The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations

Chapter 421

The sheer presence of the 80,000-strong Northern Army was awe-inspiring.

Even without Fenris’s fearsome reputation, the sheer size of the force was enough to make even the most powerful lords feel a weight on their shoulders.

And at its helm stood Count Ghislain, renowned as the strongest figure in the North.

Even though the army was marching to confront the Rift, the lords along its path couldn’t help but tremble at the thought of that blade possibly turning on them.

The soldiers of the Northern Army could feel the heavy atmosphere themselves. Even those who had come from other territories carried themselves with pride, shoulders squared with newfound confidence.

“See? Wasn’t it a good call to switch sides?”

A middle-aged man stroked his well-groomed beard with a smirk. He was a former spy from Desmond, now leading one of Fenris’s cavalry units as a commander.

“Absolutely! Timing is everything in life.”

“We were shaking in our boots back when we defected, especially during the fight with Rodrick. I almost flipped sides again back then.”

The man’s two subordinates, also former spies, chuckled nervously. At this, their commander frowned and muttered sharply:

“Shh, watch your words. Keep calling me ‘commander,’ and someone might start asking questions. And don’t ever bring up betrayal again. We’ve cleaned up our records, but if anyone finds out, we’re dead. Got it? Dead. We just made a decision that fit the times, nothing more.”

“Ah, right! Of course. Heh heh.”

The subordinates scratched their heads sheepishly, their laughter tinged with unease. Though they had once been the epitome of traitors, no one suspected them now.

They were competent and worked hard to survive, earning them high evaluations within Fenris.

But there was one thing that bothered them.

“Hey, why does the intelligence officer smirk at us every time we pass? He knows something, doesn’t he?”

“Nah, can’t be. If he knew, we’d have been executed by now, right?”

“Yeah, probably just our imagination.”

Still, every time they passed Ghislain, Claud, or the intelligence officer, they couldn’t shake the feeling that those smirks meant something.

Ever since Desmond fell, it had been like this.

Surely, they don’t know about us. We burned all the records at the intelligence academy in Desmond when it was taken. It’s just a coincidence. After all, we’ve been nothing but loyal and hardworking for Fenris.

The commander gulped nervously. It’s nothing... right? It has to be nothing.

Marching to the Rift

Leaving those doubts behind, the morale of the Northern Army was at an all-time high.

The sheer numbers bolstered their spirits, but so did the presence of Count Ghislain and his elite retinue.

Ghislain consulted his map and turned to Gillian.

“We’re almost there. The Rift must have expanded significantly by now.”

“With this many troops, the march was bound to be slow. But the locals have already evacuated the area.”

“Still, even with all the urging, it’s taking too long...”

The army’s progress was slower than Ghislain would have liked. With such a large force, primarily infantry, and the burden of supply wagons and siege weapons, delays were inevitable.

In truth, for an army of this size, their pace was impressive. Other lords would have marveled at their speed.

But Ghislain knew that if it had been just the Fenris forces, they would have arrived days ago.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Pushing the pace any further isn’t realistic.”

Even now, the rearmost troops were struggling to keep up, gasping for breath.

No matter their morale, the Northern troops simply couldn’t match the discipline and training of Fenris’s elite.

And Ghislain couldn’t afford to send the Fenris troops ahead on their own.

“How large is the Rift’s force now?”

“The last report estimated 100,000. Likely more by now.”

Even for Fenris’s elite, facing over 100,000 Rift creatures would result in catastrophic losses.

Their failure to kill Equidema in time had allowed the number of Rift creatures to swell uncontrollably.

The lords in charge of the affected areas had tried to stem the tide, but their forces had been pushed back repeatedly.

The only silver lining was that the Rift’s corruption spread slowly, giving them time to contain the creatures to a degree.

“Tell the men to hold out a little longer. We’re almost there.”

Ghislain pushed the soldiers onward, motivating them with his firm command. Understanding the gravity of the situation, they gritted their teeth and kept marching.

After several grueling days, the Northern Army finally reached their destination: a barony near the Rift.

“Yes. Immediately select knights to evacuate a nearby city. Move the residents to other towns. Fenris will cover the costs of their relocation. Use knights who can handle mana as messengers. Understood?”

“...Yes, sir!”

Knights are relatively safe from diseases; their mana acts as a natural barrier, preventing infections. Hence, they were the ideal candidates to act as messengers.

Under Ghislain’s commanding presence, Baron Spenvel bowed his head in submission.

“Understood, sir.”

“From this moment, you are the lord of this territory. If anyone objects, they can take it up with me. Consolidate your forces and wait at the nearest evacuation zone. Marquis Branford will send supplies there soon.”

“But... sir, it’s not that simple,” Spenvel stammered.

Naturally, it wasn’t. The count still had his loyal retainers and noble allies bound by blood. Even if Ghislain declared treason, the justification was tenuous at best.

And Count Heseltin still had forces of his own. If Spenvel assumed the position of lord, Heseltin wouldn’t take it lying down.

But Ghislain wasn’t someone who relied on words alone.

“Bring me the commander of the 8th Cavalry.”

The former spy from Desmond, Harrison, arrived shortly after, his expression puzzled.

“Sir! Commander of the 8th Cavalry, Harrison, reporting for duty!”

“We’ve seen each other from time to time, haven’t we?”

“Yes, sir!”

“I’ve heard you’re a rather capable man.”

“Y-Yes, sir?”

Why was Ghislain bringing this up? The ominous atmosphere made Harrison break out in a cold sweat.

Did they figure me out? Are they going to kill me here?

His two subordinates, who had accompanied him, fidgeted nervously.

Fortunately for Harrison, Ghislain’s next words weren’t a death sentence.

“Take your men and capture Count Heseltin. Tell him it’s by my command. You may even invoke Marquis Branford’s authority if needed. If he resists, kill him and everyone loyal to him. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Relieved that his true identity hadn’t been uncovered, Harrison answered with a bright, thunderous voice.

Baron Spenvel, however, stammered in disbelief at the sheer audacity of the situation.

“B-But, sir, is this really acceptable?”

This wasn’t the North—it was a region closer to the kingdom’s central territories. Even as the Commander of the Northern Army, Ghislain’s authority shouldn’t stretch this far.

The Northern Army Commander’s wartime powers were limited to the northern lords and strictly military matters. Stripping a noble of their title was a prerogative reserved solely for the crown, even in cases of treason.

Ghislain, however, had long abandoned any notion of playing by the rules.

“I’ve been granted full authority over all matters concerning the Rifts. That means you only need to listen to me. I will no longer tolerate fools whose incompetence endangers the kingdom. Consider this position your reward for risking your life to protect this territory.”

Ghislain’s piercing glare left Spenvel trembling. He had merely been following orders, fighting to the best of his ability—and now he found himself appointed as a lord.

Wait... does this mean I’m a lord now?

Rumors of Count Fenris’s generous rewards were true after all.

What initially seemed overwhelming began to feel like an incredible opportunity. With Fenris’s backing, no one would dare to challenge him. Confidence surged within Spenvel.

I’ll just have to follow his orders.

Ghislain’s personality was crystal clear: loyalty was rewarded generously, but defiance would bring swift and brutal punishment.

Understanding this, Spenvel saluted sharply and declared, “I’ll dispatch the messengers immediately and relocate my forces to the nearest city!”

“Good. See to it.”

Moving Out

With Ghislain’s decisive action, the situation was resolved swiftly. Spenvel’s forces, now officially under his command, prepared for withdrawal.

There was no longer any need for them to remain. Once Equidema was dealt with, Ghislain’s forces could station troops here for monitoring purposes.

“Let’s go,” Ghislain ordered.

The Northern Army began its march toward the heart of the Rift’s territory.

As they approached, the air grew heavy, a faint, eerie blue mist surrounding the area.

Within the Rift’s domain, a faint, guttural sound reached their ears.

―Grrrr...