The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 364

For Hubert, there was no choice to be made.

It was now undeniable that Count Fenris had achieved the rank of Master. Not just him—his disciples had also witnessed Ghislain’s power firsthand.

The rumors spreading like wildfire were true.

The title of the strongest in the North now unequivocally belonged to Count Fenris. There was no benefit in being marked by such a person.

Quickly regaining his composure, Hubert scrambled to manage the situation.

“Haha, my lord! You must be joking, right? Come now, between us, there’s no need for such talk!”

“Of course not. We’re practically family. Besides, if you want to keep receiving rune stones and food supplies, you’ll need to stand with us.”

“Y-yes, of course…”

Hubert forced a smile, sweat dripping from his brow. There was no escape now. Without the rune stones and food provided by Fenris, the tower would collapse.

This was the price of being overly reliant on external support.

Still, Hubert couldn’t help but wonder if there was a way to find some middle ground, a loophole to avoid fully committing. But Ghislain’s next words dashed that hope.

“Send all but a few of your mages—the ones needed to defend the tower—to Marquis Branford. He’ll redistribute them to lands that lack mages.”

“Ugh… when?”

“Immediately.”

There was no avoiding it now. The Scarlet Tower was being dragged into the impending war. Hubert nodded reluctantly, his heart heavy with resignation.

“Nothing comes for free…”

The generous supply of rune stones and food, and even the destruction of the Crimson Tower, had all come with a price. Now, it was time to repay the debt.

“Well then, see you on the battlefield,” Ghislain said with a grin.

Hubert, tears brimming in his eyes, gave a shaky nod.

After settling matters with the Scarlet Tower, Ghislain, supported by Gillian, left the premises. He needed to return to his domain as soon as possible.

But as they stepped outside, they were met with an unexpected sight.

Ghislain scanned the scene, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Oh… what’s this?”

The mages of the Scarlet Tower had gathered to see him off.

The last time he had visited to sell rune stones, even the gatekeepers had treated him with disdain. Now, it was a stark contrast: every mage was present, bowing respectfully as they bid him farewell.

It didn’t stop there. Even the townspeople had come out to cheer.

“Wow! It’s Count Fenris!”

“The Swordmaster of the North!”

“Look this way!”

In just a week, news of Ghislain’s achievements had spread far and wide. Crowds packed the streets, their excitement palpable.

The fact that a Master had emerged from the North alone was enough to inspire awe and pride. Even if he belonged to another territory, he was still one of their own, a Northerner.

To them, Ghislain wasn’t just a Master—he was a hero who had vanquished their enemy, the Crimson Tower.

The town’s residents had long lived under the shadow of the Scarlet Tower, and they resented the Crimson Tower for stealing its title as the North’s strongest.

When Ghislain raised his chin and waved to the crowd, their cheers reached a fever pitch.

“Kyaaah! Lord Fenris!”

“From today, I’m your loyal follower!”

“I’m moving to Fenris!”

Their enthusiastic cheers filled the city. It seemed that Ghislain would be gaining more admirers, much like Dominic.

As he watched the crowd, Ghislain smirked.

“Well, it’s not a bad feeling.”

It was undeniable that he was more popular in this life than his previous one. Back then, his supporters had been few and… eccentric, to say the least.

“Was it the scars? Or maybe the job I had?”

Whatever the reason, it hardly mattered now. Things were going well, and that was enough.

Despite the grand sendoff, Ghislain had no time to rest upon returning to his domain.

As soon as he arrived, Claude rushed over with a troubled expression.

“My lord, a guest has been waiting for your return.”

“A guest?”

“They’ve come from the Marquisate of Rodrick.”

“Oh…”

They were quicker than expected. It seemed news of Martin’s death had already reached them.

Still recovering, Ghislain made his way to the audience hall at a leisurely pace.

After a brief wait, the delegation entered. A lavishly dressed envoy led the group, followed by knights.

Despite being in a foreign territory, the delegation showed little sign of nervousness. Instead, they wore smug expressions, their eyes roving arrogantly around the hall.

The envoy at the front offered a slight bow as he addressed Ghislain.

“Greetings to the Holy Star of the North, Count Fenris. I am Tenant, here on behalf of the Marquis of Rodrick. May the goddess’s blessings—”

“Skip the pleasantries. Get to the point.”

Tenant shot a glance at Ghislain, momentarily irritated at being interrupted.

“So this is the infamous brat of the North.”

Young, impulsive, and ill-mannered—the rumors seemed true. Deciding there was no need for formalities, Tenant straightened his posture and spoke plainly.

“I come on behalf of the Marquis with a humble request.”

“And that is?”

“Hand over the Drake Mercenaries.”

Tenant’s confidence was evident. He fully expected Ghislain to comply. After all, who dared defy the Marquisate of Rodrick?

But Ghislain leaned back in his chair, studying Tenant with a faint smile.

“And the reason for this request?”

“We have evidence that they assassinated Lord Martin and fled.”

As expected of the Marquisate, they had come prepared. Their confidence wasn’t baseless.

Even so, Ghislain had no intention of surrendering the mercenaries. He had already decided to take responsibility for the incident.

“I refuse. The Drake Mercenaries have already been absorbed into the Fenris Mercenaries.”

“The Marquis is willing to offer significant compensation.”

“I doubt the Marquis has anything I want.”

“Are you prepared to make an enemy of Rodrick?”

“If necessary.”

Tenant’s gaze hardened as he stared at Ghislain. No matter how powerful Count Fenris might be, he was no match for the Marquisate of Rodrick. The Western territories had an entirely different economic foundation compared to the North.

“Does he not understand his place?”

Tenant assumed that Ghislain’s newfound title as the strongest in the North had inflated his ego.

Despite the refusal, Tenant remained composed. Instead, he scrutinized Ghislain from head to toe.

“A so-called Master? He doesn’t look that strong. Pale, weak—he seems ill. His aura is faint.”

Tenant, a seasoned knight and commander sent personally by the Marquis, had come not only to deliver a message but also to assess Ghislain’s capabilities.

“The rumors must be exaggerated. That silver-haired knight beside him looks far more imposing. Is that the White Lion, Gillian?”

Gillian’s reputation had spread throughout the kingdom, earning him widespread renown for his role in battles against the Desmond forces.

Ignoring the glances, Ghislain simply watched Tenant with an amused expression.

“Count Fenris, I understand your strength in the North, but it would be unwise to antagonize the Marquisate of Rodrick. I’ll ask once more: will you hand over the Drake Mercenaries?”

“No.”

Tenant’s calm demeanor cracked ever so slightly. But as a knight of Rodrick, he refused to beg.

“Then consider this a declaration of hostility between Rodrick and Fenris.”

“Do as you please.”

“Then I shall see you on the battlefield.”

Tenant bowed slightly before turning to leave. As he exited, he scanned the expressions of the Fenris retainers.

“What’s with these people?”

Even after a de facto declaration of war from the strongest force in the West, none of them seemed the least bit concerned.

They all wore the same bored, indifferent expressions, as if they couldn’t care less.

And they couldn’t.

For Ghislain’s people, it was just another day. They had faced so many threats and emerged victorious that nothing phased them anymore.

Watching the delegation leave, Claude muttered under his breath, “Seems like some people won’t understand until they’re beaten senseless.”

Wendy glanced at Claude.

It wasn’t clear who he was talking about.

***

“The brat refused?”

“Yes, my lord. He made it clear he wouldn’t hesitate to fight.”

“Kuhuhuhu…”

Rodrick chuckled darkly at Tenant’s report.

The chair he sat on was enormous, crafted to match his unusually large frame. Yet no one dared mock the Marquis for his size.

Rodrick was not only the lord of the entire Western region but also renowned as one of the most ruthless figures in the kingdom. His cruelty was second to none, save perhaps for the Duke himself.

Jiggling his chin, Rodrick continued to laugh before speaking. “So, what’s your impression of this brat after seeing him in person?”

“It seems the rumors were somewhat exaggerated.”

“Exaggerated, you say?”

“I could barely sense any mana from him. He appeared pale and sickly, his body lacking strength. However…”

“However?”

“The people around him seemed highly capable.”

“The brat was said to have made waves in the North, wasn’t he? There are even rumors he’s close to Master-level strength. All the kingdom’s intelligence agencies confirmed this, and many have witnessed his battles firsthand.”

“That’s what makes it even more puzzling. From what I observed, he didn’t appear nearly as formidable as the rumors suggested.”

Rodrick fell into thought, rubbing his plump chin.

Tenant was no ordinary knight; he was one of the strongest in the Marquisate and a trusted commander. His report, based on firsthand observation, should hold weight.

Yet Rodrick was as suspicious as he was greedy and cruel.

“There’s no way those rumors are baseless. It’s likely he possesses some hidden power that isn’t obvious at a glance. Treat that brat as if he’s truly the Swordmaster of the North when devising our plans. Understood?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Tenant did not protest, even though his own observations had been dismissed. However, a faint sense of contempt lingered in his heart.

After mulling over the report, Rodrick turned to his advisor.

“What about simply raising an army and crushing him now?”

“The civil war is imminent. Wouldn’t it be better to coordinate with the Duke’s forces?”

“Tsk, tsk… That brat outright rejected my demand. You expect me to let that slide? And when the war starts, we’ll need to focus on capturing the capital and the East. When would I have time to deal with the North?”

Rodrick showed no anger over his son Martin’s death. His fury was entirely directed at Ghislain for daring to defy him.

Reclaiming the Drake Mercenaries wasn’t just about recovering his assets; it was about making an example of those who crossed the Marquisate of Rodrick.

Justice had to be served swiftly for it to mean anything. Waiting until after the civil war would dilute its impact.

The advisor hesitated before responding cautiously, “The Duke’s strategy is to seal off the North and quickly occupy the capital and the East. If we provoke a fight now, it will become a drawn-out territorial conflict.”

“And what of it?”

“Pardon?”

“That useless brat couldn’t even control a mercenary band properly, and now he’s handed us the perfect justification for war. Why should we avoid it?”

“Well, uh… yes, but…”

“Distance is the only issue. It’ll be difficult if that brat stays holed up in the North. For now, we’ll need to lure him out.”

“How do you plan to do that, my lord?”

“The cosmetics business that brat runs—those products are selling like wildfire across the kingdom, yes?”

“Yes, my lord. Even the Western nobles are purchasing them in large quantities.”

“Good. Start there. Target the largest trading company transporting his products to the West.”

The advisor’s face turned pale.

“B-but, my lord, that trading company is co-managed by the Marquisate of Branford. If we interfere, Marquis Branford won’t take it lightly.”

“Is Marquis Branford stronger than me?”

“…”

The advisor fell silent, unable to respond.

Rodrick narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp and oppressive.

“That fool only wields power because he holds the royal family hostage. Do you seriously believe he’s stronger than me?”

The Marquis of Rodrick was the most powerful noble in the West, commanding immense financial resources from his strategic holdings.

While Branford could mobilize the kingdom’s army, Rodrick believed he could seize the throne on his own if it weren’t for the Duke’s superior strength.

“Even if Branford interferes, it doesn’t matter. If it comes to it, I’ll start the civil war myself.”

A wicked grin spread across Rodrick’s face as his cruel intentions took root.