The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations Novel - Chapter 786

Chapter 786
Dragons are entities of profound sagacity and power.
They are glorified as celestial instruments, protectors of primordial pacts, and keepers of global equilibrium—bearing the insights gathered across millennia. Their very presence serves as a testament to cosmic structure.
However…
They are simultaneously savage, merciless predators.
Weary from the ceaseless flow of eras, they began to view themselves as supreme entities—and regarded all other sentient life as mere specks of grime.
Their fury lacks logic. Their impulses are erratic.
On certain days, they serve as enlightened mediators and guardians of the realm. On others, they transform into disasters that lay waste to the land.
They are creatures defined by paradox—drifting perpetually between the divine and the monstrous.
That specific duality is what renders them both magnificent… and absolutely horrifying.
The eyes of Arterion pulsed with a flickering blend of intelligence and insanity.
“This eludes my comprehension. I have no memory of you. And yet… how is it that you recognize me?”
Arterion was certain of this. It wasn’t a conclusion drawn from Ghislain’s stare or his presence.
It was the inherent capability of a dragon—his heightened, metaphysical intuition—that signaled the truth.
At last, Ghislain’s countenance shifted. A subtle grin played on his mouth as he gave his answer.
“I am unsure of your meaning. I was simply being wary of a stranger who made such an abrupt approach.”
“…”
“You mentioned providing a vessel, did you not? I would like to go into further detail regarding that offer.”
“You are quite the entertaining specimen.”
Arterion reached out his arm. His intent was to grab Ghislain by the throat and crush his will with mental coercion.
But Ghislain moved back with fluid ease, leaving the hand to grasp at nothing but the breeze.
“…Wait?”
Arterion stared down at his palm.
The motion had been nonchalant—yet it possessed a velocity that few mortals could have hoped to avoid. But the man standing across from him had evaded it without effort.
A sharp, toothy smile spread across Arterion’s face, showing his fascination.
“Let us see if you can slip past this one, then.”
Snap!
His limb blurred with even greater speed—moving so rapidly that a common observer would have seen nothing at all.
Clang!
Ghislain had already unsheathed Gramdir, parrying the strike. Even though it was a glancing hit, the sheer force sent Ghislain sliding back across the ground.
“Ghislain!”
Julien pulled his blade and leveled the tip at Arterion’s neck. The rest of the group followed suit, drawing steel and encircling him.
Arterion scanned the perimeter and let out a soft laugh.
“How discourteous, considering I arrived to offer my assistance.”
His comment wasn’t directed solely at the mercenaries.
Scores of hidden killers had materialized, noiselessly trapping Arterion in their formation as well.
The locals, sensing the rising hostility, had already fled the scene. Law enforcement would likely arrive shortly.
Darentz, maintaining a mask of apathy, spoke to Arterion.
“You appear to be a nobleman of some talent. I advise you to move along. These individuals currently hold status no lower than that of the aristocracy themselves.”
Darentz no longer bothered with secrecy. After all, his deception had been discarded long ago.
To be honest, this blatant role as a protector made his duties far more straightforward.
Arterion squinted at him.
“And who might you be?”
“I am in the service of a high-ranking authority. My orders are to protect this mercenary group. There is no benefit in making this a bloodbath.”
“Aha… a high-ranking authority?”
Arterion tilted his head slightly, then smirked as if he’d solved a puzzle.
“Would you happen to be referring to… the Pope?”
“…”
A small muscle in Darentz’s jaw tightened.
This operation was meant to be strictly confidential. And yet, this enigmatic wanderer was aware of the truth.
He couldn’t even fathom where the security failure had originated.
After casting a quick, sharp look at Marika, Darentz looked toward Ghislain.
“Do you wish for me to slay him? It might be wiser to eliminate the threat now. He carries the air of a noble, but we are capable of handling the repercussions ourselves.”
“…”
Ghislain stared at him with total incredulity.
‘Slay who, exactly?’
Arterion was a being that no person present could hope to best—not even if they coordinated a simultaneous assault.
If Arterion so much as flicked a finger, Darentz’s spine would snap like a twig.
Naturally, the grinning Arterion didn’t seem moved to act—not for the moment, at least.
Ghislain gave a firm shake of his head.
“I would prefer if you didn’t interfere without my permission. I’ve made it clear—I don’t appreciate you hovering over us.”
“It is our directive. We have no choice in the matter.”
“Then restrict yourselves to guarding. Stop making threats of execution. Just leave. I will manage this personally.”
Darentz locked eyes with Ghislain for a beat, then retreated back into the shadows with his assassins.
His thoughts were racing—trying to pinpoint exactly where the leak had occurred.
Once the unwanted bodyguards had vanished, Arterion turned to Ghislain.
“If this is to become a confrontation, wouldn’t it be advantageous to have them participate? Strength in numbers, after all.”
“I have no intention of fighting you. Everyone—sheathe your steel and give us some space.”
Julien and Kyle wavered. Even to their trained eyes, Arterion’s physical feats had felt wrong.
He didn’t radiate an overwhelming aura of strength—but something about his presence didn’t fit the natural order.
“It’s fine. I believe we can come to an understanding.”
In the timeline of the future, Arterion had been too lost to madness to even hold a dialogue. But here in the present, it seemed he wasn’t as far gone as Ghislain recalled.
He was visibly holding his insanity at bay—and a profound perception was buried within his gaze.
As the companions retreated, Ghislain let out a breath.
“Let’s find a quiet spot to converse.”
“Very well.”
Arterion followed him without protest.
Upon reaching a solitary clearing, Ghislain deployed a massive acoustic barrier to seal out any eavesdroppers.
He could tell that Darentz and his killers were still lurking nearby.
Arterion observed the magical construct and rubbed his jaw.
“Hm… Most impressive.”
His praise was sincere.
It wasn’t that Ghislain’s magic was particularly destructive, nor was it backed by an immense pool of mana.
It was the sheer fluidity of the casting—it was as natural as breathing.
Arterion flicked his wrist, manifesting a large table and two chairs from thin air.
At the sight of this, Ghislain couldn’t suppress a quiet laugh.
In that future life, Arterion had done the exact same thing—bringing forth this identical furniture whenever they sat to talk.
‘So that really is his favorite table.’
Arterion, noticing Ghislain’s smirk, looked at him with a curious expression.
“Take a seat. I shall humor you with a conversation.”
Ghislain sat across from the dragon without a hint of fear.
Watching from the sidelines, the rest of the party looked completely baffled.
Just a moment ago, this stranger had struck out without provocation. Now, he was politely hosting Ghislain for a chat?
They couldn’t wrap their minds around his erratic behavior.
Sensing their confusion, Arterion spoke with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“There is no cause for bewilderment. I simply found this caster to be quite intriguing. I was merely indulging in a bit of sport—this journey has proven quite pleasant.”
Sighing at the dragon’s definition of “sport,” Ghislain spoke up.
“I believe it’s time you dropped the act and identified yourself.”
“Hm…”
Following a brief pause, Arterion’s voice took on a tone of absolute majesty.
“I am the monarch of the perpetual storm, the sentry of ancient wisdom, the Lord of Frost, and the maintainer of world order. I am the Dragon Lord—Arterion.”
As those words echoed, the entire group went rigid.
Every single person stared at Arterion in total shock.
They had traveled all this way to locate the Dragon Lord—but they never dreamed the Dragon Lord would simply walk up to them.
While they stood paralyzed, Ghislain spoke with a level voice.
“He speaks the truth. He is the Dragon Lord.”
The reaction was instantaneous.
Some attempted to bow with clumsy haste, while others instinctively gripped their weapons tighter.
A few recoiled in fear, while others were simply frozen by terror.
A dragon.
That single word was enough to make almost anyone on the continent tremble.
Even the veterans of the Julien Mercenary Corps—warriors forged in battle—couldn’t help but feel the suffocating weight now that a true Dragon had unmasked himself.
Arterion shifted his attention away from the group and asked,
“Now explain—how did you recognize my identity?”
“…I made an educated guess.”
“…Hm?”
“We were traveling specifically to seek out the Dragon Lord, and then a mysterious individual appears—one even I struggled to track. The only logical conclusion was that I was facing a dragon, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Your reasoning is flimsy.”
“If you were going to use Polymorph to hide, you should have at least bothered to change your hair color. Anyone with a bit of sense could have pieced it together.”
“…”
Arterion scowled. The answer was logically sound—but his gut told him it was a fabrication.
This man possessed knowledge about him that he wasn’t revealing. He couldn’t explain the sensation, but he knew it was there.
It was the intuition of a dragon—a sense derived from a higher state of being.
Ghislain remained unmoved. No matter how powerful a Dragon Lord might be, he wouldn’t be able to grasp the reality of events from a millennium in the future.
The concept of a time traveler from a distant era was likely beyond even his imagination.
For a long moment, the two did nothing but lock eyes.
Arterion knit his brows at Ghislain’s composure—a stoicism honed through countless brushes with death.
After some thought, Arterion asked,
“Is your name… Astion?”
This time, it was Ghislain’s face that twitched. The dragon knew more than he had anticipated.
Which meant Arterion also knew they were the Julien Mercenary Corps.
This wasn’t a chance meeting—Arterion had sought them out with full knowledge of their identities.
“That is correct. I am called Astion.”
“Who bestowed that name upon you?”
‘Wait, what?’
In that instant, Astion spoke urgently within Ghislain’s mind.
— Tell him some wandering sorcerer gave it to you when you were a child!
In reality, Astion had been an orphan who grew up without a name.
People had simply referred to him as “Hey,” “You,” “Boy,” or “Brat.”
He only received a proper name when he encountered his first host—a spirit that had inhabited him.
That host had named him—Astion, derived from the title of the legendary Dragon Lord, Arterion, meaning the star.
Ghislain answered with practiced ease.
“I was raised as an orphan and never had a name. A traveling wizard happened to pass through, taught me a basic cantrip, and gave me my name.”
Arterion nodded slowly, then whispered to himself,
“So that name still lingers somewhere… It must be a simple twist of fate.”
“Does the name carry some significance?”
“It is of little consequence. Ages ago, there were humans who worshipped our kind. Among them, a rare few possessed the ability to speak with us directly.”
“People who could converse with dragons?”
“Indeed. They were known as Dragon Speakers. They charted the constellations and distributed the wisdom they gained from us to the rest of their kind. It is a myth long since buried by time.”
“…”
“Regardless, that name once belonged to an individual who spoke with me. I granted it to him personally. I simply found it odd to encounter such an ancient name once more.”
“…I understand.”
That must have occurred several thousand years in the past.
Only then did the staggering scale of a dragon’s lifespan truly dawn on Ghislain.
Astion let out a sigh of relief inside Ghislain’s head.
— That was my very first host. He helped me lay the groundwork for my sorcery and provided me with a vision. If Arterion ever discovers what I am, he will certainly lock me away for study.
‘Are you serious?’
— Yes. That dragon is consumed by a relentless curiosity. There are tales of him performing experiments on every sentient species he could catch. That is why his knowledge is so vast.
‘And you’re informing me of this NOW?’
— I intended to bring it up before we set sail! But I was busy with my meditation and naps and… it slipped my mind. I thought we had more time!
‘Tsk…’
As he had suspected, dragons were not benevolent protectors.
One should never mistake their pact against the Demonic Realm as anything more than a temporary alignment of goals.
Their fundamental nature could never be judged by human standards of morality.
They lived by their own internal logic and laws—beings completely alien to the human experience.
“What has you so lost in thought?”
The mental exchange had occurred in a heartbeat—but Arterion had noticed Ghislain’s brief lapse in focus.
Ghislain replied with a neutral expression.
“I was contemplating whether I should change my name.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Carrying a name tied to a dragon… It feels like a rather heavy burden to bear.”
“Hahahaha! You need not fret over such things. It carries very little weight in this age.”
Arterion barked out a genuine laugh, then turned serious.
“I still find you suspicious. It is clear you know who I am. But… I suspect I will not get the explanation I seek at this moment.”
“I’m not sure what leads you to that conclusion, but I have been as transparent as I can be. Your arrival was just very timely. As was… your choice of form.”
“Well, let us set that aside for now. There is no urgency—the truth will reveal itself in time.”
“In that case… might I ask why you decided to meet us ahead of schedule?”
Arterion leaned back into the chair and shifted his gaze.
He was staring directly at Deneb.
“I have come to see the Saintess.”
“You mean… Deneb?”
Arterion nodded with a solemn look.
“Yes. I have come to offer her a final warning—before her life is extinguished.”
“…”
At that abrupt declaration, Ghislain’s brow furrowed in anger.
Julien’s expression hardened into a mask of ice.