The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 347

Ghislain spent several days inspecting the state of his territory. The expansion into the Beast Forest was progressing smoothly under Ferdium's supervision, and the newly acquired resources were being delivered without issue.

The foundations of the fief’s development and business ventures had been firmly established. All that remained was to carry things forward.

In particular, equipment production had increased significantly. After seizing Desmond’s territory, Ghislain had secured numerous skilled blacksmiths, which boosted output.

Satisfied that everything was in order, Ghislain turned to Claude and said,
“It’s time to set up another facility.”

“…What kind of facility?”

“We’ve stockpiled quite a bit of Fairy’s Blessing, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we’ve been harvesting it cautiously to avoid depleting the herbs. Despite that, we’ve managed to amass a sizable amount.”

Fairy’s Blessing was not only valuable on its own but also a rare and expensive medicinal ingredient. Fenris’s territory had accumulated so much that flooding the market could crash its value.

“We’ll establish a potion manufacturing facility.”

“Hm, I figured as much,” Claude replied without surprise, nodding.

Fairy’s Blessing was prized for its use in high-quality medicines and potions. Claude had suspected this would happen since Ghislain ordered the stockpiling of the herb instead of selling it.

Potion-making was one of the major revenue streams for magicians. Some magic towers even specialized in potion production.

“We’ll need to organize the mages into two shifts,” Claude suggested.

“That’s right. Construction needs to progress as well.”

Fenris had no shortage of mages. Ghislain had gone to great lengths to attract them, even establishing a magic research institute. However, the mages were mostly involved in construction rather than research.

With the foundational development complete, continuing to use such valuable human resources solely for construction was inefficient. It was time for Fenris to begin producing its own magical tools, starting with potions.

Claude quickly formulated a plan and said,
“I’ll build the potion facilities next to the magic research institute.”

“Good. You know why we’re doing this, right?”

“You’re planning for another war, aren’t you?”

Ghislain smirked. It was convenient that Claude no longer needed lengthy explanations.

In the past, Claude might have assumed the facility was just a way to profit from selling potions. Now, he understood better.

“Make sure that in times of war, every soldier carries at least two potions.”

Claude’s head spun at the thought. To achieve that, tens of thousands of potions would need to be produced—an undertaking that would exhaust even the wealthiest regions.

“That seems…impossible in the short term.”

“We have the ingredients, and more will keep coming in.”

“It’s not the ingredients—it’s the manpower…”

“Then push harder. There’s no other way.”

“…”

The number of mages in Fenris was slowly increasing, but producing that many potions would demand near-constant work. Claude realized they would need to intensify efforts to recruit more mages.

Having assessed the situation and issued his directives, Ghislain turned to Claude again.

“Keep things moving smoothly. I’ll be leaving for a while.”

Claude grimaced and asked,
“You just got back—why leave again so soon?”

“There’s too much to do. If I don’t act now, I’ll lose my window of opportunity.”

To weaken the Duke’s power, Ghislain had a long list of tasks to accomplish. Every available moment needed to be seized.

Claude scratched his head. While he preferred having the lord out of the castle, he still asked,
“How many are you taking with you this time?”

“Just Arel.”

“…No proper attendants? What’s Arel even going to do?”

“I’ll train him further during the journey. Oh, and make me some fake identification—I have to travel covertly.”

Claude narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Anywhere Ghislain needed a fake identity likely meant trouble or danger.

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

“To the South.”

“If you’re planning to get yourself killed, could you at least release me from my contract first?”

The South was firmly under the Duke’s control. If Ghislain showed up, he’d be hunted on sight.

“Which is why I need the fake ID. I’ll be in disguise. And I’m not going deep—just skimming the outskirts. Nothing to worry about.”

“What business could you possibly have there?”

“Let’s just say I have a few personal matters to attend to while also disrupting enemy operations.”

Ghislain described the kind of fake identity he required. Though still suspicious, Claude nodded without further questioning. He had seen time and again that Ghislain never acted without confidence.

Under Belinda’s efficient supervision, the preparations for the journey were quickly finalized. By now, no one bothered trying to dissuade the lord from his eccentric plans.

‘It’s convenient how everyone just shrugs it off now, but it does feel a bit... strange,’ Ghislain thought.

With a wig and fake beard meticulously affixed and carrying a forged noble’s identification, Ghislain turned to Arel.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, sir!”

The two of them, with only a modestly packed carriage, set off from the territory, heading south.

***

As the journey progressed, the initially well-maintained roads gave way to rough, treacherous paths as they neared the South. Travelers became scarce, the harsh terrain a deterrent to most.

"Ugh!"

Arel groaned, exhausted from the daily torture disguised as mana training sessions with Ghislain. To him, it truly felt like torment.

The agony had lessened slightly over time, but it was still far from tolerable. Worse, the timing was unpredictable—Ghislain could decide to initiate a session at any moment, without warning.

Ghislain’s methods were as erratic as they were brutal.

“Hm, now’s a good time to continue,” he’d murmur out of nowhere, and the ordeal would begin. The setting didn’t matter; even in the middle of the road, Ghislain would grab Arel and enforce another round of training.

Today was no different. They were right in the middle of the road when Ghislain decided to resume.

"Argh!"

As usual, Arel coughed up blood and collapsed.

At least he no longer fainted. While the pain was excruciating, it was no longer enough to knock him unconscious.

As Arel lay on the ground trying to recover, a group of rough-looking men appeared on the road ahead.

“Hey! What’s with you? Why are you bullying your friend here?”

“This is our turf, pal. No scamming your buddy on our patch.”

“Man, some people have no shame. Guess we’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

They were bandits. Seeing Arel coughing up blood, they assumed they’d encountered easy prey.

‘Weaklings,’ they thought with confidence.

The bandits weren’t fools—they always scoped out potential targets to avoid clashing with knights or other dangerous individuals. But today’s targets seemed like pushovers.

The cart was modest, and of the two travelers, one looked like a sickly youth who could barely stand. From a distance, it had seemed as if the older man was helping the younger one, but the blood made it clear the youth was unwell.

“Well, here’s the deal. Leave the cart and walk away, or die here. Oh, and for the record, we love killing,” one of the bandits sneered.

Ghislain simply nodded, taking in the situation.

This area, situated on the border between the South and the Royalist territories, was a buffer zone—a lawless region. The local lords deliberately neglected it, knowing it would likely become a battleground in the event of war.

Consequently, the area was crawling with bandits and other outlaws.

Still coughing, Arel staggered to his feet and wiped his mouth.

“Are… are those bandits?”

His eyes gleamed with an unusual intensity. Having lost his village to marauding savages, Arel harbored a deep hatred for those who lived by preying on others.

Ghislain nodded.
“Yep. Just your standard roadside scum. They’re a common sight in quiet places like this.”

“Why do people turn to banditry?”

“Because that’s the way the world is,” Ghislain replied matter-of-factly, then grinned.
“Want to handle them? Think you’re up for it?”

“Yes, I’ve rested enough,” Arel said, steadying himself.

The bandits numbered five—likely a scouting party.

Arel drew his sword, his movements shaky as he approached the bandits. They burst into laughter.

“Oh no! What’s this? A sickly little lamb wandering into the slaughter?”

“Look at him, barely able to stand! Hilarious!”

“Let’s just kill him quickly and take the cart before anyone else shows up.”

Chuckling, the bandits readied their weapons and advanced.

The first bandit lunged with a wild swing of his axe.

“Die, you sick bastard!”

Slash!

The bandit’s head flew clean off before he could even complete his swing. His expression was frozen in disbelief, as though he didn’t understand what had just happened.

With a heavy thud, his body collapsed to the ground.

Still staggering, Arel walked past the fallen man.

“What the… what just happened?”

The remaining bandits faltered. The youth was clearly sickly, barely able to stand straight—yet he’d taken down their comrade in a single stroke.

“Get him!”

Thinking it a fluke, another bandit charged forward, swinging his sword.

Arel seemed to stumble, dodging the blade by a hair’s breadth before countering with a precise slash. The bandit collapsed, a deep gash across his chest.

Despite his shaky posture, Arel’s strikes were unnervingly accurate.

Always strike with precision, no matter the situation.

Ghislain’s lesson echoed in Arel’s mind.

The remaining three bandits hesitated, exchanging nervous glances. While they could probably overpower the youth if they attacked together, the first to charge would surely die.

“You go first!”

“No, you go!”

“I’ll flank him while you distract—”

Their bickering continued as Arel advanced steadily, his grip on his sword unwavering.

“Damn it, stay here! I’ll get reinforcements!” one bandit finally shouted, turning to run.

The others quickly followed suit, yelling threats over their shoulders.

“Wait there, you bastard!”

“We’ll be back with friends, you hear me?”

But before they could escape, their heads burst apart simultaneously.

It wasn’t Arel’s doing—he lacked the ability to execute such a maneuver.

Ghislain, having prepared threads of mana in advance, had simply detonated them.

The headless bodies toppled to the ground.

Ghislain approached Arel and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Well done. You’ve clearly been practicing your swordsmanship.”

“Thank you,” Arel said, bowing his head.

Ghislain smiled with satisfaction. In his past life, he’d trained many subordinates, but few had ever impressed him as much as Arel.

It wasn’t about talent—he’d had followers far more gifted than Arel. But none matched Arel’s perseverance and relentless determination.

After dispatching the bandits, the two resumed their journey.

The pace was unhurried: travel, train, rest in villages, and resupply for the next leg. Whenever bandits or monsters appeared, they became part of Arel’s training.

Finally, after several days of travel, Ghislain stopped and gazed at a distant castle.

“We’ve arrived.”

They stood at the edge of the South, near the borders of Count Mowbray’s domain.

Though located on the outskirts, the territory was substantial—far from a backwater.

Count Mowbray was known as a neutral lord, neither siding with the Duke’s faction nor the Royalists. His independence, coupled with his strength, made him a unique figure among the nobility.

However, in Ghislain’s previous life, Mowbray had eventually aligned with the Duke’s forces.

As they approached the castle gates, Arel couldn’t help but notice the eerie quiet that permeated the land.

“This place feels… lifeless,” he remarked.

“That’s because the lord is plagued by troubles,” Ghislain replied.
“The townsfolk are simply keeping their heads down.”

“Troubles?”

“You’ll see soon enough. We’re here to fix them.”

As they drew closer, the soldiers guarding the castle eyed them warily. The air was tense, the men clearly on edge.

Ghislain halted the cart and glanced toward the castle, focusing his senses.

Though faint, he detected a residual energy enveloping the fortress—one he recognized from his previous life.

“It’s still here, though weaker than before,” he murmured, a cold smile forming.

They had come to claim a new power.