The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 687

Tyron couldn’t respond to Ghislain’s suggestion right away.

When was the last time I fought without using mana?

It had to have been over twenty years ago. No one who could wield mana would willingly refrain from using it.

For someone who had mastered mana, abandoning it in a fight felt deeply unsettling. It was like shedding the armor that protected their life.

And yet, the challenge proposed by Ghislain required just that.

This duel wouldn’t rely on overwhelming skill or strength—it demanded courage. Courage strong enough to face death itself without flinching.

All eyes were on Tyron. His subordinates stared at him, waiting to see if he would accept.

“Damn it…”

Tyron felt like he was being cornered again.

What would happen if he refused? It would look like he was afraid. His pride and authority would take a devastating hit.

As much as he wanted to reject the offer, Tyron had no choice. His pride wouldn’t let him back down.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way,” he growled, grinding his teeth.

Despite his anger, he couldn’t shake the belief that he held the upper hand.

Julien was smaller than him and leaner, with none of Tyron’s bulky, powerful frame. There was no way Julien could overpower him in a contest of strength.

The key factors would be Julien’s skill and nerve, neither of which Tyron expected to surpass his own.

He can’t be feeling confident about this either, Tyron thought. Julien might’ve suggested the duel, but Tyron could tell from his expression that he was slightly nervous.

As Tyron reluctantly accepted, Julien nodded and began preparing. He wrapped bandages around his hands and arms while Deneb approached, helping him secure the bindings.

Deneb whispered, her tone filled with worry.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m fine,” Julien replied calmly.

“Why are you fighting this way? It’s so reckless.”

She looked deeply concerned. Ghislain had explained this plan earlier, but she still couldn’t understand why Julien had to fight under such dangerous conditions.

Julien gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“Who knows? But if Ghislain thought it was necessary, there must be a good reason.”

Over the two years they had spent together, Julien had come to trust Ghislain implicitly. Despite the grueling training, he had grown stronger because of it.

He also had a sense of why this unusual duel was necessary.

To handle rough, unruly mercenaries, you need to show them more than just strength.

If they fought using mana, the outcome could always be questioned—who had the stronger mana, who used better techniques, or who had an unfair advantage.

But a duel like this, stripped down to raw skill and courage, would leave no room for doubt. It would show the mercenaries that their leader was someone they could truly follow.

Deneb squeezed Julien’s hands tightly, her worry evident in her eyes.

“Be careful. If it gets too dangerous, surrender. You’re strong enough to join any mercenary group you want.”

“Don’t worry,” Julien said, his voice steady.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the warmth between them was palpable.

Ghislain, watching from the side, narrowed his eyes and muttered to himself.

“What’s this? Something feels fishy… Are those two…?”

There was an unmistakable air between Julien and Deneb, one that made Ghislain suspicious. But he had little time to dwell on it.

The preparations were complete, and Julien and Tyron stood face-to-face.

The crowd around them held their breath, their tension palpable. But Julien and Tyron were oblivious to the stares. Their world had narrowed to just the two of them.

Tyron raised his dagger and asked, “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” Julien replied.

Swish!

Before the words even finished leaving Julien’s mouth, Tyron lunged. His dagger slashed through the air, aiming directly for Julien’s face.

Julien tilted his head just enough to dodge. Tyron followed up immediately, unleashing a flurry of attacks to keep Julien on the defensive.

I need to end this quickly.

In a fight this dangerous, dragging it out would only increase the risk. Tyron attacked with relentless aggression, abandoning defense entirely.

To the onlookers, his ferocity was awe-inspiring.

“Of course, it’s Tyron.”
“He doesn’t even seem scared of this fight.”
“That’s why he’s so strong. The man knows no fear.”

But contrary to appearances, Tyron was far from calm.

Despite his relentless assault, all he could hear was the sound of his blade slicing through empty air. Julien, even with his hands bound, evaded every attack.

Tyron quickly realized that Julien’s skill was far superior to what he had anticipated.

Snarling, Tyron tried to provoke him.

“How long are you going to keep running? If you’re scared, you shouldn’t have suggested this stupid fight in the first place!”

Julien didn’t respond. Instead, he counterattacked.

Swish!

A sharp wind grazed Tyron’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. The attack had been so fast and precise that he hadn’t even sensed it coming.

Did he use mana? Tyron wondered, momentarily doubting himself. The strike was so clean it felt almost supernatural.

“Damn you!”

Tyron swung his dagger again, aiming for Julien’s shoulder. Julien twisted his body to avoid it, but Tyron pulled on the bindings connecting them, throwing Julien off balance.

Taking advantage of Julien’s momentary stumble, Tyron’s dagger slashed across his side.

Shhk!

Blood sprayed from Julien’s side, and Tyron couldn’t help but smile.

I knew it. My strength is superior.

His larger frame and raw power were undeniable advantages. Tyron pressed his attack, aiming to overwhelm Julien completely.

Slash! Slash! Slash!

Julien’s body accumulated more cuts as Tyron’s relentless assault continued. Watching from the sidelines, Deneb turned pale with fear.

To the spectators, it seemed inevitable that Julien would fall. Tyron’s confidence and dominance made it hard to imagine any other outcome.

But Ghislain thought differently.

“He’s rushing,” he muttered.

Though Tyron’s attacks appeared relentless, they were wild and unrefined. His composure was slipping.

Meanwhile, Julien, though bloodied, remained steady. None of his wounds were life-threatening.

Tyron began to feel a growing sense of unease.

Why? Why can’t I land a decisive blow?

He knew Julien was skilled, but not overwhelmingly so. Tyron prided himself on his adaptability in battle—he should have the upper hand.

Yet, every time he thought he had an opening, Julien would evade or counter with uncanny precision.

Clang!

Their daggers clashed, sparks flying. For a brief moment, Tyron saw Julien’s eyes—calm, unwavering, and full of quiet confidence.

“You…”

The sight froze Tyron in place, and in that instant, Julien struck.

Shhk!

Tyron managed to dodge at the last second, but not completely. A shallow cut opened on his neck.

For the first time in years, Tyron felt a sensation he had almost forgotten.

Cold.

Despite the wound being minor, the sharpness of the pain sent chills down his spine.

What is this?

He had endured countless injuries in his life, some far worse than this. Yet the icy precision of Julien’s strike made it feel like a mortal wound.

Tyron couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

Could it be… this guy…

When fighting with mana, no matter how much pain he endured, he could withstand it. Pain was never something he feared.

With his muscles fortified by mana, he believed that no matter the situation, his body would remain protected.

But now?

No matter how much he trained his muscles, without mana, even the thrust of a crude spear could penetrate them.

A single well-aimed strike from a skilled swordsman could kill him outright.

Am I… feeling fear?

The realization hit Tyron like a cold wave, leaving him disoriented.

He, who had lived his life with unshakable pride and confidence, was now trembling in fear in a mere duel!

Slash!

Julien’s dagger sliced past Tyron’s body again. His clothes were torn, his skin grazed, and shallow wounds began to bleed.

Grinding his teeth, Tyron thought, In a fight like this, if you lose your composure, you die.

Slash!

Julien’s body bled too, but his gaze remained unwavering. His eyes carried the same calm focus they had at the start.

The two fighters’ movements grew more intense, more frantic. With their hands bound together, their ability to dodge or parry became increasingly limited.

As the duel dragged on, their bodies were covered in blood, their movements increasingly desperate.

The onlookers could barely breathe, watching in horror as each man continued to slash and bleed.

“W-wow…”

“How can anyone fight like that…?”

“Just watching them is painful enough.”

In this battle, strength, size, and technique meant nothing. All that mattered was avoiding a lethal blow and tearing into the opponent’s flesh.

Their movements became faster, their attacks more brutal, making it almost impossible to predict what would happen next.

Slash! Slash! Slash!

The combatants struck with relentless aggression, each trying to exploit the other’s weaknesses. A tense silence hung over the spectators, broken only by the sound of ripping flesh and labored breathing.

“Agh… This… this is insane…”

Tyron felt lightheaded as the number of wounds on his body grew.

It hurt.

Despite his years of experience, he couldn’t remember pain like this.

He knew he had to endure it. This was a fight where the first to falter would lose.

His opponent had to be suffering just as much. He had to be pretending to stay calm, feigning indifference to the pain.

I just need to hold on…

But as Tyron’s eyes met Julien’s, he froze.

Those eyes…

Julien’s gaze hadn’t changed from the beginning.

In contrast, Tyron realized his own thoughts were racing with panic. He was the one pretending, the one bluffing.

That moment of hesitation sealed his fate.

Slash!

“Ah…?”

Julien suddenly yanked Tyron’s arm, forcing him to stumble. In that split second, Julien’s dagger struck.

Slice!

“Guhhh!”

The blade grazed Tyron’s cheek, leaving a thin but sharp line of blood. If he hadn’t turned his head in time, it would’ve sliced deep into his neck.

Tyron wanted to counterattack immediately, but his mind was consumed by a single thought.

I’m going to die.

The fear of death filled his entire being.

Despite being in the same position, Julien showed no signs of fear. His icy gaze remained fixed on Tyron, calculating every move.

Why? Why isn’t he afraid?

Tyron’s size and strength were far superior.

Then why does he look so much bigger than me?

That gaze terrified him. It felt like he was being crushed under the weight of a colossal, emotionless predator.

Desperate to escape his fear, Tyron roared.

“Raaaahhhh!”

He swung his dagger wildly, lashing out in every direction.

But Julien remained calm, moving with precision and grace.

Thrust!

Julien’s dagger pierced Tyron’s side.

Tyron retaliated with a frantic swing, but Julien had already retreated.

Slice!

Julien’s blade grazed Tyron’s shoulder, then stabbed his abdomen, then slashed his thigh.

Every time Tyron left an opening, Julien’s dagger found its mark.

“Aaaaaghhh!”

Tyron screamed in agony, thrashing about in a desperate attempt to land a hit.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

For a brief moment, their blades clashed again. But now, Julien effortlessly deflected Tyron’s attacks.

Tyron’s body was covered in wounds. His strength, his size, and even his vaunted combat skills were utterly useless.

Slash!

Tyron’s wild swing managed to graze Julien’s shoulder. But Julien responded by hooking Tyron’s knee with his foot.

“Huh?”

Tyron, exhausted and battered, lost his balance and fell backward.

As the massive man collapsed, Julien, bound to him by the wrist, used the momentum to drive his dagger forward with all his strength.

Shhk!

The dagger flew toward Tyron’s face with deadly precision.

I’m going to die…

But more terrifying than the dagger was Julien’s cold, unyielding gaze behind it.

Tyron’s mind shut down. He forgot about using mana, forgot about fighting back. All he could do was close his eyes and brace for the inevitable.

Tap.

A faint sting on his forehead.

Confused, Tyron opened his eyes.

Julien’s dagger was pressed against his skin, but it hadn’t pierced him.

“Why…?” Tyron murmured, his voice trembling with disbelief.

If their roles were reversed, Tyron knew he wouldn’t have hesitated to drive the dagger home.

Julien stared at him for a moment before speaking in a quiet, resolute voice.

“Fight alongside me.”

“What…?”

“Join me. Let’s save this world together.”

Tyron blinked, his face a mixture of confusion and exhaustion.

Not let’s make money or let’s seize power. Julien had said let’s save the world.

It wasn’t an incomprehensible idea. The world was a mess, after all.

But why would a mere mercenary talk about saving the world? Was it even possible?

Even Tyron, with all his ambition, had only dreamed of leading the kingdom’s strongest mercenary corps.

Saving the entire world was a goal so massive it made his own aspirations seem trivial.

Yet, as Tyron stared into Julien’s eyes, he saw nothing but sincerity.

“Do you really think… that’s possible?” Tyron asked, his voice hoarse.

“Yes,” Julien replied without hesitation.

“With mercenaries? We’re just hired blades who fight for coin. Even if we joined forces, we’d only have a few hundred men at most.”

Tyron’s skepticism was understandable. It was an absurd idea.

But Julien didn’t waver. He finally understood Ghislain’s vision, the dream he had shared.

“It’s possible. Because…”

Julien’s voice was steady, his gaze unwavering.

“I will become the King of Mercenaries.”