The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations

Chapter 411

Ferdium had been unusually peaceful as of late.

The task of guarding the northern regions remained unchanged, but the barbarians had ceased their rampages.

Instead, the area had morphed into something resembling a trading hub between the barbarians and the kingdom.

Neigh!

Hundreds of horses arrived at the northern fortress, a tribute delivered by Woroca.

"Ahem, the Wolf of the North. It’s been a while," Woroca greeted.

"It has indeed, Woroca," Zwalter replied.

The two shook hands upon meeting.

After several exchanges of goods and necessities over time, they no longer drew weapons the moment they met.

Of course, both still harbored hidden grudges.

"I should’ve dealt with him during the last campaign."

"These bastards can’t be trusted. Who knows when they’ll stab us in the back?"

Nevertheless, they both kept smiles on their faces. For now, upholding their agreement was in their best interest.

Zwalter gestured toward the stockpiles of food prepared for Woroca.

"Here, the promised rations. This should suffice for the year, correct?"

Woroca swallowed hard as he gazed at the piles of food.

Every time he saw it, he couldn’t help but marvel. These people had so much food. It was almost baffling how they managed to procure it all.

"If only we could produce food like this ourselves..."

Then they wouldn’t have to live with this leash around their necks. They could finally establish a true Northern Kingdom.

"Can’t you share your food production methods with us?" he asked hesitantly.

In this barren northern land, Ferdium’s sudden success in mass food production was nothing short of miraculous. If they could learn how it was done, they could thrive as well.

But Zwalter shook his head.

"I don’t know."

"...What?"

"Really, I don’t. It’s something my son figured out, and no one else here knows how it’s done."

"Damn it! If you don’t want to share, just say so!"

Woroca grimaced in frustration, but Zwalter’s words were true. The magical fields had been established directly by Fenris’s core members.

Moreover, since the reclamation of the Beast Forest, Ferdium no longer relied on the magical fields for food production. The fertile lands of the reclaimed forest provided ample yields, even if the per-acre output was slightly lower than the magical fields’.

Zwalter briefly considered whether he should disclose information about the Beast Forest. But then a thought struck him, and he spoke.

"Not that it matters. You people wouldn’t farm even if you knew how."

"..."

The Beast Forest extended into the barbarians’ territory as well. But farming wasn’t something they’d ever considered.

To them, farming was the work of the weak—an act of shame. Warriors lived by hunting and plundering alone.

Even if farming were suggested, most of them wouldn’t bother.

In fact, Woroca’s original plan had been to enslave the kingdom’s citizens to produce food for them after invading.

Clearing his throat, Woroca tried again, speaking with a touch more subtlety.

"In that case, can’t you spare a little more food? Our tribes are growing, and it’s getting harder to stretch what we have."

Through his control over food supplies, Woroca had managed to unify several tribes under a forced peace.

While other tribes grumbled, none dared resist. After all, only Woroca could secure food through Ferdium.

Woroca, among the barbarians, was one of the more cunning leaders. His distrust ran deep, so he personally oversaw all food transactions rather than delegating to his subordinates.

But Zwalter shook his head firmly.

"That wasn’t part of our agreement. If you want more, bring something else to trade."

The once soft-hearted Zwalter had grown much tougher, having endured countless hardships.

"Ugh... You’re really hard-nosed about this," Woroca grumbled.

Food had been the key to his enforced unity among the tribes.

Even if they wanted to fight, the food supply was controlled by the enemy, leaving them powerless.

"If we returned to raiding, the food supply would be cut off, and the tribes would scatter..."

That was unacceptable. He wanted to maintain his grip on power and keep the tribes unified under him.

"I need another source of power..."

Woroca had already suffered a major defeat at the hands of Ghislain. He had no confidence he could win in a direct fight.

But he was slowly realizing something: at this rate, he would never surpass Ferdium.

To a man with ambitions as grand as Woroca’s, that was a fate he could never accept.

"That man... He’s the problem. If I could just deal with him..."

Hiding his dark thoughts, Woroca casually asked Zwalter, "The Bloodied Demon... No, how is the Baron of Fenris these days?"

When the food trade had first begun, Woroca had seemed in good spirits. After all, he’d managed to subdue the tribes without spilling blood.

But as time passed, things turned out just as Ghislain had intended. Woroca’s people had grown weaker, and the tribes grew increasingly discontented.

Their warriors had become complacent, and they dared not challenge Ferdium. The underlying tensions among the tribes also hadn’t disappeared, leaving everyone seething with frustration.

But there was nothing he could do. If they fought, they’d all die.

That was, until those people came.

Not long ago, a mysterious group had approached Woroca, introducing themselves as members of the Salvation Church.

Normally, he would’ve driven them out immediately. The barbarians had their own religion, after all.

But the offer they made was too enticing to ignore.

*"They said they’d give me Ferdium and two other northern territories... and that the Del

phine Ducal House would assist me."*

If the cost hadn’t been so unsettling, he might have accepted the offer immediately. But what they asked for in return was so disturbing that even a barbarian like Woroca hesitated.

For now, he had deferred his decision. The members of the Salvation Church, claiming they would wait until he made up his mind, had set up camp near his tribe.

As he made his way back, Woroca mulled over his options.

"There’s no other way."

"I can’t defeat the Bloodied Demon with my own strength."

"Even Ferdium is beyond our reach now. It’s no longer the Ferdium of old."

To achieve his dream of building a Northern Kingdom, he needed the means to produce food on his own.

"Hah..."

Woroca’s gaze hardened with resolve as he turned to his trusted warrior, Monga.

"Monga, how long did they say they would wait?"

Monga spread his fingers, holding both hands open.

"This long, Chief."

"...I see."

After a brief silence, Woroca finally spoke.

"Prepare a meeting with them immediately."

"You’re... you’re really going to accept their proposal?"

"Yes," Woroca thought grimly. "If things continue as they are, we’ll end up as nothing more than Ferdium’s slaves."

Monga’s expression was filled with trepidation. Even the hardened warrior, known as a champion among the barbarians, found the Salvation Church’s proposal horrifying.

But Woroca had already made up his mind.

Before returning to his tribe, he gathered a few trusted subordinates and made his way to the Salvation Church’s camp.

It was a small encampment, consisting of only a few tents. When Woroca announced his arrival, a pale-faced young man draped in a black robe emerged from one of the tents, smiling warmly.

"Have you given it some thought, Chief Woroca?"

"You’re called Dentaria, correct?"

"Yes, I am Dentaria, a humble judge of the Salvation Church."

"Can you truly deliver on your promises?"

At Woroca’s question, Dentaria’s smile widened.

"Of course. With your cooperation, nothing is impossible. After all, we have the backing of the Delphine Ducal House, the strongest power in Rutania."

Woroca narrowed his eyes. "Three territories in the north won’t be enough. I’ll need five."

Dentaria paused momentarily, then nodded.

"I can authorize that. Five territories it is. And once the kingdom is ours, we will grant you the title of duke."

"So all I have to do is ravage the north?"

"Exactly. We know the tribes alone won’t be enough, which is why we’re offering you our support."

"Hah..."

Woroca let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.

This was a monumental decision—one that couldn’t be undone once made.

But his mind was already made up. He was merely stalling, dreading the words he had to say aloud.

After several moments of hesitation, Woroca finally spoke.

"Very well. I accept your proposal."

"Then, Chief..." Dentaria’s voice carried a hint of excitement.

"I’ll do as you suggest. We’ll create the 'Gate' and launch an assault on northern Rutania."

"You’re aware of the cost, correct?"

"Yes. I’ll offer five tribes as a sacrifice. I can’t handle them all at once, so I’ll need your help to subdue them first."

"Consider it done. It will be handled swiftly."

Dentaria bowed deeply, his pale lips curling into a cruel smile.