The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations

Chapter 366

"What... what is this?"

The Rodrick forces charging forward froze at the sight of hundreds of spears levitating in midair.

Such a bizarre sight was entirely new to them.

"So, he’s a mage!"

Brian clenched his teeth, realizing the truth. If Ghislain was indeed a mage, it explained the legendary feats attributed to him.

‘There’s no turning back now. We have to charge even faster.’

The cavalry was already in full gallop. If they faced those spears head-on, the casualties would be catastrophic.

But retreat wasn’t an option. The reinforcements stationed behind them were advancing as well.

‘We can break through. It’s manageable.’

With nearly a thousand cavalrymen under his command and the enemy seemingly outnumbered, Brian believed they could overpower them with sheer force. Losses in the beginning would be acceptable.

"Faster! Just trample them down!"

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

Brian knew that casting powerful magic took time, and the closer they got to the caster, the less effective the attack would be.

Spurring their horses to a full gallop, the Rodrick cavalry raced forward with determination.

Watching the oncoming wave of cavalry, Ghislain calmly spread his arms, his demeanor utterly unfazed. Unlike ordinary mages, he required little time to prepare his spells.

Swoosh!

The spears shot forward at terrifying speed, aimed directly at the Rodrick cavalry.

"Hold the line! Push through!"

At Brian's command, the cavalry raised their shields in unison. However, Ghislain's magically amplified attack, infused with Dark’s power, was far beyond their capabilities to withstand.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

"Aaaaah!"

As spears impaled soldiers and horses alike, Brian barely managed to deflect one of the projectiles, only to witness utter devastation around him.

"W-what... is this...?"

Nearly half of his forces were obliterated in an instant. Ghislain had decimated their ranks with a single attack.

The spell wasn’t an ordinary one. It was a signature technique of the Mercenary King, a warrior who, even in his past life, earned a place among the Continent’s Seven Greats. While some dismissed him as the weakest of the seven, few could rival his mastery over war and large-scale combat.

A mere thousand cavalrymen stood no chance against such an overwhelming force.

Neigh!

"R-retreat!"

"He’s really a Master!"

"We can’t win with these numbers!"

Panic spread like wildfire among the Rodrick troops. Some soldiers yanked their reins, attempting to flee.

Brian, stunned by the sight of his troops faltering, bellowed in desperation.

"Hold the line! You fools, if you run, you’ll die!"

But Brian's warnings fell on deaf ears. These soldiers, accustomed to the relative peace of the West and used to bullying weaker opponents, were utterly unprepared for such a harrowing confrontation.

The formation collapsed. Riders collided as some abruptly turned their horses, creating chaos and disarray.

Watching the pitiful spectacle, Ghislain clicked his tongue.

"Tch, so this is the great army of the Western Marquis Rodrick?"

He had seen a similar lack of discipline when facing Martin. This was no different.

The reason was clear. Rodrick’s forces had gone unchallenged for too long. With no real adversaries, they had grown complacent and undisciplined.

Still, Ghislain knew better than to underestimate them completely.

"They do have wealth and resources."

Sometimes, sheer numbers could outweigh even the best strategies and skills. In his previous life, Ghislain had experienced firsthand how devastating an endless tide of enemies could be.

Until Rodrick’s forces were thoroughly weakened, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

"Finish them off."

At Ghislain’s command, the knights drew their greatswords and charged into the fray.

Boom!

"Aaaargh!"

The Rodrick forces, already in disarray and their morale shattered, couldn’t hope to stand against the 400 Fenris knights. The massacre was swift and decisive.

Brian, caught between indecision and panic, found himself unable to act—neither fighting nor fleeing.

‘I’ve made a mistake. I underestimated them. The rumors about Fenris being the strongest in the North weren’t exaggerated.’

Regret filled him. He had overestimated his own forces and the reputation of Rodrick.

Looking back, the Rodrick army had only ever bullied weaker opponents. They had never faced a genuine challenge.

After all, who would dare to oppose a Great Lord like Rodrick?

‘I have to escape! Someone needs to report this!’

Snapping out of his daze, Brian pulled hard on his reins, ready to flee.

Even if all he managed was to report their defeat, it would provide Rodrick with valuable intelligence on Fenris’s strength—or so he told himself. In truth, it was a feeble excuse to justify his desire to survive.

But before he could flee, a shadow loomed over him. Gillian appeared, axe in hand, and swung it with precision.

"Eek!"

Paralyzed by fear, Brian failed to react in time.

"Think about it. A Master is not just a battlefield weapon; they’re a deterrent to war itself. The royal family’s Master is the only reason Count Balzac hasn’t acted recklessly."

"True... A Master can cause immense damage, whether by assassinating leaders or participating in battles."

"Exactly. Now we have an additional Master on our side. He may not listen to us entirely, but at least we share a common enemy."

"Oh..."

"And while both sides have a Master, the Dukedom still holds the advantage in magical forces with another 7th-circle mage on their side."

"Right, this finally evens the playing field. And with the Scarlet Tower mages supplementing our ranks, we’ll be in an even stronger position."

Gradually, the other nobles began to see the advantages. This was monumental news—another Master on the royalist side.

This development was even more impactful than the Scarlet Tower joining their forces. A Master’s might was equivalent to that of a 7th-circle mage and more.

While Ghislain’s unruly and unpredictable nature had previously been a point of contention, in the context of an impending civil war, he became an invaluable asset.

The nobles were visibly elated as they continued to discuss the implications.

"This is wonderful news. We have more strategic options now."

"The North is secure, then."

"With this, we might actually win."

The atmosphere grew livelier, filled with optimism about their chances in the civil war.

But just as the mood reached its peak, a messenger burst into the room and approached Marquis Branford with urgency.

"Marquis Rodrick has declared his intent to attack Fenris. He has sent word that this will not be a factional dispute but a legitimate territorial war."

"What?"

The joyous atmosphere was shattered, replaced by bewilderment and concern.

"What is this madness? Why would Marquis Rodrick start a war with Fenris?"

The messenger handed over a detailed report along with Rodrick’s declaration.

Marquis Branford read the documents, his face darkening as he massaged his temples.

Maurice impatiently pressed him. "What’s going on? Why is Rodrick suddenly fighting Fenris?"

Wordlessly, Branford passed the declaration to Maurice, who skimmed it quickly before crumpling the letter in rage.

"That damn brat! All of this over some mercenary company? I knew he’d be trouble the moment he started coddling those damn mercenaries! What are we supposed to do now?"

The royalist council, which had been jubilant moments ago, devolved into chaos.

Rodrick was one of the Western Great Lords. No matter how powerful Fenris had grown, his forces still paled in comparison to Rodrick’s.

The prospect of two Great Lords clashing was disastrous. Such a conflict would derail carefully laid plans for the civil war.

Marquis Branford quickly turned to his steward.

"Rodrick has also canceled the cosmetic trade agreements. Halt all sales immediately and ensure none of our merchants approach the West. Tell Count Fenris not to act rashly."

"Understood."

Branford then addressed Maurice, his tone firm. "We must mediate this."

"Mediation? How? Rodrick’s greed knows no bounds. Now that he has a pretext, he’ll seize any opportunity to expand beyond the West."

"Even so, we must try. If we allow this to escalate, we’ll all be dragged into it."

Maurice reluctantly nodded. The royalists wanted to delay open conflict for as long as possible.

Branford issued strict instructions to his steward. "Relay this firmly: Count Fenris must not act without our approval. We will handle the mediation."

"Yes, sir."

Having made his decision, Branford returned to the council to brainstorm solutions. They needed to delay the conflict or neutralize it altogether, using diplomacy or coercion if necessary.

Two days into their discussions, another messenger arrived, breathless and frantic.

"Marquis Rodrick has attacked the cosmetic trade caravan en route to the West."

"What? Then he timed his declaration to coincide with the attack?"

"It seems so, my lord."

"Damn that bastard..." Branford growled. Rodrick had deliberately orchestrated this timing, leaving no doubt of his intent to escalate hostilities.

"Inform Count Fenris not to retaliate under any circumstances. We will resolve this."

"Th-that’s the problem..."

The messenger hesitated, prompting Branford to glare at him sharply.

"What is it? Speak!"

"Rodrick’s forces have been annihilated."

"...What?"

"And..."

"And what?" Branford’s unease deepened, sensing more bad news.

"Count Fenris himself was there, my lord."

"Why the hell was he there?"

"I-I don’t know. But..."

"Spit it out!" Maurice shouted, unable to contain his impatience.

The messenger took a deep breath and shouted.

"Count Fenris is now pillaging Rodrick’s vassal territories!"

"......"

Everyone in the room was left speechless. The same thought crossed their minds.

That lunatic.