seeds was enough.
A foundation must be laid so that when the age of turmoil arrives, I can claim what is rightfully mine. My people must be in place, ready to rally to my banner when the time comes.
Having settled his thoughts, William waved a hand with a lighthearted smile.
"You’re being far too serious, Viscount. I was only speaking in jest. How could I possibly betray the Empire when I am a man who owes everything to His Majesty’s grace?"
Even as William dodged the question, Harald’s sharp gaze remained fixed on him.
There was a weight behind his stare—a demand for an answer.
William merely shrugged at his persistence.
"Well, that said… no one can predict the future." He leaned back, speaking as if he were discussing a trivial matter. "As you mentioned, the Empire is faltering. Not long ago, they marched to suppress the Krefeld Rebellion, only to return in disgrace, having gained nothing for their troubles."
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"His Majesty has been holding everything together through sheer force of will, but how long can that last? When a beast shows weakness, the scavengers begin to gather. The challenges will only grow greater from here."
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"…Hmm."
Harald lowered his gaze, his expression noticeably paler.
As expected, the North’s isolation and the Imperial Court’s secrecy had kept them in the dark about the full extent of the Empire’s troubles.
William, as if casually chatting, continued laying out the reality before Harald.
"When ambitious lords run unchecked, and the Imperial Court loses its grip on order… well, that would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it? If such a thing were to happen, the North would have to find a way to secure its own survival. Perhaps… by rallying around the old royal bloodline and rising anew."
"…!"
"Of course, this is all speculation. I can offer no guarantees, nor can I promise when such a moment might come. It’s no more than a dream—one that may never come to pass. But tell me, Viscount… could you endure the wait, knowing that someday, it might happen?"
Waiting is a cruel thing.
Even if one makes a grand decision, time has a way of eroding conviction.
If too much time passes without change, even the fiercest of flames will wane.
William’s words were a challenge: Do you have the patience to endure that uncertainty?
Harald, however, simply laughed.
"I’ve long grown accustomed to fruitless waiting. My time is already running short… so I may as well wait until my last breath."
His meaning was clear—so long as he lived, he would not betray William.
It was exactly the answer William had wanted. His expression grew more solemn.
"What of your successor? I see none of your other children here, aside from that traitor."
"I sent my second son to a trusted friend," Harald replied. "His knighthood ceremony was recently held, but he has yet to swear fealty. I suppose I’ll have to bring him back."
"Will he follow me?"
"He takes after me… but he has quite the rebellious streak." Harald chuckled, shaking his head. "Always going on about the ’Great North’ and the old kingdom. Complains often about the Empire’s meddling, too."
"…Interesting. Our outlooks may differ, but perhaps we share a few common thoughts."
And just like that, William understood why this second son was not present.
If he openly voiced such sentiments, it would be all too easy for the Empire to brand him a traitor.
Sending him away had likely been a preemptive move—keeping him out of reach before someone like Toric or another opportunist could use him as leverage.
"I had the same thought," Harald admitted. "But, as I said… nothing in life is certain. Maybe you’ll get along well, or maybe you won’t."
The implication was clear: Begin your work while I still live.
If William set his plans in motion, then personal differences would no longer matter—Harald’s son would follow regardless.
Even as he maintained his usual bold demeanor, there was an unmistakable hint of regret in Harald’s voice.
William chuckled.
"That’s quite the ominous request. It seems I should be praying for your long and healthy life, Viscount."
"Or you could simply move faster."
"Well, either way, maintaining your health will only be a benefit."
William reached into his coat and placed a small vial onto the table.
A faint, bluish glow radiated from within.
Harald blinked. "What’s this?"
"A tonic for the body. Go ahead, drink it."
Harald frowned, but he picked up the vial.
It was an unexpected gift, but there was no reason to refuse. Even if it was a bribe of some sort, it was still a goodwill gesture.
With a shrug, he uncorked the bottle and downed it in one gulp.
The liquid slid down his throat easily, without any particularly strong taste or burn.
He set the empty vial down and turned to William.
"Well, I appreciate it, but—"
Fwoosh.