The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations

Chapter 367

Marquis Branford held his head in his hands, utterly baffled about how to resolve this escalating chaos.

Marquis Rodrick’s attempt at a surprise attack had completely backfired. Instead of catching Fenris off guard, his forces were annihilated.

“That greedy fool...”

Rodrick’s insatiable greed had finally led to catastrophe. On the other hand, Ghislain had eagerly accepted the opportunity for conflict as if he had been waiting for it.

‘Then again... Ghislain is just as greedy.’

The difference, however, lay in their motivations. Rodrick’s greed was purely self-serving, while Ghislain’s desires were for the benefit of his territory. Everything Ghislain claimed or conquered went directly into Fenris’s development, which had been growing at an unprecedented rate.

It was greed of a different kind. Because of that, Branford still found it difficult to fully understand the enigma that was Ghislain.

After a long pause, Branford addressed the royalist nobles.

“Prepare your forces for deployment. We must be ready to engage at a moment’s notice.”

The gathered nobles sighed heavily, reclining in their chairs. They understood precisely why the Marquis had given such an order.

If Marquis Rodrick issued a full mobilization order, a massive army would descend upon Fenris. In that case, Ghislain would have no choice but to retaliate. Whether they wanted it or not, these two figures were accelerating the inevitability of civil war.

To counter a sudden outbreak of conflict, they had to begin preparing for deployment immediately.

“I will try to prevent this from escalating into an all-out war,” Branford added. “But keep in mind that the Ducal Faction, having already lost the Crimson Tower, may act unpredictably. We must be ready for ambushes.”

The nobles nodded in agreement. Not long ago, they had celebrated the news of Ghislain becoming a Master. Now, it seemed inevitable that they would be dragged into war.

What should have been resolved peacefully had spiraled into utter chaos.

News of the current situation wasn’t shocking only to the royalist nobles.

“What? Ghislain’s really a Master? And he’s fighting Marquis Rodrick?”

Amelia’s expression was one of disbelief. She had orchestrated the destruction of the Crimson Tower to pit the two against each other, but it seemed Ghislain had already taken care of Delmuth himself. The conflict she had engineered had practically ignited on its own.

Half her plan had succeeded, which was a relief. But the way things kept veering off her intended path was frustrating.

“Damn it... I can’t believe that bastard is really a Master.”

Amelia’s face still bore traces of disbelief. She knew Ghislain’s past better than anyone. She had seen it up close when they were betrothed.

‘He didn’t hide his power.’

Her memories of him blushing and fidgeting nervously every time they met were still vivid. There was no way someone that pathetic had been concealing such strength.

She had looked down on him and despised him for a reason.

‘Now that I think about it... that version of him is completely gone.’

The man he had become seemed like an entirely different person. It was almost impossible to believe they were the same.

Someone had to be behind his transformation. Either that or he had come into possession of a treasure that granted him unparalleled power and knowledge.

‘I have to uncover what it is.’

Amelia bit her lip. Whatever had turned that wretch into a Master in just a few years was too valuable to ignore. Whether it was a person or an artifact, she was determined to find it and claim it for herself. It would accelerate her plans and ambitions immeasurably.

Even aside from his power, the fact that Ghislain had taken the fight to Rodrick himself was shocking.

‘That lunatic... He doesn’t stop. He’s always throwing himself into the thick of it.’

Rodrick was far stronger than Count Desmond. He was a Grand Marquis, one of the most powerful nobles in the Western territories and a pillar of the Ducal Faction.

Yet Ghislain had not hesitated to provoke him, even going so far as to cause a ruckus in Rodrick’s domain. It was utterly insane.

Suddenly, an impulsive thought struck Amelia.

‘If I attacked Fenris now...’

Ghislain might be strong, but he wasn’t in his territory. If she gathered her forces and struck with overwhelming speed, she could seize Fenris before he could react.

‘No... Not yet.’

Just as Ghislain considered her a variable, she also regarded him as an unpredictable factor. If she took Fenris, the royalist faction would lose the North entirely, tipping the balance of power toward the Ducal Faction and making a royalist defeat inevitable.

If she had been loyal to the Ducal Faction, she wouldn’t have hesitated. But Amelia saw the Dukes as future enemies, not allies. She had no intention of helping them.

The Ducal and royalist factions had to bleed each other dry. Only after they had weakened each other would Amelia step in to take what she wanted.

Rodrick’s interest piqued, and he leaned forward.

“What’s the plan? Speak.”

Tenant, the commander of Rodrick’s knights, unfurled a map and began to explain.

“After reviewing the situation, we’ve determined that if Count Fenris continues his raids, he’ll eventually have to target this location.”

Tenant pointed to Baron Dacre’s territory, a strategically vital area among Rodrick’s vassals. Though it had few knights, it boasted a standing force of 3,000 soldiers—far more than other territories.

“This area is crucial. To continue his raids, Count Fenris would either need to bypass it or move closer to the Marquisate itself.”

Baron Dacre’s land served as both a stronghold and a chokepoint. Any attempt to move through the West would require passing through it or taking a lengthy detour.

“We’ve already sent orders to the surrounding lords,” Tenant continued. “They’ll assemble their forces and form a defensive perimeter around Baron Dacre’s land.”

“And once we trap him, we’ll kill him?” Rodrick asked, his tone dripping with fury.

“We’ve also instructed Baron Dacre to leave only minimal provisions and hold out as long as possible,” Tenant added.

Rodrick nodded slowly, starting to see the strategy take shape.

“So, if that brat occupies the place, he’ll starve?”

“Exactly, my lord. Even if he manages to capture it, he won’t be able to hold it. Once his forces are weakened from starvation, we’ll crush them.”

“How long would it take?”

“If he succeeds in taking the fortress, one week should be enough to starve them out. If we want to be cautious, we can wait for a month. Either way, they’ll have no choice but to emerge—and they’ll be significantly weakened.”

A week without food wouldn’t kill them, but it would sap their strength, leaving them incapable of fighting effectively.

“How many men will we need?” Rodrick asked.

“Considering his reputation, we should prepare at least 10,000 troops.”

“And Dacre’s forces alone can’t hold him off?”

“They lack knights, so it would be difficult.”

According to the reports, Fenris’s forces hadn’t brought siege engines, relying instead on stealth tactics to scale walls and slaughter defenders in the dead of night. Information suggested Fenris had brought a significant number of elite knights.

“How many knights does he have?”

“At least fifty, along with a contingent of elite soldiers. It seems he handpicked his most skilled fighters for these raids.”

In truth, Ghislain had brought no ordinary soldiers—his entire force of 400 consisted solely of knights. But Rodrick’s retainers couldn’t fathom the possibility of such a concentrated force and had overestimated generously.

Rodrick posed another question.

“What about reinforcing Baron Dacre?”

“If we send reinforcements, Fenris’s forces will likely retreat. Even if we sacrifice Baron Dacre, it’s essential to trap them inside. Once they occupy the fortress, we’ll surround and starve them.”

Tenant spoke with chilling pragmatism, treating their allies as expendable bait. Rodrick, equally ruthless, nodded without hesitation, unfazed by the implications.

Both master and subordinate were a perfect match in cruelty.

With the plan outlined, Rodrick issued his approval.

“I’ll send 5,000 troops. Have the surrounding lords contribute the remaining 5,000. Make sure that brat is caught and killed.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And who will lead this force? It won’t be you, Tenant. You’re too valuable for such a trivial matter.”

Tenant, a key figure in the Marquisate, was too important to risk in direct combat with a supposed Master. Any injuries sustained in such a battle would be a devastating loss.

“I’ll dispatch Sir Howard, one of our senior knights. He’s skilled both in swordsmanship and military strategy.”

“Good. See that it’s done.”

Rodrick finally allowed himself a grim smile, his confidence returning.

No matter how strong Ghislain was, he couldn’t overturn the odds with such a small force. A starving army of a few hundred couldn’t possibly stand against a fully equipped force of 10,000, even if Ghislain truly was a Master.

But simply killing him wouldn’t suffice. That brat had dared to challenge him. Death would be too merciful.

“Capture him alive if possible,” Rodrick ordered. “Destroy his core so he can’t use mana. Break his limbs if necessary. I want him brought to me, helpless.”

Rodrick’s lips curled into a sadistic grin. That northern upstart would pay dearly for his audacity. He would make sure Ghislain suffered—endlessly.