The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 370

Howard, the commander of the army besieging the castle, smirked as the gates shut behind the Fenris forces.

“Fools. They’ve finally taken the bait.”

Even when Count Fenris had been raiding other territories, Howard had refrained from engaging, deliberately allowing them free rein. The goal was not to scare them off but to lure them to this location.

Following the Marquis’ plan, the Fenris forces had naively fallen into their trap by occupying the castle.

“Still, it’s impressive. Only 400 of them managed to capture a castle defended by 3,000.”

Howard had briefly entertained the idea that the Dayker forces might hold them off, but the absence of knights among the defenders made that impossible.

For mere raiders, their strength was undeniable. Charging in recklessly against them might prove dangerous, even with an army of 10,000.

Of course, Howard’s forces weren’t just ordinary soldiers—they included a significant number of knights, unlike the Dayker garrison. Still, the power of Count Fenris was a variable that couldn’t be underestimated.

“The rumors about him being near a Master-level knight seem accurate. His skill is at the peak of knighthood.”

Capturing such a man would likely come at a high cost, possibly bordering on annihilation. That was not the kind of victory Howard sought.

Facing severe losses despite outnumbering the enemy 25-to-1 would tarnish his reputation as a commander. Even the Count’s extraordinary abilities wouldn’t excuse such a failure.

“I planned to starve them out for a week, but that might not be enough. Maintain the siege for at least a month.”

Howard was a cautious strategist. Time was his ally, and he intended to ensure victory with minimal losses.

Even someone nearing Master-level couldn’t endure a month without food unscathed. While the Count himself might still retain some strength, his subordinates certainly wouldn’t. Without food, they would collapse long before the Count’s resilience gave out.

After some thought, Howard issued additional orders.

“Bring more trebuchets from the neighboring territories.”

They already had siege engines, but more couldn’t hurt. Should they need to force Fenris out of the castle, a concentrated barrage would be their best option. Alternatively, they could use the engines to annihilate them if they attempted a breakout.

Howard’s meticulousness earned him respect as a commander within the Marquis’ domain. He was determined to bring down this beast with every advantage possible.

For weeks, the two sides remained locked in a standoff. No battles were fought, and no ground was gained.

As the siege dragged into its third week, Howard allowed himself a smile.

“They still haven’t made a move. They must be terrified. They’re probably scouring the castle for food by now.”

The besieged made no attempts to escape, knowing full well they would be surrounded and crushed if they tried.

To prevent any covert escapes, Howard had ensured constant surveillance around the perimeter.

“Fenris himself might try to flee alone. Keep a close watch on all exits and make sure every soldier knows his face,” he commanded.

The vigilance of his forces kept the tension high, ensuring the siege held firm.

As the siege entered its fourth week, the castle remained eerily silent. Watching from the camp, Howard finally allowed a derisive laugh to escape.

“Idiots. If they wanted to fight, they should’ve come out on the first day. By now, they’re probably eating rats just to survive.”

It was clear to him that the Fenris forces were at their breaking point. Their lack of reaction could only mean they were running out of options, succumbing to hunger and exhaustion.

No matter how strong Count Fenris was, even he couldn’t hope to break out alone.

Sensing that the time was right, Howard issued the long-awaited order to attack.

Siege engines were wheeled into position, soldiers formed their ranks, and the preparations began.

“Today, the so-called shining star of the North, Count Fenris, will fall ignominiously,” Howard said with a confident smile. This victory would elevate his name throughout the kingdom.

Count Fenris might have gained fame in the rugged, undeveloped North, but here in the more advanced Western territories, his limits had become glaringly apparent. These were not simple lands he could plunder without consequence.

“They’re just brutes who fight with brute force. They’d never comprehend a strategy as refined as this.”

Raising his hand, he shouted, “All troops, prepare to attack the castle—hm?”

He paused, turning toward a distant commotion. A new contingent of soldiers carrying the Marquis of Rodrick’s banner was approaching from the horizon.

Curious, Howard held off his order and waited. Soon, a knight rode forward and saluted him.

“We have come under orders from Lord Tenant to reinforce your position.”

“Reinforcements? How many?”

“10,000, my lord.”

Howard glanced over the incoming troops and confirmed that they were indeed as large as his current force. But he couldn’t help but question the necessity.

“10,000 reinforcements? That seems excessive for a starving enemy of just 400 men.”

The knight hesitated, then spoke gravely. “We have received new intelligence.”

“New intelligence?”

“Before coming here, Count Fenris killed the Tower Master of the Crimson Tower—a 7th-circle mage—on his own.”

Howard’s face hardened.

A 7th-circle mage, one of only two in the entire kingdom, was dead? The distinction between someone near Master-level and an actual Master was vast. If Fenris had truly defeated Delmuth, that would place him firmly in the realm of superhuman.

If Delmuth and his disciples were inside that castle, Howard wouldn’t dare attack even with 10,000 men. The power of a true superhuman was insurmountable.

Howard’s gaze snapped back to the castle.

“Why didn’t they attack on the first day?”

If Fenris had come out swinging on day one, his forces might have been overwhelmed. By his own estimates, the Count had over 50 knights—each capable of killing ten soldiers apiece. Even a conservative guess placed their potential casualties at 4,000.

And if Count Fenris truly was a Master, he alone could slaughter thousands more.

“Starving them out would’ve been their worst option. Why did they wait?” Howard wondered.

The knight who had delivered the report interrupted his thoughts. “It’s fortunate we arrived before the attack began. Should we proceed with preparations?”

Howard pondered for a moment before narrowing his eyes at the castle.

“If he truly defeated a 7th-circle mage alone, then he’s more than just a nuisance. Wait a few more days.”

Howard wasn’t about to risk unnecessary losses. His strategy had shifted. Starving out the 400 inside was now less about depleting their numbers and more about ensuring that when the time came, the battle would decisively end in his favor.

Even a Master couldn’t defeat 20,000 well-prepared soldiers at full strength.

Still, Howard couldn’t shake the nagging sense that he was missing something.

***

“Wow, they’re not complete idiots after all,” Ghislain muttered, clicking his tongue as he observed the expanded army of the Marquis outside the castle walls.

An additional ten thousand troops had been sent. Indeed, the strongest lord in the west, the Marquis of Rodrick, was living up to his reputation.

Count Desmond had amassed thirty thousand troops by rallying his vassals’ armies, which was an extraordinary feat in its own right. But here, an additional ten thousand soldiers seemed to appear at the snap of a finger.

Unlike the barren North, where resources were scarce, the West had both money and a surplus of people, making it easy to replenish their forces.

The Marquis of Rodrick’s power, rumored to rival that of other kingdoms, clearly wasn’t an exaggeration.

Gillian, standing nearby, spoke with a slightly grim expression.

“Twenty thousand… It doesn’t seem possible to achieve victory unscathed.”

Even that was an optimistic assessment. With ten thousand, they could hope for a hard-fought victory, relying on Ghislain, who had reached the level of a Master.

But twenty thousand was an entirely different matter. Even if they won, it was likely Ghislain would be the only survivor. More likely, they would exhaust themselves and be wiped out before achieving any significant success.

It wasn’t as if stamina and strength wouldn’t deplete in a prolonged battle; they were only human, after all.

Ghislain nodded, acknowledging the concern.

“Of course. They’re human, too, and they’ll keep scheming to ensure victory. Judging by the reinforcements, it seems they’ve heard the news.”

“What news, my lord?”

“The fact that I killed Delmuth. That information must have reached them, prompting them to quickly dispatch additional troops. That’s why they’ve arrived in time.”

“That makes sense. They must have realized ten thousand wouldn’t be enough.”

Gillian had personally witnessed Ghislain’s battle against Delmuth.

The difference between the Ghislain of that fight and the one standing before him now was astounding. It was almost unbelievable how much stronger a person could become in such a short time.

Ghislain had undoubtedly joined the ranks of the superhuman—those known as Masters. And in this kingdom, there were only four people, including Ghislain, who had reached that level.

Which meant that the Marquis of Rodrick would stop at nothing to ensure Ghislain was killed in this battle.

“They might even be gathering more troops as we speak. We should strike before their numbers grow further,” Gillian suggested.

“Yes, with another ten thousand, victory would be assured on their side. But it’s also not wise for us to charge out now. Even twenty thousand isn’t a number to underestimate.”

“What do you intend to do, my lord?”

Gillian’s question was laced with concern, but Ghislain chuckled faintly, a sharp smile curling on his lips.

“We’ll call for reinforcements of our own.”

“Reinforcements…?”

Gillian tilted his head in confusion. Ghislain had been operating with only his knights, raiding territory after territory without any additional support.

There was no supply line, and summoning reinforcements from the North would take far too long.

In a casual tone, Ghislain explained, “We’ve got mercenaries stationed nearby, don’t we?”

“Oh!”

The realization hit Gillian like a lightning bolt.

The mercenaries had been scattered across nearby territories, busy transporting the wealth and resources looted from previous raids. With no armies left to stop them, they had been operating freely.

Dominic, leading the Drake Mercenary Corps, had also returned to the West. No one knew the region better than his group.

Furthermore, many of the mercenaries recruited from the North and East had joined Dominic in his return.

“They’ve likely gathered even more by now,” Ghislain continued. “With all the treasure we’ve collected, the operation would need more hands. I told them to rally and keep reinforcing as the spoils piled up. I’d wager we have at least three or four thousand by now.”

Currently, the Fenris Mercenary Company boasted a force of nearly ten thousand. Their numbers had swelled steadily, thanks to Ghislain’s efforts to recruit from all regions.

When the raids began, he had moved with only five hundred. But as more territories were taken, more support had been called in.

If those mercenaries could be brought here, the odds would shift drastically. They could flank the Marquis’ forces, divide their attention, or even hold defensive positions to weaken the enemy’s formation.

But it wasn’t going to be simple.

“If they arrive, it’ll be a massive boon,” Gillian admitted. “But they’re spread thin, and gathering them all in one place will be a challenge. How do you plan to contact them?”

The territories Ghislain had raided were relatively small, even by the West’s standards, but ransacking an entire domain was no trivial task.

The mercenaries had been split into smaller groups to transport the spoils. Ordering them to regroup and head toward Ghislain’s location seemed impossible under the circumstances.

The siege had locked them in tight, and any attempt to send out a messenger would draw immediate retaliation from the Marquis’ forces.

But Ghislain simply smirked.

“Dominic’s here. He can handle it. All we need to do is get word to him. They’re not far—it won’t take long to rally them.”

“How will you…?”

Without answering, Ghislain stretched out his hand, reaching into the empty air.

A swirl of black smoke materialized, coalescing into a dense shape. The knights and Gillian instinctively stepped back as the ominous mass twisted and shifted.

The smoke solidified into the form of a jet-black crow. Its eyes glimmered with an unnatural red light, and its presence exuded a palpable malevolence.

“Crrk-rrk-rrk… Master, so you finally require my aid again?”

The crow spoke, its raspy voice sending a shiver down the spines of everyone present.

The knights stared, their jaws slack in disbelief. They had grown accustomed to Ghislain’s use of strange powers, but summoning a talking creature was far beyond anything they had expected.

Even Gillian, normally composed, stammered.

“M-My lord! What is that?”

“Hmm, how to explain…? Think of it as one of the spirits I can command,” Ghislain replied nonchalantly.

“A spirit? My lord, are you saying you can use spirits as well?”

“Sort of. It’s similar to magic.”

Ghislain had no intention of explaining the true nature of the crow. The process of how he had come to possess it was far too strange to be believed.

Instead, he decided to let them grow accustomed to it over time.

The crow, however, tilted its head upward arrogantly.

“I am called Dark. You’ll be seeing me often, so remember to bow every time you do.”

“What the hell is this arrogant bastard?” Kaor growled, his tone incredulous.

The crow cackled. “Do not test me, mortal. Should you anger me, I’ll curse your soul until nothing remains. You must be Kaor. I already know everything about you.”

The crow’s audacity drew Kaor’s curiosity. “You know me? How?”

“You’re famous.”

“Famous? Me?”

Kaor smirked, visibly pleased. Being known far and wide was certainly something to be proud of.

But the crow, mimicking Kaor’s tone, added, “Yes, famous… for being a moron.”

“You little shit!”

Kaor lunged, drawing his sword, but Ghislain raised a hand, stopping him.

Dark chuckled, clearly unbothered by the threat.

“Come on now. I’m an immortal being under the master’s protection—”

“Keck!”

Ghislain clenched his fist, and Dark shrieked, its form writhing as if crushed under an invisible weight.

“Master! I’m sorry!” the crow pleaded, its bravado vanishing instantly.

Ghislain clicked his tongue, releasing the pressure.

“Enough with the games. Go to Dominic and tell him to rally the mercenaries. Bring them here immediately. Can you do that?”

“Yes, yes! I’ll do it right away!” Dark muttered hurriedly. “Though, will he even believe me? He might just think I’m some crazy crow…”

“Mention the artifacts he’s seen before. That should be enough.”

“Got it. I’ll be back soon.”

With a flap of its smoky wings, the crow vanished into the distance.

A week passed.

Marquis Rodrick’s forces now swelled to a full twenty thousand. General Howard stood at the ready, his confidence bolstered.

“This should be enough,” he declared, raising his hand to signal the attack.

But before he could give the order, the castle gates creaked open.