The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 682

“Yes, I understand!”

Osvald could do nothing but nod furiously, repeating his agreement over and over. Humiliated beyond belief, he knew his career as a mercenary in the region was over. The fact that he was still alive despite having started this whole mess was a blessing in itself.

Ghislain’s low, calm voice continued.

“Everyone here will now join Julien’s Mercenary Corps. If you don’t want to join, that’s fine, but forget about being a mercenary in this area ever again.”

“Y-yes, I understand.”

“You’re an exception, though. You seem somewhat useful, so I’ll keep you around.”

“I-I don’t—”

“Hmm?”

“I mean, thank you. I’m so grateful!”

Osvald wanted nothing more than to quit this life and return to his hometown, but he didn’t dare refuse. Thus, Osvald was forcibly recruited into Julien’s Mercenary Corps.

Ghislain surveyed the remaining mercenaries before speaking again.

“For those of you who don’t want to join and don’t plan on leaving, you can always try being bandits.”

“……”

No one dared to take that option. With someone like Ghislain—nicknamed the “Bandit Crusher”—in the region, choosing to become a bandit would be a death sentence. It was better to leave, but for people who had spent their entire lives as mercenaries, starting anew elsewhere was a daunting task.

Left with no other options, most of the mercenaries reluctantly joined Julien’s Mercenary Corps.

Ghislain addressed the newly inducted members with a confident smile.

“Welcome, friends! While our beginnings might have been a bit rocky, we’re now one big ‘family.’”

“...Woo…”

“Our goal is to become the strongest mercenary corps in existence! And we’ll achieve that under none other than our esteemed leader, Captain Julien!”

“...Woo…”

The mercenaries and ex-bandits let out a halfhearted cheer. Being forced to join and suddenly given such an ambitious goal was overwhelming. Meanwhile, Captain Julien stood with a pained expression, knowing full well that the real power in the corps was Ghislain.

Still, no one dared complain. Ghislain had already made it abundantly clear how terrifying he was. Discipline, at the very least, was now firmly established.

“Alright, let’s move on to the next group!” Ghislain declared energetically.

Osvald, alarmed, stammered out a question.

“Next group? What do you mean by that?”

“We’re going to bring every mercenary group in this region under our control.”

“Wait… Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. Now hurry up and get moving.”

“But, Boss…”

“What?”

“If you forcefully absorb all the mercenary groups like this… you’ll make a lot of enemies.”

Osvald, still holding onto some resentment from his forced recruitment, voiced his concerns cautiously. Every organization had its share of dissent, but his real worry was something bigger.

When a mercenary corps grows too large, it inevitably attracts hostility from rival factions.

Osvald knew that just beyond this region, in the neighboring Crest County, there was an exceptionally powerful mercenary group that wouldn’t stand idly by.

However, Ghislain responded nonchalantly.

“Why should I care? Our goal is to become the strongest, right? Even if we make enemies, we’ll just crush them.”

His confidence was absolute. Osvald, fearful of provoking Ghislain further, didn’t press the issue.

Ghislain wasted no time in heading toward his next targets, determined to expand the mercenary corps as quickly as possible before word spread.

The remaining mercenary groups in the region weren’t numerous—many had already left Nodehill because of Julien’s growing influence.

One by one, Ghislain visited these groups.

“What the hell? The Bandit Crusher? Who do you think you are showing up here?”

THWACK!

“Oh, so the guy I was planning to visit came to me first, huh?”

THWACK!

“You bastard! You’re dead today!”

THWACK!

Every group that tried to resist was swiftly beaten into submission. Some didn’t even make it past Julien and Kyle, who handled many of the confrontations before Ghislain could step in.

With each group absorbed, Ghislain’s mercenary corps grew. Since most of these groups had a history of targeting his subordinates, there was no shortage of justification for his actions.

Watching Ghislain’s relentless campaign, Osvald couldn’t help but feel conflicted.

“Is he really planning to take over the entire mercenary scene? Can he actually do it?”

Even with his newfound loyalty, Osvald struggled to believe such a feat was possible. It went against every norm and rule of the mercenary world. Yet, seeing Ghislain in action made it hard to dismiss the idea.

“No, I must be losing my mind. There’s no way…”

Osvald shook his head, forcing himself to stay grounded.
“I’ll just watch how things play out. If it looks like they’re going to fail, I’ll bail or switch sides when the time comes.”

Still, Osvald couldn’t ignore one looming threat.

‘The Crest County… There’s a monster there.’

Crest County, located right next to Nodehill, boasted immense power. Count Crest himself was a vassal of the Marquis of Falkenheim, one of the kingdom’s strongest factions.

As was typical of lords, Count Crest had a mercenary corps under his employ—a group widely regarded as the strongest in the region.

If Ghislain continued his expansion, it was only a matter of time before he clashed with them.

“When that happens, I’ll have my chance to either run or surrender to them,” Osvald muttered to himself, secretly making plans for his escape.

As the campaign continued, Osvald observed Ghislain’s combat style closely. Finally, he couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer and asked,
“Boss.”

“What?”

“You only fight in close combat, so why do people say you’re a mage?”

Ghislain raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t it obvious? Anyone can tell I’m a mage just by looking at me.”

“You look more like a berserker, honestly.”

“……”

“...I mean, I’m sorry.”

“Hmm, I guess it’s hard for ordinary people to see it.”

Ghislain felt slightly aggrieved. He had recently taken a great interest in magic, applying it to enhance his physical capabilities.

He had enchanted himself with various spells, such as ones to maintain a comfortable temperature and boost his vitality. His body constantly hummed with magic, making it an integral part of his life.

Yet, no one seemed to recognize the sophistication of his methods.

“What a shame…” Ghislain muttered.

Still, he found satisfaction in the way his understanding of the world deepened through magic. By combining this with his mastery of willpower, he had achieved a level of growth he hadn’t thought possible.

After absorbing most of the mercenary groups in the area, only one remained.

The leader of that group, beaten and lying on the ground, glared up at Ghislain and spat out,

“You… You think you’ll get away with this?”

Ghislain smirked and replied,

“And you thought you could get away with targeting us?”

“……”

Threats like these were nothing new. Every group that tried had failed miserably, unable to argue against the fact that they had started the conflict.

“This is going too far,” Ghislain muttered, shaking his head. Even criminal organizations didn’t wage such relentless wars without pause.

In the end, the defeated mercenary leader let out a gasp of disbelief and issued a warning.

“Your name has already spread across this region. If you keep this up, Ironclad won’t stand for it.”

Ironclad was the nickname for the Ironclad Lion Corps, the most renowned mercenary group in the area. It was also the group Osvald feared most—a mercenary corps from the neighboring Crest County. The rumors surrounding them were terrifying, especially the one claiming their leader was a top-tier fighter.

Ghislain, however, was unfazed. He had heard of them before but showed no signs of concern.

“I don’t care whether it’s Ironclad or something else. Mercenaries who cross paths with me have two choices.”

“W-what choices?” the mercenary leader stammered.

“Retirement or joining my mercenary corps.”

“……”

“What’s it going to be? That includes you, by the way.”

The mercenary leader hung his head low. Retirement at his age meant a life of struggle. But the idea of relocating to another region to start from scratch as a rookie didn’t appeal to him either.

Osvald chimed in from the side, adding to Ghislain’s words.

“Yeah! Just join already! What’s the hold-up? Boss here said he’d give you a squad leader position if you do!”

“……”

The mercenary leader felt his blood boil at Osvald’s thoughtless comment but couldn’t bring himself to refute it. After all, if he joined Julien’s Mercenary Corps, he might indeed get a decent position—like squad leader, as Osvald claimed.

Finally, with a defeated sigh, the mercenary leader muttered under his breath.

“I’ll join…”

Ghislain smiled brightly.
“Good! We’re family now. Let’s work together to build the greatest mercenary corps the world has ever seen.”

“……”

The mercenary leader stood there silently, feeling a mix of shame and resignation. Ghislain’s dreams were grandiose, while the so-called leader of the corps, Julien, simply looked like he wanted to disappear. The real leader, everyone knew, was the overconfident and terrifying Ghislain.

With that, Ghislain had managed to conquer every mercenary group in the Nodehill territory within a week. Julien’s Mercenary Corps now boasted over 100 members, a massive leap in growth.

The Ironclad Lion Corps leader, Tyron, was a mercenary of considerable fame in the Terramond Kingdom.

His massive frame was encased in muscle as hard as stone, earning him the moniker Ironclad. The aura and presence he exuded were reminiscent of a lion, and few mercenaries dared to meet his gaze.

A natural-born predator, Tyron was aptly named the Ironclad Lion.

Numerous nobles sought to recruit him, offering riches and titles, but he rejected them all.

His reason was simple—he didn’t want to spend his life as a subordinate to some noble family. Tyron’s goal was grand: to build the strongest mercenary corps in the kingdom, one so powerful that no noble would dare to challenge him.

He was always moving toward that goal.

“Soon, Count Crest will initiate his territorial war. We’ll be participating, so prepare accordingly,” Tyron announced to his officers.

“Yes, sir!”

The officers bowed their heads respectfully. Unlike the freewheeling nature of most mercenary groups, the Ironclad Lion Corps was disciplined, almost like a regular army.

Tyron pointed to a map as he continued.

“Before the Rift Beasts become active, Marquis Falkenheim wants to consolidate all other forces in the kingdom. That’s his strategy.”

One of the officers swallowed nervously and asked,

“Does that mean… there might be a civil war?”

Tyron shot the officer a sharp look. Such words, even if true, should not be spoken lightly. Realizing his mistake, the officer immediately lowered his head in apology.

Tyron resumed speaking.
“Once the Rift Beasts emerge, territorial wars will cease. This means we won’t have the opportunity to make our mark. We need to strengthen our foothold and build our power now.”

For mercenaries, fighting Rift Beasts was a thankless and deadly task. Even if they emerged victorious, others would take the glory. Territorial wars, on the other hand, were a prime opportunity to amass wealth and influence.

Though the exact timing of the Rift Beasts’ emergence was uncertain—they had been rumored to reappear for over a century—Tyron knew he couldn’t afford to wait.

“Don’t concern yourselves with anything else. Count Crest will lead the charge under Marquis Falkenheim’s orders. Just focus on following his lead.”

“Yes, sir!”

The officers showed no signs of worry. Marquis Falkenheim’s power extended across the entire kingdom, and aligning with his faction meant safety and strength.

Tyron issued a final warning.

“Spread the word to every mercenary in the region—choose your side wisely. If they align with anyone else, they’ll have to face us.”

The Ironclad Lion Corps, with its 500 mercenaries, was a force to be reckoned with. No small or medium-sized group would dare oppose Tyron’s will.

Everything was going according to Tyron’s plans. Until…

“Sir,” an officer in charge of gathering intelligence spoke up hesitantly.

“What is it?”

“There’s an issue with the mercenaries near the Nodehill territory… It seems they won’t be able to join us immediately.”

Tyron frowned.

“Why not?”

“There aren’t any mercenary groups left. They’ve all been… forcibly absorbed by a group called Julien’s Mercenary Corps.”

“What? Forcibly absorbed? But that territory had several small groups still active not long ago.”

“Yes, sir. Those groups apparently picked fights with Julien’s Mercenary Corps and… well, Julien’s group retaliated and absorbed them all.”

Tyron’s frown deepened as he processed the report.

“That doesn’t make any sense…”

It was such a bizarre story that it momentarily left Tyron in stunned silence.