The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 358

Delmuth inhaled deeply, feeling his heart race with exhilaration.

“A chance like this…”

The Count of Fenris had been a persistent thorn in the Ducal faction's side. Once just a brat trailing mercenaries, Ghislain had grown into a formidable lord, defeating Count Desmond and rising as a dominant force in the North.

His rise had thrown the Ducal faction's plans into disarray. The Royalists had gained momentum, and whispers that the Ducal faction was weaker than expected had started to circulate.

But what if the Count of Fenris were killed here? The tide would turn in an instant.

“If Amelia does her part, the North can fall under our control in one sweep.”

With Desmond gone, and Rayfold no longer held in check, the Count of Fenris was the only barrier. Once he was removed, there would be no one left to stop them.

Of course, killing a grand lord without just cause would provoke the Royalists. Assaulting such a prominent noble was no trivial matter.

But that didn’t concern Delmuth. The Ducal faction wouldn’t waste the opportunity. Before the Royalists could retaliate, the faction would secure the North. Once that was achieved, the entire continent—save the East—would be under their grasp.

Delmuth calmed his racing thoughts. A mage must always maintain composure.

“How many has he brought?”

He scanned the surroundings. For a grand lord, Ghislain’s retinue was remarkably small: twenty knights and around a hundred soldiers.

“I don’t know the full extent of his combat prowess, but...”

Rumors suggested that the Count was near-master level. Even so, Delmuth was confident he could handle him alone if necessary.

The problem was the troops accompanying him. The Fenris forces were reputed to be elite. Though small in number, they were undoubtedly formidable. Additionally, there were the mages from the Scarlet Tower.

“And that man...”

Delmuth’s gaze landed on a tall, white-haired figure standing like a tower beside Ghislain. He recognized him from the Battle of Desmond’s Keep: Gillian, a known powerhouse.

“This won’t be easy.”

Though he itched to strike, Delmuth knew he needed to bide his time. His immediate goal was to crush the Scarlet Tower. Killing the Count of Fenris was an ideal bonus, but if it proved too risky, he could wait until after the exchange meeting to stage an ambush.

Suppressing his anticipation, Delmuth licked his lips and approached for formal greetings. Despite his efforts to mask his emotions, a faint killing intent flickered in his gaze.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Count of Fenris,” he said smoothly. “I am Delmuth, Tower Master of the Crimson Tower. Your reputation precedes you.”

Ghislain replied with a cold smile. “And I’ve heard much about you as well—the only 7th-circle mage in the North. It’s an honor to meet someone of your caliber.”

The comment drew a slight pout from Hubert. Ghislain’s acknowledgment of Delmuth’s title as the strongest mage in the North stung his pride.

The two men exchanged pleasantries in a tense atmosphere, wasting no time on empty formalities. Both were silently assessing the other, watching for any sign of weakness or an opening to strike.

“The best outcome would be if he participates in the duels,” Ghislain thought.

While it was customary for Tower Masters and elders to abstain from dueling, today might be an exception. If Delmuth intended to destroy the Scarlet Tower outright, he wouldn’t bother with convention.

Ghislain planned to counteract any such move immediately.

“Are the introductions done? Let’s get started,” Hubert said, his tone irritated. The pretense of civility between the two towers had long since worn thin.

“Very well...” Delmuth replied with a sly grin, returning to his seat.

The duel was set for five rounds. In the hostile air, both sides sent forth their first participants.

The Crimson Tower’s representative was a 4th-circle mage. Meanwhile, the Scarlet Tower fielded a mere 2nd-circle apprentice.

Hubert had no desire to lose promising apprentices over this farce. He had chosen a lower-circle participant to minimize risks, though he also hoped to avoid fatal outcomes.

“Just go out there, make a move or two, and concede. Don’t try to preserve your pride,” Hubert muttered to the nervous apprentice.

“Y-yes, sir. I understand,” the apprentice stammered, stepping forward reluctantly.

A shimmering barrier formed around the dueling area to protect onlookers. The massive space required an enormous quantity of rune stones to maintain the shield.

Hubert scowled inwardly. “They didn’t even pay a single coin for this.”

The Crimson Tower had insisted on holding the exchange meeting without contributing any resources, leaving the Scarlet Tower to foot the entire bill. The insult grated on Hubert.

“Begin!” the elder acting as referee declared.

The Scarlet Tower’s apprentice immediately cast a small fireball, intending to make a token effort before surrendering. But the Crimson Tower’s mage had no such restraint.

“Wind Cutter.”

Swish!

The blade of wind sliced through the fireball and cleanly severed the Scarlet Tower mage’s neck.

Thud!

The apprentice’s head hit the ground, silencing the arena. The Scarlet Tower’s apprentices turned pale, stunned by the casual display of brutality.

They had not expected such open violence. Overwhelmed by their opponent’s sheer presence, none of them dared to step forward.

Hubert shot to his feet, shouting furiously, “You bastard! Was that really necessary?”

Delmuth sneered in response. “Casualties are a natural consequence of duels, are they not?”

“You—!” Hubert ground his teeth, glaring daggers at Delmuth. He had anticipated malice but hadn’t expected such blatant disregard for decorum.

As Hubert raged, his gaze drifted toward Ghislain.

“What’s he thinking?”

Unlike the others, Ghislain sat calmly, his expression unreadable, as if he had predicted this outcome.

Hubert recalled Ghislain’s earlier warning.

“He might just kill everyone present.”

Hubert shook his head violently. “No, no, that’s impossible. The Royalists wouldn’t let it slide. Even if he planned it, he wouldn’t dare with the Count of Fenris here.”

Killing the Count would be suicidal for the Crimson Tower. Delmuth, no matter how reckless, couldn’t possibly take such a risk—or so Hubert believed.

Taking several deep breaths to steady himself, Hubert turned to the next participant.

“Concede immediately after it starts. Don’t engage,” he instructed.

“Y-yes, understood,” the apprentice replied, nodding frantically. He had no intention of fighting to the death.

As the trembling mage stepped forward, he couldn’t help but think, Why me?

He knew why, of course. Hubert was protecting the stronger apprentices by sending out the weakest. While he understood the reasoning, it still felt unjust.

“Mages are supposed to be proud and ambitious. How did it come to this—fighting just to lose?”

He glanced at his peers, many of whom were higher-circle mages. Yet instead of protesting, they avoided eye contact, clearly relieved not to be chosen.

“Our tower is doomed.”

The realization struck him hard. Despite their wealth and growing influence, the Scarlet Tower’s spirit was broken. Even their strongest figures had become docile sheep.

“As soon as this duel ends, I’m leaving.”

The apprentice resolved to flee at the first opportunity. Staying in such a spineless tower would only lead to his eventual death.

“Begin!” the referee called again.

Before any spells were cast, the Scarlet Tower apprentice raised his hands and shouted, “I surrender!”

The Crimson Tower mage clicked his tongue in disdain. “Pathetic.”

The open insult reddened the apprentice’s face, but he said nothing in return. Behind him, mocking laughter erupted from the Crimson Tower’s side.

“Do those weaklings even deserve to call themselves mages? Strutting around as if they’re worth something,” one of the Crimson Tower mages sneered.

“Wasn’t the title of ‘North’s Greatest’ just something they made up?” another jeered.

“They’re not just weak—they have no pride either.”

The Crimson Tower’s apprentices openly mocked the Scarlet Tower mages, their contemptuous laughter echoing in the arena. Despite the barrage of insults, no one from the Scarlet Tower reacted. Some looked visibly angry, their faces flushed red, but none dared to retort or meet their opponent’s gaze. They were entirely cowed by the overwhelming hostility of their rivals.

Watching this, Ghislain shook his head silently. “They’ve grown too complacent in their peace.”

The Scarlet Tower, once hailed as the greatest in the North, was now a shadow of its former self. Unlike the Crimson Tower, which moved with clear purpose, the Scarlet Tower had grown stagnant, content to rest on its laurels.

“Seeking safety isn’t inherently wrong,” Ghislain thought. “But staying in one place for too long leaves you behind.”

The stark difference in the towers’ goals was reflected in their apprentices. The Crimson Tower apprentices exuded confidence and hunger, while those of the Scarlet Tower seemed broken, their morale utterly crushed.

The third duel ended as swiftly as it began, with the Scarlet Tower’s representative surrendering before a single spell was cast.

“A bunch of idiots.”

“What was the point of accepting the challenge if they were just going to roll over?”

“They might as well just join us now,” came the sneers from the Crimson Tower’s side.

The mockery grew increasingly vulgar and brazen, the apprentices emboldened by the tacit approval of Delmuth and his elders. Meanwhile, Hubert sat trembling with rage, his face flushed and his fists clenched tightly. He wanted nothing more than to set those smug faces on fire, but he knew that escalating into all-out war would gain him nothing.

The Scarlet Tower elders mirrored Hubert’s frustration, glaring in silence as their humiliation deepened.

After a long, tense silence, Hubert finally managed to speak. “Let’s stop here. You’ve already won three rounds—surely you’ve accomplished your goal of embarrassing us?”

The duels were supposed to consist of five rounds, but Hubert saw no point in continuing. The outcome was already clear.

Delmuth smirked, shaking his head. “Why stop now? This isn’t about winning or losing. Isn’t this an exchange to showcase the apprentices’ skills? We should see it through to the end.”

“You bastard...” Hubert muttered, wiping the sweat dripping from his brow.

The fourth duel was unavoidable, and Hubert knew all too well who was up next: Alfoy, the supposed heir of the Scarlet Tower. His heart sank.

Hubert turned to the sulking Alfoy and hissed, “Just go in there and surrender immediately.”

Despite being the heir, Alfoy had been stuck at the 3rd circle for years, making him an easy target. Hubert had no illusions about Alfoy’s chances. It was better to endure the disgrace of forfeiting than risk his heir being killed.

Alfoy scratched his head, annoyed. “Seriously? We’re just going to sit here and take this? Weren’t we supposed to be the greatest in the North?”

Hubert’s temper flared. “Grow up! You’ve spent all your time doing construction work, and you still haven’t shed that arrogant attitude? Do you honestly think you can win? They’re sending out at least 4th-circle mages.”

“Well, you never know until you try,” Alfoy replied with a pout.

His time under Ghislain had taught him one thing: you only know your limits after you’ve fought for them. That was the mindset that had driven Fenris to success. But Hubert clearly didn’t share the same perspective.

“You idiot! How are you supposed to beat someone with a higher circle than you?” Hubert snapped.

Alfoy scratched his head again, sighing. Truthfully, he didn’t feel confident either. While he’d subdued a few runaway 4th-circle mages back in Fenris, those were always group efforts. He’d never fought someone of that level one-on-one.

The fierce auras emanating from the Crimson Tower’s apprentices didn’t help.

“Fine, fine. I get it,” Alfoy muttered reluctantly, trudging toward the center of the arena. His earlier indignation had dulled into a mix of tension and fear. As much as he hated the Crimson Tower’s arrogance, he valued his life too much to throw it away recklessly.

When Alfoy stepped forward, the Crimson Tower’s side perked up. One of their apprentices scoffed, “Isn’t that the Scarlet Tower’s heir? I suppose he deserves a suitable opponent.”

Delmuth smirked, gesturing to one of his apprentices. A tall, imposing man strode forward confidently. He stopped in front of Alfoy and introduced himself with a smirk.

“My name is Brody. I am the first disciple of the Tower Master and heir to the Crimson Tower. It’s a pleasure.”

Alfoy blinked in surprise. It had been so long since anyone introduced themselves formally to him that it felt strange.

“Oh, uh... yeah, nice to meet—”

Before Alfoy could finish, Brody cut him off with a sneer. “And I recently mastered the 4th circle. If you’re planning to surrender, do it now. Just standing here, talking to someone like you, is beneath me. Surely, you don’t think we’re equals just because we’re both heirs?”

Brody’s words dripped with contempt, but to his own surprise, Alfoy didn’t feel as angry as he expected.

He paused for a moment, reflecting on his lack of reaction. Then, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes met Ghislain’s calm gaze from the spectator’s seat.

“Ah, right.”

Years of enduring disdain and scorn in Fenris had hardened him. By now, such insults barely fazed him. The realization made Alfoy chuckle as he ran a hand through his hair.

“What’s so funny?” Brody demanded, scowling.

“Nothing, nothing,” Alfoy replied, waving a hand dismissively. “I just couldn’t help but laugh at myself. The great Alfoy, reduced to this.”

He took a deep breath and straightened his posture, his confidence returning.

“Well then, my name is Alfoy. Heir to the Scarlet Tower and head of its Fenris branch. And...” he declared, lifting his chin with an audacious smirk, “the man who defeated a god.”

For a moment, the entire arena fell silent as Alfoy stood there, his expression radiating unshakable arrogance.