The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations

Chapter 419

The one-armed man, Tenant, spoke in a subdued voice.

“Why did you save me? No, more importantly, how did you save me? I was certain I had died...”

“There’s always a way.”

Ghislain smiled. To be honest, it was half luck.

Ghislain had slit Tenant’s throat and infused it with Dark energy.

At the time, Tenant had completely exhausted all his mana, leaving his Aura Blade dissipated. If left alone, he would have collapsed from sheer exhaustion anyway.

The Dark energy that Ghislain channeled into Tenant’s body simultaneously sealed his wounds and blocked his airway, causing Tenant to pass out.

Devoid of strength, Tenant didn’t sense anything unusual and accepted the sensation as the process of dying.

Back then, Ghislain had simply shrugged.

"If he dies, he dies."

Tenant had been so resolutely determined to die that persuasion had been impossible. Ghislain had no choice but to take this approach.

In the end, Tenant clung to life by a thread. Ghislain promptly administered a potion for emergency treatment and brought him to the estate, leaving him in Piote’s care.

With his usual smile, Ghislain asked, “How’s life in the prison? Comfortable enough?”

“...A man like me doesn’t deserve even this.”

“You’ve changed quite a bit.”

Once the epitome of arrogance as the strongest in the West, Tenant had become a hollow shell, consumed by guilt.

Defeat in battle and the death of his lord had left him crushed. A man who once radiated overconfidence now bore the weight of disgrace, as he had always been someone who prided himself on his honor.

Since being imprisoned, Tenant hadn’t caused any trouble—no escape attempts, no efforts to take his own life.

Instead, he simply spent his days in silent contemplation, his gaze filled with regret.

Ghislain’s smile faded, replaced by a somber expression.

“Tenant, let me be direct. While you’re still just at the threshold, you’ve reached the level of a Master. I need your strength.”

“...So that’s why you saved me?”

“Yes. Rifts are opening, and monsters are pouring out. Every capable fighter is needed.”

Tenant bowed his head.

“I don’t deserve that honor. Kill me instead.”

“You challenged me to a duel. The fate of the loser is decided by the winner, isn’t it? And until I say otherwise, you’re not allowed to die.”

“....”

Tenant couldn’t refute that. The loser of a duel was subject to the victor’s terms, a fundamental principle of such contests. Entire fief wars had been resolved with duels based on this rule.

With all the disgrace he carried, Tenant couldn’t bring himself to dispute the outcome of the duel.

Had Marquis Rodrick died at the hands of the Fenris army, Tenant might have had a reason to rally and keep fighting. But there was no such excuse for him to cling to.

“If I... join you, I’ll only make everyone uncomfortable.”Nôv(el)B\\jnn

“Everyone here is already uncomfortable. You’ll fit right in.”

The knights behind Ghislain nodded silently. No one in the Fenris estate had entirely “normal” circumstances.

Even Gillian and Kaor, despite working together, were awkward around each other. The same went for Claude and Alfoy, and the elves and dwarves were no exception.

Everyone lived with some level of unease, but Ghislain’s sheer power and authority held it all together, forcing them to coexist in this unconventional environment.

Adding one more former enemy to the mix didn’t make much difference.

“The Drake Mercenary Company has no more grievances with you now that Marquis Rodrick is dead. His heirs also perished in the war. There’s no lingering resentment you need to worry about.”

Tenant sighed heavily at Ghislain’s words.

“Even so, how can you use a man who personally killed his own lord and disgraced his honor?”

“Tenant, it’s time to atone.”

“Atonement...?”

“Everyone acknowledges your loyalty. But was your life truly honorable?”

“...”

“Marquis Rodrick may have been your lord and benefactor, but to his people, he was a tyrant. As his retainer, you turned a blind eye to that. Don’t you think that was wrong?”

“That’s...”

“Sure, peasants are just the property of their lord. But do you truly believe that’s how things should be? If you’re a knight who values honor, then ask yourself honestly.”

Tenant bowed his head once more, speechless. He couldn’t deny the truth of those words.

As a knight, he had failed to protect the weak or offer honest counsel.

Instead, like many others, he had ignored the suffering, hiding behind the pretense of loyalty to his lord.

Ghislain addressed him again.

“The people who suffered under Marquis Rodrick’s rule are now suffering again, this time because of the monsters from the Rifts. If you truly value honor—”

Thunk!

“Yes. Otherwise, we’ll always be at the mercy of the Count of Fenris.”

“Excellent idea. We must protect our own rights!”

The lords unanimously agreed. Individually weak northern fiefs, when united, could become a force to be reckoned with.

Thus, the Northern Alliance was hastily formed, with Count Jimbar, the bold instigator of the idea, serving as its first leader.

“That brat won’t dare act recklessly with me as Alliance Leader. After all, I’ve known the Marquis of Ferdium for years. My fief has long supported their lands.”

“Exactly. Let’s show that upstart that we’re no pushovers.”

While the rest of the kingdom burned in turmoil, the northern lords, relatively unscathed, had the luxury to scheme and plot.

“And yet, that brat summoned us here and hasn’t even bothered to show up! Who does he think he is?”

The grumbling lord barely finished his sentence when the Fenris forces appeared in the distance.

Cries rang out from the knights stationed as guards.

“The Count of Fenris has arrived!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Leading the procession was Ghislain astride the Black King, flanked by his close retainers and approximately 2,000 cavalrymen.

The advancing Fenris forces exuded such overwhelming presence that even the seasoned soldiers of the other fiefs couldn’t help but tense.

The gathered lords on the platform gulped nervously.

“Was... was that brat always like this?”

“Something about him seems... different.”

“Why does he look so imposing?”

As Ghislain approached, the lords’ unease only grew. Though they had formed the Northern Alliance, facing Ghislain in person stirred doubts. His reputation for being unyielding wasn’t comforting.

From atop his horse, Ghislain scanned the gathered lords.

“It’s been a while since we’ve all met.”

Some faces were familiar. Among them were lords who had once aligned with the Ducal faction, only to withdraw. Others had been dragged into the conflict unwittingly by their vassals.

But for now, none of that mattered. Anyone reestablishing ties with the Ducal faction would become Ghislain’s first target.

‘Amelia isn’t here.’

Of course, Ghislain hadn’t expected her to be. That cunning woman had already secured a deal with the Royalist faction, moving independently before Ghislain could invoke his authority as Northern Army Commander.

‘Well, no matter.’

Amelia likely had her hands full revising her plans due to the cult’s meddling. For now, their paths wouldn’t cross in conflict.

Ghislain dismounted and took his seat, speaking without preamble.

“You all know why I summoned you here as Northern Army Commander.”

The first to respond was Count Jimbar, the newly appointed leader of the Northern Alliance.

“Ahem. I suppose you’re here to use your authority to demand we participate in the war.”

“That’s correct. The civil war is one thing, but we also need to stop the expansion of these Rifts. The North hasn’t been affected, so you should have no trouble mustering your forces.”

“Ahem, well, the kingdom is in peril, and we can’t stand idly by. That’s why we’ve already discussed our contributions amongst ourselves.”

“Contributions? This isn’t a matter of voluntary support; it’s conscription under kingdom law.”

“Ahem, well, it’s all the same, isn’t it? In any case, we’re ready to do our part.”

Ghislain nodded slightly.

“Is that so? Good. Then I take it you’ve reached a decision?”

“Yes, we’ve agreed to contribute one-third of our forces and resources. Surely, that will suffice.”

One-third was a significant portion—enough to form a substantial army and incur considerable costs. The lords felt they were being more than generous.

But Ghislain’s expression darkened.

“Are you joking? The kingdom is on the brink of collapse, and you expect to buy safety with ‘just’ that?”

“Now, hold on! How can you say that’s ‘just’?! We’ve done everything we can! Were you really expecting to take half our forces?!”

“Yes. I’ll be taking everything.”

“What?! That’s only allowed in the most extreme cases, like a full-scale invasion! This isn’t—”

Ghislain cut Count Jimbar off mid-sentence.

“Half? Who said anything about half?”

“What do you mean? By law, the maximum conscription is half a lord’s forces—surely that’s what you’re referring to?”

Ghislain leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“It seems there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding...?”

“Bring everything. Every soldier you can spare, except for the bare minimum needed to maintain security. Understood?”

The lords were stunned into silence, their minds reeling from the demand.