The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 689

Julien frowned, not fully understanding Ghislain’s words. Ghislain sighed and elaborated further.

“We’re going to have to fight him anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because Count Crest is a bastard. Isn’t that obvious?”

Count Crest was a brutal tyrant. He had seized neighboring territories by force and treated his subjects as nothing more than expendable tools.

And that wasn’t all. He collaborated with numerous criminal organizations in the area, accepting bribes and using them to his advantage.

He was practically one of the pillars of evil plunging the region into chaos.

Yet, his power was so overwhelming that no one dared to confront him directly. In this world, it was simply accepted that the strong could do as they pleased.

Ghislain was well aware of Count Crest’s atrocities. Baron Andrew, the local lord, was constantly living in fear of Crest’s wrath.

“We’re a mercenary corps that only does righteous work. We can’t possibly side with Count Crest.”

“What kind of nonsense is that? A righteous mercenary corps? There’s no such thing!”

“There is. Right here. Or did my talk about saving the world sound like a joke to you?”

“I mean, it’s just...”

“If Count Crest represents evil, then of course we’ll side against him and fight. It’s inevitable.”

“...”

If Julien’s mercenary corps sided against Count Crest, the Count wouldn’t take it lying down.

He undoubtedly understood the strength of the Ironclad Lion Corps. If he engaged them, even his forces would sustain significant damage.

What would a man like Crest do in such a situation?

“Obviously, he’ll try to eliminate us before the territorial war begins.”

“...”

Tyron, watching Ghislain calmly predict the sequence of events, couldn’t help but shiver. It felt as though everything was unfolding in the palm of Ghislain’s hand.

But predicting events was one thing; winning a battle was another.

“Count Crest commands over ten thousand soldiers. No matter how strong we are, we can’t match his numbers.”

“Baron Andrew has a thousand troops.”

“...”
“Baron Raks, our ally, has another thousand.”

“...”

“And our mercenary corps numbers about six hundred, right?”

“All together, that’s twenty-six hundred. You think that’s enough?”

“Why not?”

“Do you even know how to do math?”

“That’s an unprovoked insult. I’m a mage.”

Ghislain wasn’t particularly good with numbers, but that wasn’t the point. He never relied on calculations in his battles.

“How do you plan to fight with less than half their numbers?”

“It’s plenty. Our quality far exceeds that of Crest’s knights.”

“We only have four knights.”

Ghislain, Julien, Kyle, and Leo were the only ones who could stand toe-to-toe with Crest’s knight captains.

But no matter how strong they were, they couldn’t singlehandedly handle Crest’s other knights, soldiers, and mages.

Despite that, Ghislain smiled confidently.

“Don’t worry. War isn’t about numbers; it’s about strategy.”

“...”

Tyron kept silent. He chose to trust the clever(?) mage, assuming he had a plan. Despite his arrogance, Ghislain’s skills were undeniable.

Besides, Tyron didn’t have much choice. His pride wouldn’t allow him to back out now.

Adjusting to the odd dynamics of the mercenary corps, Tyron decided to ask another question.

“This mercenary corps... there’s something strange about it.”

“What’s strange?”

“Julien is supposed to be the leader, but... you act more like the commander.”

“That’s a misunderstanding. Our leader is just shy. I’m merely conveying his intentions. Isn’t that right, Julien?”

Julien nodded quietly.
“...”

The more Tyron heard, the more absurd it seemed. Shy? That guy? The one who stabbed people with that terrifying gaze of his?

And then there was Kyle, who was just as bizarre. The way he swaggered around with a sparrow on his shoulder was ridiculous.

Kyle smirked at Tyron.

“Honestly, I’m stronger than Julien. How about we spar sometime?”

When Tyron scowled, Kyle quickly added,

“Not now, though. I’m not feeling great.”

“...”

The sparrow on Kyle’s shoulder—Dark—spoke up.

“Of course he’s stronger than Julien. I trained him myself.”

Tyron’s eyes widened in shock.

“Did... did that sparrow just talk?”

“You insolent fool! How dare you call me a sparrow! Do you wish for a painful, cursed death?”

As Dark prepared to argue further, Ghislain shot him a sharp look.

“Think of him as some kind of spirit. A bit rough around the edges, but harmless enough. Just ignore him.”

“...Fine.”

Tyron decided to accept Ghislain’s explanation. He wasn’t well-versed in magic or spirits anyway.

‘Spirits live in the Spirit Realm, don’t they? Maybe their secluded lifestyle makes them this unpleasant.’

This encounter gave Tyron a new—and rather negative—perspective on spirits.

It also solidified his impression of Julien’s mercenary corps: a bunch of eccentric, arrogant misfits. There was no way their lives would ever be peaceful.

But what could he do? He’d already committed, and his pride wouldn’t let him back out.

“Well, let’s just do our best. Don’t worry about the war—I’ll take care of everything,” Ghislain declared with unwavering confidence.

Tyron could only sigh at Ghislain’s bold assurance.

***

“The preparations for deployment are nearly complete,” the chief officer reported.

Count Crest nodded in acknowledgment.

“And Count Swipel’s reaction?”

“He, too, is diligently preparing for war, though somewhat behind. He has been seeking aid from neighboring territories but has yet to secure any definitive support.”

“I see.”

Count Crest’s expression was one of confident indifference.

As the dominant force in the region and a marquis under the powerful Marquis of Falkenheim, Count Crest was untouchable. No matter how hard Count Swipel tried, no one would dare align against Crest.

The mercenaries of the area were also firmly in Crest’s grasp, leaving Swipel unable to hire even a single reliable group.

“Hurry up and finalize the contract with the Ironclad Lion Corps. We’ll be deploying soon,” Crest commanded coldly.

To him, the Ironclad Lion Corps was a useful tool—proven over several wars. He was well aware of Tyron’s ambition and planned to exploit it once again.

“They’re skilled, but their dreams are far too lofty for their station. I think it’s time to cut them down to size.”

“Yes, my lord. We’ll place them in the vanguard to minimize our losses while they bear the brunt of the enemy.”

“And what about the surrounding towns?”

“In conjunction with the war’s commencement, we’ve planned raids on villages and towns in Swipel’s territory. The looters will take their share as payment.”

“Good. Let them run wild. Success or failure doesn’t matter; just cause as much chaos as possible.”

“Understood.”

Count Crest spared no means for his advantage. Using bandits to disrupt the enemy’s rear and plundering their resources were just part of his strategy.

Ordinarily, one would avoid causing too much devastation to lands they intended to rule. But Crest couldn’t care less about the welfare of his subjects. His sole focus was expanding his territory and bolstering his power.

“As long as the marquis seizes control of the kingdom... we’ll gain even more land. Minor issues are irrelevant. Focus solely on annihilating the opposition. Use assassination attempts if necessary.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Such methods would undoubtedly lead to victory, but at the cost of honor. Even in this era, excessive tactics risked backlash, uniting his adversaries against him.

But Crest was confident, relying on the support of Marquis Falkenheim.

“They’ll all be swept away anyway. There’s no need to tread lightly. If we win, no one will dare complain.”

With a cruel glint in his eye, Crest repeatedly emphasized his dominance to the chief officer. In this region, no one was strong enough to challenge him, no matter how ruthless his actions.

However, just as the preparations were nearing completion, the chief officer brought startling news.

“My lord, the Ironclad Lion Corps... has been defeated.”

“Defeated? The largest mercenary corps in the area? By whom?”

“They were bested in a clash with a new mercenary group.”

“A new mercenary group?”

“Yes, my lord. A group called the Julien Mercenary Corps, established only two years ago.”

“Hah... and the Ironclad Lion Corps lost to them?”

“Yes. The two leaders dueled, and Tyron was defeated, which led to the corps’ collapse.”

Count Crest was momentarily taken aback. While he could overlook other matters, Tyron’s skill was something he had acknowledged.

For someone to defeat Tyron in a one-on-one duel was no small feat. This piqued Crest’s curiosity about the emerging contender.

“Can we recruit them?”

“We’ve already made an offer, but they refused outright.”

“Arrogant fools. What could be so appealing about staying as mercenaries...”

Becoming a knight brought prestige far beyond that of a mercenary. Crest couldn’t comprehend why, like Tyron, someone with such skill would remain in such a lowly position.

Clicking his tongue, Crest spoke again.

“Well, there’s no point in forcing someone who isn’t willing. But you’ve sent the request for them to join this war, haven’t you?”

“Um... about that...”

“What?”

“They rejected that as well.”

“What?”

Crest’s expression darkened. He had never imagined anyone in this region would dare refuse his orders.

How could mercenaries—mere sellswords—reject the commission of a high-ranking noble like himself? It was incomprehensible.

“What was their reason for refusal?”

“They said the payment was insufficient.”

“How much did they demand?”

“They asked for... triple the amount promised to the Ironclad Lion Corps.”

“...Triple?”

“Yes, exactly three times the amount.”

Rage flared in Crest’s eyes.

The Ironclad Lion Corps had always been costly to employ, given Tyron’s abilities and the corps’ 500-strong force. But the return on investment made their services worthwhile. Raising a comparable force on his own would cost even more time and resources.

But triple the cost? At that rate, he might as well raise his own army.

Bang!

Crest slammed his hand on the desk.

“How dare those lowly mercenaries mock me?”

Did they really think he’d agree to such outrageous terms?

Grinding his teeth, Crest’s anger only grew as the chief officer cautiously added,

“There are rumors that Count Swipel is attempting to contact them.”

“What?”

“It seems word of their refusal to accept your commission has already spread.”

Count Swipel, who had gathered around five thousand troops, was still at a disadvantage compared to Crest. Without mercenaries, his forces were inadequate.

Now that the Julien Mercenary Corps had rejected Crest, it was only natural for Swipel to approach them, regardless of the cost.

“For Swipel, money won’t be an issue.”

If Swipel lost the war, he would be ruined. He’d give the Julien Mercenary Corps everything they demanded if it meant a chance at survival.

Crest didn’t believe this would cause him to lose the war, but dealing with such a formidable mercenary group would undoubtedly lead to losses on both sides.

Suppressing his anger, Crest spoke with cold determination.

“They’re an audacious group of mercenaries.”

“Indeed. What are your orders?”

“They’re closely tied to Baron Andrew of Nodehill, aren’t they?”

“Yes, my lord. They’ve assisted him with local issues and even established their base there.”

Leaning back in his chair, Crest considered his options before finally speaking.

“We’ll deal with Baron Andrew first.”

“You mean...”

“If Swipel and those mercenaries ally, our losses will increase. We’ll strike Nodehill first.”

In war, numbers mattered. No matter how skilled the Julien Mercenary Corps was, they couldn’t change that fundamental truth.

Baron Andrew’s forces numbered less than a thousand. If they attacked before an alliance could form, the baron wouldn’t stand a chance.

The chief officer hesitated briefly before asking,

“What if the mercenaries abandon Baron Andrew and flee?”

“It doesn’t matter. In that case, we’ll persuade the baron to turn against them.”

“That could work...”

Driven by survival and betrayal, Baron Andrew would eagerly fight against the Julien Mercenary Corps.

This way, Crest could use the baron’s forces instead of his own, ensuring no escape for the mercenaries.

Confident in his plan, Crest prepared to declare war.

The notice arrived at Baron Andrew’s estate, where Crest’s declaration was delivered with unshakable confidence.

“I hereby declare war on Baron Andrew and his Julien Mercenary Corps for harboring those who oppose me!”

The notice meticulously outlined the justification for war. Ultimately, it was clear: Crest intended to crush Baron Andrew and the mercenaries for daring to defy him.

Baron Andrew, who had been focused on peaceful development, was dumbfounded.

“What? Why? Why is he attacking me all of a sudden?”

For him, it was like a bolt from the blue.