The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 685

The leaders of the Ironclad Lion Corps were in complete disarray.

Right now, they were supposed to be preparing for Count Crest’s territorial skirmish. What should have been a simple lesson to put some arrogant upstarts in their place had turned into an uncontrollable mess.

Tyron paced back and forth, growling as he snapped at Zark.

“You’re telling me they didn’t even need the others? Just three of them? Three people took out all our men?”

“Yes… That’s correct,” Zark replied, his voice subdued.

“Are you saying those three are at least advanced knights?”

Even among the defeated mercenaries, several were capable of wielding mana. And yet, they had all fallen. Unless the opponents were advanced knights or stronger, such an outcome was unthinkable.

Zark spoke truthfully, without exaggeration.

“That mage… He didn’t even use magic. He just swung his staff and brought us all down.”

“A mage… didn’t use magic?”

“Yes. It seems the rumors about him were false. He never cast a single spell.”

In reality, Ghislain had been using a variety of enhancements—his body layered with magic—but none of the Ironclad Lion Corps had been skilled enough to notice.

Tyron furrowed his brow at Zark’s confident report and nodded.

“I see. So that nonsense about him being a mage must’ve been deliberate misinformation.”

He trusted Zark’s judgment, built over years of working together. If Zark said the mage hadn’t used magic, he believed him.

Still, the fact that they had encountered three fighters of advanced knight-level strength was alarming.

“To think they’d be this strong… It makes sense how they’ve risen so quickly.”

For most small territories, even having one advanced knight was a luxury. Advanced knights were rare and powerful assets.

Of course, Tyron wasn’t worried about losing to them. He had already stepped into the realm of master-class warriors, though he had yet to reveal this publicly. He was simply waiting for the right moment to use that status to boost the Ironclad Lion Corps’ reputation.

He was confident in his abilities, but that didn’t mean fighting three advanced-level opponents simultaneously would be wise. Even if he won, he’d likely suffer serious injuries.

“Treat this like a war and prepare accordingly,” Tyron ordered.

He was a mercenary, not a knight bound by chivalry. If necessary, he would forgo a duel and rely on sheer numbers to crush the enemy.

Zark hesitated before cautiously speaking.

“They are undeniably strong. If we fight, we’ll eventually win, but… our losses will be significant. That’s not ideal with the territorial skirmish looming.”

They had only brought clubs to teach a lesson this time. But if another fight broke out, it would undoubtedly escalate into a full-blown bloodbath.

Considering the strength of Julien’s mercenaries, at least half of the Ironclad Lion Corps would likely be wiped out.

But Tyron had no intention of backing down.

“So what? You want me to just stand by after what they did to us?”

“Perhaps we should consider reconciliation. If they’re this skilled, having them on our side could be a significant asset.”

Zark swallowed his pride to make the suggestion. He was angry, but he also respected the enemy’s strength. Since they weren’t natural enemies, wouldn’t it be better to recruit them?

But Tyron shook his head firmly.

“That’s not how you lead men.”

“……”

“We started this fight and lost. Word will spread. If we let this slide, people will laugh at us. They’ll see us as cowards.”

“...But…”

“Pragmatism is all well and good, but once you lose your reputation, it’s nearly impossible to get it back. We have to show that anyone who crosses us pays the ultimate price.”

Tyron’s reputation was why nobles sought him out. It wasn’t just his strength—it was his unwavering image as someone who never forgave those who opposed him.

If he compromised now, he risked losing everything he had built.

Zark sighed and nodded reluctantly. He understood Tyron’s principles, even if he didn’t entirely agree with them.

Soon, the entire Ironclad Lion Corps set out for Nodehill.

The appearance of several hundred heavily armed mercenaries caused an immediate uproar.

“Stop right there! What’s the meaning of this?”

The guards were visibly tense, unprepared for such a sudden and overwhelming force.

Tyron stepped forward, speaking calmly.

“We’re the Ironclad Lion Corps. We have business in Nodehill. Open the gate.”

This was beyond what any regular soldier could handle, so the knight overseeing the checkpoint quickly stepped in.

“What brings you here?” the knight asked politely, knowing the reputation of the Ironclad Lion Corps.

“Do mercenaries need any reason beyond looking for work? We heard Nodehill has some opportunities,” Tyron replied nonchalantly.

By “opportunities,” he meant taking revenge on Julien’s mercenaries. The knight understood the implication.

“A few days ago, a hundred mercenaries caused some trouble here. They’re all in prison now.”

“Fights between mercenaries are common. Nothing worth overthinking. Besides, the Julien Mercenary Corps invited us.”

Tyron didn’t even bother asking for his imprisoned men to be released. He knew the young lord of Nodehill would likely free them once the matter was resolved.

The knight hesitated, considering his options.

The news of Julien’s mercenaries defeating a hundred of the Ironclad Lion Corps had already spread throughout the region. It was clear that Tyron and his men had come for revenge.

If he refused them entry, Tyron would undoubtedly turn his wrath on the checkpoint itself.

‘He’ll appeal to Count Crest.’

Count Crest had a strong relationship with Tyron and would undoubtedly support him. That would spell disaster for Nodehill.

‘There’s no helping it.’

The Julien Mercenary Corps had invited them, after all. Strictly speaking, this wasn’t even an issue worth stopping them over.

“I understand. I just hope there won’t be any trouble within the territory.”

“Don’t worry. Nodehill has nothing to fear from us,” Tyron replied.

If Julien’s mercenaries were destroyed, it would be Nodehill that suffered the most. The young lord, Andrew, relied heavily on their strength.

Reluctantly, the knight stepped aside, allowing Tyron and his men to pass. The Ironclad Lion Corps’ reputation was simply too overwhelming to defy.

Without hesitation, Tyron led his forces to the heart of the Julien Mercenary Corps’ territory, surrounding it entirely.

Standing at the forefront, Tyron bellowed.

“I am Tyron, leader of the Ironclad Lion Corps! Julien Mercenary Corps, come out at once!”

This time, he didn’t bother hiding his intent. The mercenaries standing guard outside the building froze in terror at the sight of him.

“W-Wow… Tyron really showed up.”
“He brought everyone… Are we all going to die today?”

The Julien Mercenary Corps members weren’t alone in their fear. Other mercenaries, drawn out by the commotion, froze at the sight of Tyron and the Ironclad Lion Corps.

“What do we do?”
“Why did they come so fast?”
“Well, we did take out a hundred of their men… There’s no way they’d let that slide.”

Uneasy glances were exchanged.

Only a short time ago, they had been convinced of their leaders’ strength and had pledged to stand with them. The sheer power of Julien’s mercenaries had been enough to inspire loyalty.

But now, faced with Tyron—renowned as the strongest mercenary in the region—and his imposing army, that resolve began to waver.

It was human nature to be fickle. The Julien Mercenary Corps had yet to build true trust and solidarity among its members.

In the midst of the tension, Ghislain strolled out casually, speaking with a smirk.

“You got here quickly. Did you bring a gift?”

“……”

Tyron glared at Ghislain with murderous intent, his voice low and dangerous.

“You must have a death wish.”

“What? Did the message not get through properly? I invited you to come greet me. Isn’t it polite to bring a gift when you’re visiting?”

Ghislain’s skill at provoking others was second to none. Claude might have rivaled him in that regard, but Ghislain’s ability to back it up with action was what set him apart.

Thud!

Tyron dismounted, his massive frame making the ground tremble. Drawing a sword far larger than any ordinary blade, he pointed it at Ghislain.

“I’ve heard you’re quite valued by Baron Andrew. I don’t want unnecessary bloodshed, so I’ll give you one last chance.”

“Last chance?”

“Kneel before me and apologize. Do that, and I’ll forgive you. I’ll even take your group under the Ironclad Lion Corps’ banner.”

Tyron’s offer was strategic. By forcing Julien’s mercenaries to submit, he could salvage his pride, bolster his forces, and maintain his reputation.

Of course, it came at the cost of humiliating Ghislain and his group.

Unsurprisingly, Ghislain refused.

“Don’t worry. If you kneel, I’ll consider accepting you instead.”

Tyron, expecting such defiance, raised his hand.

Clang!

At his signal, the Ironclad Lion Corps drew their weapons, unleashing a suffocating wave of bloodlust.

This was no longer a simple scuffle. With blades drawn, casualties were inevitable.

Ghislain glanced back at his mercenaries, noticing their still-timid expressions. It seemed one display of strength hadn’t been enough to fully convince them.

Fixing his gaze on Osvald, who stood awkwardly at the front, Ghislain called out.

“Hey, Osvald the ‘real man.’ Why aren’t you getting ready for battle?”

“B-Boss, I’m still a real man, but… my stomach’s been acting up since breakfast…”

“Tsk.”

This time, Ghislain didn’t let it slide. His glare made Osvald wince and step forward reluctantly, tears welling in his eyes.

The former bandits, though equally terrified, stepped forward as well. They were no less scared than before, but their fear of Ghislain outweighed everything else.

“Hmph…”

Ghislain scanned the hesitant mercenaries.

“Still lacking faith, are we?”

He could have forced them to fight. He could have used threats to drag them into action.

But true leadership wasn’t about coercion. A leader needed to inspire loyalty, to prove they were worth following.

Ghislain addressed the group calmly.

“It’s true that we haven’t been together long enough to build trust. And it’s not like any of you joined willingly.”

Several mercenaries nodded involuntarily.

They had been forced into the Julien Mercenary Corps after their own groups had been dismantled. Even though they had started the conflict, it wasn’t a situation they were happy about.

Their resentment had diminished after witnessing the strength of Julien’s leaders, but trust and loyalty took time to grow.

Ghislain understood their hesitation. He decided to give them one last opportunity to see for themselves.

“Some of you think I’m not a mage because I don’t use magic. That’s been bothering me. Let me show you—I’m not just good at fighting.”

He twirled his staff in the air, a grin spreading across his face.

“I’m also pretty good at magic.”

Fwoosh!

A single ball of fire materialized in the air.

The fireball split in two. Then four. Then eight.

The flames continued to divide, filling the sky. Ghislain’s calm smile never wavered as he manipulated the mana around him.

“The principle of magic is simple. You distort the proportions of the world, imbue your will, and manifest your desires. In other words, with enough willpower, you can shape magic in countless ways.”

The fireballs multiplied endlessly, soon numbering over five hundred.

The watching mercenaries stared in awe, their mouths agape. Even Tyron’s eyes widened in shock.

“What… what is that?”
“What kind of magic is this?”
“Has something like this even existed before?”

The sky was ablaze with fireballs—over five hundred and still growing. The sight was mesmerizing and terrifying.

As the flames danced in the air, Ghislain’s voice echoed softly.

“This is a spell I created. Fire Swarm.”