The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations

Chapter 376

“Why is that thing acting up?”

At Ghislain’s words, everyone turned their gaze toward the catapult that had tilted to one side.

In this condition, it would be a problem. It wouldn’t hit the intended target properly.

Galbaric and the other dwarves began sweating profusely.

“Why... why is it doing that?”

Their design was flawless. It was hard to believe that a defective product had come out.

Claude glanced at the dwarves, smiled slyly, and shouted.

“Just fire it!”

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

Rocks launched from four catapults slammed accurately into the fortress walls. But the rock from the defective catapult was different.

Whiz!

The rock launched from the tilted catapult flew off in an unexpected direction, not even forming a proper arc, as if it were plummeting straight to the ground.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The rock bounced off the ground several times before rolling to a stop. With the catapult misaligned and unable to aim properly, this result was inevitable. No one would want such a useless piece of equipment.

“......”

The crowd fell into silence. Even if a few catapults were functioning correctly, it wasn’t enough to call this a success.

The catapults were constructed with galvanium shafts for mobility. However, if defects like this arose, it would be impossible to determine what went wrong in the field, leading to operational failures.

If something like this happened during a critical operation, it could have disastrous consequences.

Feeling the cold stares from the crowd, Galbaric shouted.

“W-wait! There must be a reason for this! Just hold on!”

Galbaric and the dwarves rushed to the defective catapult, trying to identify the issue. But their nervousness made it hard to focus.

Watching this, Claude leaned toward Wendy and whispered.

“Come to think of it, has a dwarf ever built anything properly? Remember the hot air balloon? The chicken coop? Isn’t their reputation a bit inflated? Hey, don’t push me!”

Wendy shoved Claude aside with a look that said, Shut up already.

But Galbaric and the other dwarves had already heard Claude’s jab. Sweat streamed from their faces as tension mounted.

Their anxiety made it harder to pinpoint the problem. Nothing appeared broken or out of place.

While they were flustered, Ghislain casually approached and said.

“It’s probably because of the slight difference in the coupling sizes or the shaft lengths. Check it again.”

“Ah!”

Galbaric examined the catapult and indeed found minute differences. Those subtle discrepancies had caused the imbalance.

Such issues rarely occurred with wooden catapults. As long as the components were roughly matched, the thick wooden frames could absorb the imperfections.

However, the thinner galvanium shafts and frames meant even minor variations could result in defects like this.

“Ugh... How did you notice this so quickly, my lord?”

“Well... it just looked off.”

Ghislain brushed it off casually. The truth was, he had experienced similar problems in his previous life.

When galvanium shafts made in different regions were combined, the slight variations in standards often led to issues.

Realizing the cause, Galbaric groaned.

“Ugh... We’ll need to recheck the molds used at each forge.”

Even though they had distributed specifications to the forges, human errors were inevitable. Variations were bound to occur.

Ghislain placed a hand on Galbaric’s shoulder and said.

“Let’s make sure it’s done quickly and accurately, alright?”

“...Understood.”

Though frustrated, Galbaric couldn’t argue. The results spoke for themselves. He and the dwarves resolved to reduce their sleep until the problem was solved.

They needed to inspect every mold used in the forges and personally fix the problematic parts.

Smiling faintly, Ghislain walked away. Despite the defects, he had anticipated these kinds of setbacks.

‘At least the medium-sized catapults are fine.’

The medium-sized catapults, built with the combined efforts of 200 workers, had demonstrated sufficient range and power.

However, the large catapults—assembled from five medium-sized units—needed testing soon. The large models were the ultimate weapon capable of crushing fortified castles and strongholds.

As the awkward atmosphere dissipated, the group began cleaning up and dispersing.

Claude, as usual, left while chatting with Wendy.

“See? I told you! Dwarves are all hype! They never get it right the first time. They’re always overblown about their craftsmanship. Ow, stop pushing me! I’m walking slow because my legs hurt!”

Wendy shoved Claude harder, dragging him away. As they passed, Alpoe, wearing an armband, casually remarked.

“Honestly, how hard can it be to make something like this? Aren’t they getting a little too complacent? Maybe they should study more. Tsk, tsk.”

The dwarves couldn’t even argue back, despite the unfairness of it all. For some reason, every new creation in this region seemed to fail once or twice before working properly.

“Ugh... those damn Alpoe bastards are the worst.”

“He plans to move his forces as he pleases?”

Rodrik claimed it was for the sake of avenging his son, but Raul saw through the excuse. The Marquis was acting out of pride and ambition.

Worse still, Rodrik had the audacity to inform the ducal faction of his plans. It was a blatant declaration that he would no longer operate under their direction.

“To think that one man could create such a mess...”

Raul closed his eyes. At some point, everything had started to unravel, and now it was spiraling out of control.

At the center of all this chaos stood Count Fenris.

After a long silence, Raul nodded to himself.

“Yes, it’s beyond the point of containment. We have no choice but to use force...”

His advisors swallowed nervously, sensing the gravity of the decision.

The ducal faction had not held back because of a lack of power. They had simply conserved their strength for greater ambitions.

But now, things were slipping beyond their grasp. If this continued, they would only end up strengthening their enemies.

Raul opened his eyes and addressed his advisors.

“Are the preparations complete?”

“The troops are ready to mobilize at any time. However, we may need to revise our strategy based on Marquis Rodrik’s and Amelia’s movements.”

“Do so. Assemble the forces stationed across the territories and appoint capable commanders. Conduct a final inspection to ensure no oversights.”

“Yes, my lord. And what of Marquis Rodrik?”

Rodrik had informed them of his intention to divide his forces into two. It was clear that even if ordered to stop, he would do as he pleased.

Raul’s gaze turned cold as he replied.

“Let him be. Adjust the strategy to account for his actions. I’ll deal with him after the civil war.”

Now that war was inevitable, Raul no longer held back. To him, anyone who acted out of line—be they enemy or ally—was as good as dead.

After a moment’s silence, Raul asked an unexpected question.

“It’s been some time since we received word. When do you expect them to arrive?”

“They should arrive in about a month.”

“Good. Once ‘he’ arrives, I’ll report to His Highness immediately. Continue the preparations.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The advisors began gathering troops and refining their strategies. They also discreetly reached out to other nobles within the ducal faction.

When the awaited figure finally arrived, Raul wasted no time and sought out Ernheart.

As composed as ever, Ernheart greeted Raul with a relaxed smile.

“I’ve heard there’s been quite a bit of trouble lately. Have you made your decision?”

Raul broke into a cold sweat. Despite his tight control over the information, Ernheart seemed to know everything without even leaving his chambers.

Raul bowed deeply.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Raul, we’re building a new world. Don’t let yourself be distracted by trivial matters.”

“I will remember that.”

“Good. I have high expectations this time. See to it that everything is handled.”

Ernheart waved dismissively, but Raul quickly added.

“The ones they sent have arrived. They wish to greet you, Your Highness.”

Ernheart nodded.

“Send them in.”

Boom!

The grand doors of the hall swung open, and a group of knights entered.

Clad in magnificent silver armor, they immediately drew the admiration of the ducal retainers.

“Wow...”

“Such a knight exists?”

“Truly remarkable...”

At the forefront stood a man with radiant golden hair, exuding an aura of unmatched elegance. His striking appearance, combined with his dazzling armor, radiated an unapproachable dignity.

Even his movements seemed sacred. Count Kyen Balzac, the kingdom’s foremost swordsman, narrowed his eyes as he observed the man.

Intrigued, Ernheart addressed him.

“Who are you?”

The man bowed gracefully.

“It is an honor to meet Your Highness. I have come to aid in Your Highness’s great ambitions...”

As he raised his head, a predatory glint in his eyes betrayed his outward elegance.

“I am Aiden, Captain of the Silver Knights.”

Aiden would one day be remembered as one of the Continent’s Seven Strongest, known as the “Noble Knight.”

He was also the very man who, in Ghislain’s previous life, had personally severed his head.