The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 684

The “new recruits” among the mercenaries whispered as they watched the former bandits step forward.

“Wow, those guys have some loyalty after all.”

“Guess people really can change for the better.”

‘I had my doubts about them being former bandits, but today I see I was wrong.’

Hearing the murmurs, the bandits thought to themselves:

‘Idiots, that’s not it.’

‘If Tyron himself had shown up, we might have a chance, but against the second-in-command? No way, not even a crowd of us could handle that guy.’

‘If we back out now, Ghislain will kill us instead.’

It was clear that the Ironclad Lion Corps wasn’t out for blood—they were holding back enough to avoid killing. However, injuries were another matter entirely.

Sure, bones might break in the chaos, but that was preferable to being killed outright or left permanently maimed. The bandits resolved to fight, knowing the consequences of failure. Ghislain was far scarier than anything the Ironclad Lion Corps could throw at them.

Ghislain stepped forward and turned to glance back.

“Osvald, you’re not coming?”

“Boss, your man Osvald here... I think lunch didn’t agree with me,” Osvald replied, clutching his stomach with a pained expression.

Seeing him, Ghislain smacked his thigh and shook his head.

“Tsk tsk. Always so full of bluster, just like Claude.”

Osvald constantly bragged about being a “real man,” but despite his size, he was all bark and no bite—always making excuses to avoid danger.

Watching the exchange, Zark sneered, his expression dripping with disdain.

“What’s this? That’s your secret weapon? You think you can take us on with just that tiny group?”

Ghislain, Julien, Kyle, and ten former bandits stood ready. Meanwhile, Deneb had stepped aside, preparing to treat the injured.

In contrast, the Ironclad Lion Corps boasted a hundred men. The disparity in numbers made it seem impossible for Ghislain’s group to win unless their strength was overwhelming.

Still, Ghislain remained calm, responding with a casual smile.

“Did you come to talk, or are you going to fight? If you’re coming, then hurry up. I’ll go easy on you since you’re trying to hold back yourselves.”

He spun his staff lazily in his hand.

The fact that he hadn’t drawn a weapon might have seemed admirable, but it was clear that Ghislain was confident in his ability to win.

Zark’s scowl deepened. Ghislain’s condescending tone was unbearable. His plan to teach the smaller group a lesson immediately shifted to total annihilation.

“Everyone, take them down!”

“Waaaah!”

The mercenaries charged with a thunderous roar, and Ghislain was the first to move, sprinting forward.

The mercenaries swung their clubs as Ghislain approached, but he met their attacks with his staff.

BOOM!

“Huh?”

The leading mercenaries froze in confusion. The sound wasn’t right—it wasn’t the sound of two wooden weapons clashing.

Their clubs had already shattered.

Before they could react, Ghislain struck.

THUD!

The mercenaries at the front collapsed without even a chance to scream. Ghislain moved with incredible speed, striking their heads one after another.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“Argh! What the hell is this!”

The mercenaries were shocked. They were veterans of countless battles, but they had never encountered anyone like Ghislain. He was on a completely different level.

And Ghislain wasn’t the only problem. Julien and Kyle were cutting through the mercenaries with their sheathed swords, dropping enemies left and right.

Logically, when a hundred men charged, even thirty should have been overwhelmed. But here, only three were dominating the battlefield, driving the others into retreat.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Ghislain’s relentless strikes left no room for the enemy to recover. Swinging his staff like a whirlwind, he broke through the mercenaries’ formation single-handedly.

“Stop him!”

Recognizing the danger, the lieutenants who could use mana stepped forward.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The sound of weapons clashing shifted slightly, but it didn’t matter. They barely lasted a few exchanges before Ghislain shattered their defenses, taking them down with swift strikes to the head and legs.

Zark began to back away, trembling.

“What... what are they?”

He hadn’t even seen any magic. Ghislain was only swinging his staff, yet men were dropping like flies.

The other two weren’t even using their blades—just the hilts—and the mercenaries were falling helplessly.

Why were fighters of this caliber working as mercenaries? Shouldn’t they be living comfortably as nobles?

Zark wasn’t the only one dumbfounded. Even the rookie mercenaries were left speechless.

“What... what is that?”

‘They’re completely different from how they were when they fought alongside us!’

‘I knew they were strong, but not this strong!’

The Ironclad Lion Corps had a reputation as the strongest mercenary group in the region. Even their regular members were skilled enough to take on three ordinary mercenaries each.

Yet these supposedly elite mercenaries were dropping like ordinary civilians.

The rookies who had fought alongside Ghislain before now realized how wrong they’d been. They had thought Ghislain was just moderately stronger than them—but no, they had only seen a fraction of his power.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Watching Ghislain’s elegant strikes, the former bandits felt tears well up.

‘This is why it’s important to follow the right leader!’

‘That man is a demon no one can defeat!’

‘If this is how the second-in-command fights, imagine the boss!’

They didn’t even need to fight. All they did was shout and follow the three as they tore through the enemy ranks.

Ghislain and the others took down all the mercenaries, leaving little for the bandits to do. All they had to do was kick the fallen men for good measure.

“You bastards! How dare you disrespect the Julien Mercenary Corps!”

“You thought this many men would be enough?”

“You thought you were the best, didn’t you!”

The bandits acted as if they had done all the work, boasting arrogantly.

But they knew better than anyone else how terrifying Ghislain truly was.

Thwack!

“Urgh…”

Thanks to Ghislain, the 100 mercenaries fell in no time.

The former bandits eagerly kicked the downed men to ensure they wouldn’t get back up.

Deneb stepped forward, waving them over.

“Bring stretchers and bandages. And some herbs, too. Oh, look at these head wounds!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Understood, ma’am!”

The former bandits bowed their heads respectfully to Deneb before helping her tend to the wounded.

Deneb focused her divine power on those with the most severe head injuries, while the rest were bandaged up by the former bandits. Having lived in the wild for years, they were quite familiar with emergency treatment methods. With Deneb’s guidance, the wounded were swiftly stabilized.

Meanwhile, Zark, the deputy leader of the Ironclad Lion Corps, stood frozen, staring blankly.

“Am I dreaming?”

It had to be a dream. The group that was hailed as the strongest in the region had just been thoroughly defeated by a mere three individuals.

He pinched himself several times, but there was no sign of waking up. It was as if he had fallen into an unshakable nightmare.

As Zark remained dazed, Ghislain slowly walked up to him.

“So, what’s your impression?”

“……”

“Is this what you call the strongest? Parading around with this sorry lot?”

“In my day…” Ghislain started, then hesitated, tilting his head slightly.

In his memories, his mercenary corps was truly the strongest on the continent. But that was in the past—a memory from his previous life. In this era, it was more accurate to say it was still the future.

How could he even explain that? It wasn’t a tale of the past, but not quite the present either.

Shrugging off the mental gymnastics, Ghislain shook his head and smirked.

“Now it’s my turn to talk.”

“W-What do you mean?”

“Tell Tyron he’s invited to come ‘greet’ me in person.”

“What? No, that’s…”

Zark’s face paled. Tyron was a man of immense pride. How could he possibly deliver such a message?

Ghislain tapped Zark’s shoulder with his staff, speaking in a low, menacing voice.

“All those guys you brought? They’re going to prison.”

“P-Prison? But this was just a fight between mercenaries!”

“You attacked first. Did you think just saying ‘We surrender’ would make everything go away? Do I look like a pushover?”

“……”

“The only way to keep them from rotting in prison for the rest of their lives is to deliver my message.”

“……”

The lord of Nodehill would undoubtedly support Ghislain’s decision. Losing a hundred men to imprisonment just before a territorial skirmish would be disastrous for the Ironclad Lion Corps.

Since they had started the fight, even a flimsy excuse would give Ghislain the justification he needed.

Ghislain grinned wickedly.

“And you? You’re not walking away so easily. Let me help you remember the message.”

“What…?”

CRACK!

“ARGH!”

Before Zark could finish his sentence, Ghislain swung his staff into Zark’s shoulder, shattering the bone. Zark collapsed to the ground, his face twisted in pain—but more than the pain, he was overwhelmed by shock.

‘He’s not a mage! We were completely fooled! But how strong is he to do this…?’

Zark had some talent with mana, enough to make him a competent deputy leader in one of the region’s largest mercenary corps. His skill was on par with most knights.

That was why he had earned his position as deputy leader of the Ironclad Lion Corps.

Yet, even with his experience and mana control, Zark hadn’t been able to track the movement of Ghislain’s staff. His body, enhanced by mana, had been unable to react in time.

‘This feels just like when I watch the leader fight. Could this man really be on Tyron’s level?’

Zark could only guess at the extent of Ghislain’s abilities.

One thing, however, was certain.

‘I picked the wrong fight. I should’ve approached cautiously and tried to negotiate.’

If he had known they were this strong, he would never have antagonized them so recklessly.

But there was no turning back now. Things had escalated too far, and Tyron wasn’t the type of man to let such an insult slide.

One of them would have to die to settle this. Tyron would make sure of it.

‘The damage will be catastrophic… Our corps might not even be able to participate in the territorial skirmish.’

Clutching his shattered shoulder, Zark struggled to his feet. There was only one thing he could do now—deliver the message.

“Fine… I’ll tell him. I’ll deliver your message.”

The anger and arrogance had long since vanished from Zark’s face, replaced by exhaustion and resignation.

Ghislain nodded.

“Feel free to bring a gift when you come back.”

“……”

Zark didn’t respond. He simply turned and walked away. The confident swagger he’d displayed when he first arrived was nowhere to be seen—his retreating figure radiated nothing but defeat.

As Zark disappeared into the distance, silence fell over the battlefield. The only sounds were the groans of the injured mercenaries and Deneb’s voice as she instructed the bandits in treating wounds.

The new recruits of the Julien Mercenary Corps stood wide-eyed, glancing at each other.

“What… what was that? How are they so strong?”

“There’s no way they’re human. They’re monsters!”

“How can anyone be this powerful?”

The strength on display was overwhelming, far beyond what anyone could have imagined. The Ironclad Lion Corps was supposed to be an elite group, with each member capable of taking on three ordinary mercenaries at once.

Yet they had been utterly crushed.

It wasn’t just the deputy leader who was strong. Julien and Kyle had demonstrated strength beyond reason as well. Even if they weren’t quite on Ghislain’s level, they were still monstrous.

The mercenaries realized where their loyalty should lie. The bandits’ decision to follow Ghislain suddenly seemed less foolish.

Osvald, ever shameless, raised his voice triumphantly.

“Amazing! As expected of our leader! The Julien Mercenary Corps is the strongest in the region!”

Osvald’s shameless enthusiasm was infectious.

“Yeah! We’re the best!”

“Our leader and deputy leaders are unstoppable!”

“We won!”

The group erupted into cheers.

Ghislain narrowed his eyes at Osvald’s antics, but before he could say anything, Osvald hefted a massive warhammer and shouted again.

“Boss! I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth! This man, Osvald, will crush every enemy that stands in your way!”

“…Fine.”

Ghislain, caught off guard by Osvald’s over-the-top declaration, decided to let it slide.

At the very least, the display of strength had quieted much of the discontent among the mercenaries.

While the Julien Mercenary Corps celebrated, far from the battlefield, Zark reported the situation to Tyron.

CRASH!

The table in front of Tyron shattered as he slammed his fist down.

“Gather everyone! We’ll crush them completely!”

What had started as a simple show of strength had turned into an irreparable humiliation.

“I won’t forgive this.”

Tyron’s eyes burned with fury as he prepared for war.