The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations Novel - Chapter 788

Chapter 788
A world of absolute white existed within the roaring blizzard.
The horizon between the heavens and the earth had blurred, creating a vision of a world completely submerged in frost.
The bitter wind sliced at the skin with the slightest touch, and every breath felt like inhaling a thousand needles.
The entire landscape was frozen. The only evidence of life in this desolate place was the intermittent groan of shifting ice.
KUUUUUUNG!
A dragon that had been slicing through the atmosphere retracted its wings and touched down on the snow-blasted earth.
The moment Ghislain and his companions climbed down from Arterion’s back and entered the frozen air, they instinctively recoiled.
“…So this is the Land of Extreme Cold?”
Ereneth scanned the area, his features set in a grim mask.
As if suppressed by an invisible weight, the elemental forces here felt significantly diminished.
A phantom pressure blanketed the region, creating a constant sense of suffocating dread.
“Uuuugh! This is freezing!”
“Just breathing is agony.”
“Tell me you aren’t actually planning to train in this hellscape?”
The mercenaries shielded their faces with their hands, their breath turning to instant frost the moment it left their lips.
Ghislain surveyed the terrain with a focused calm.
The biting frost, the heavy silence, and the mysterious aura permeating the air—
Everything here signaled certain death. Yet, his eyes flashed with excitement as he spoke:
“Excellent. Practicing in these conditions will force us to evolve much faster.”
The more brutal the surroundings, the more rapidly the physical form adapts and grows. This was precisely the environment Ghislain had been searching for.
Hearing this, Arterion’s mouth twisted into a broad, toothy grin.
“Correct. This territory is saturated with the purest essence of nature. Furthermore, it is reinforced by the magical barrier I have maintained for eons.”
Only then did the companions grasp the true source of the weight crushing down on them.
It wasn’t merely the temperature—it was the weight of magical energy stored over thousands of years.
Kyle peered into the distance and inquired,
“What is that thing?”
A short distance away sat a modest pedestal constructed from solid ice.
Arterion replied with a tone of indifference.
“That is the spot where the Pope’s messengers signal for an audience. Left to their own devices, they lack the power to reach my sanctuary.”
In reality, Arterion would have detected an intruder the moment they stepped onto his land even without such a device.
It remained there solely as a formal courtesy for recognized diplomats.
Following his explanation, Arterion unfurled his grand wings once more. He looked down at the group and declared:
“From this second onward, your instruction commences.”
The group shared looks of bewilderment. They had anticipated training, but the suddenness of the start caught them off guard.
“Competence is not proven through speech. You must demonstrate it to me.”
Arterion tilted his head toward the heavens and released a deafening cry.
KUUOOOOOOOOOOH!
The roar that vibrated through the sky and ground was far more than a simple noise.
It rippled outward like a ritualistic pulse or a beacon.
The magic he exhaled wrapped around the terrain and surged into the shadows beyond the frozen peaks.
The atmosphere pulsed, and a distant vibration returned from across the snowy plains, rattling the party’s bones.
Arterion smiled as he proclaimed,
“This is my method of teaching—and your ordeal. From this moment, this entire region is a war zone.”
The moment he finished his sentence, Arterion launched himself into the sky with a powerful leap.
Simultaneously, Deneb and a handful of mercenaries were hoisted into the air by unseen forces.
“What? Wait! What’s happening?”
Deneb and the others panicked. Their floating forms were quickly encased in shimmering, translucent globes.
“Deneb!”
Julien sprang upward immediately to intercept and save Deneb.
KWAANG!
However, he slammed into an invisible wall and was thrown back to the ground.
As Julien gritted his teeth and prepared for another attempt, Arterion looked back at him and spoke.
“The legend of a monstrous dragon abducting a princess and a champion arriving to save her—it’s a classic, entertaining trope, is it not? I hope you reach my sanctuary alive. If you fail and perish along the way…”
Arterion’s eyes shifted toward the mercenaries suspended in the sky.
“…Then I shall feed the rest of them, excluding the Saintess, to my Guardians.”
At that threat, the mercenaries trapped in the air began to shake with terror. Even though Arterion had technically spared them from the ‘training’ as promised, no one felt relieved.
Soon, the dragon’s massive form faded into the swirling white mist of the storm.
A heavy silence fell over the group.
Then, a low vibration began to pulse from beneath the frozen earth.
Thoom… thoom…
Moments later, giant silhouettes began to materialize through the white fog.
KROOOO!
They were Ice Trolls, their bodies covered in thick white fur.
Their eyes glowed with a feral red light, and they brandished wooden clubs encased in jagged ice.
Following them were predators that moved like ghosts through the wind and snow.
GRRRRRR…
A pack of Ice Wolves began to encircle the group, their low growls filling the air.
With their snowy coats, crimson eyes, and fangs that shimmered with frost, they looked like the embodiment of the cold itself.
They were massive—each individual the size of a large bison.
“Heh…”
Ghislain let out a short, incredulous laugh. Hundreds of these creatures had surrounded them.
And the numbers were growing. They were being driven into a frenzy by the dragon’s lingering presence.
Arterion’s definition of “teaching” was far more primitive and brutal than anyone had bargained for.
But Ghislain saw the logic. To Arterion, it didn’t matter if the group died—but if they made it, their strength would be unmatched. It was cold efficiency.
“Yes, this is exactly the kind of pressure we need to accelerate our progress.”
Ghislain grinned and loosened up his muscles.
Arterion might not have realized it, but Ghislain actually thrived in this kind of environment.
However, one detail felt out of place.
“…Someone is missing.”
Ghislain looked back with a look of confused amusement.
“S-Ser Osvald! This makes no sense! He should have taken me with the others!”
Osvald was shivering, his face drained of color.
The truth was, Arterion had simply overlooked Osvald. He intended to take him but forgot him in the moment.
Ghislain smirked as he watched Osvald’s panicked expression.
‘I suppose this means he views Osvald as stronger than he looks.’
While Arterion’s selection seemed random, Ghislain had planned to leave Osvald out of the main fight. Yet the dragon had specifically bypassed him while taking the others.
That implied Arterion judged Osvald’s combat potential to be higher than that of the common mercenaries.
The hard work had paid off. Osvald had grown significantly since their first encounter.
Ghislain gave Osvald a thumbs-up, then turned to address the remaining party.
“Is everyone ready?”
Julien, Kyle, Ereneth, Lionel, and Marika all gave firm nods.
They were visibly on edge. They were now tasked with fighting through this nightmare environment and an army of monsters to reach the dragon’s home.
But fear didn’t slow them down. They had walked through the valley of death many times before.
Their expressions were set with a grim resolve to overcome this challenge.
Julien’s gaze, in particular, was so intense it looked as though he might melt the frozen landscape through sheer willpower.
Ghislain looked toward the clouds.
“Perhaps if we took to the air for part of the journey, we could simplify things—”
KAAAAAAA!
Before he could finish the thought, monsters began descending from the heavens as well.
Snow Wyverns began to circle above, exhaling plumes of freezing frost.
Seeing this, Ghislain’s grin widened.
“So, no shortcuts allowed, then?”
Ultimately, they would have to carve a path through everything in their way.
Ghislain brushed the snow from his shoulders and cracked his joints.
“The objective is straightforward—get to the dragon’s lair without dying. Simple, right?”
Kyle made a face and tightened his grip on his hilt.
“Simple… for which of us, exactly?”
The others let out a tense laugh as they assumed their battle positions.
As usual, being around Ghislain meant reality often exceeded their wildest expectations.
Who would have thought a request for training assistance would turn into a literal war for survival?
But it wasn’t unwelcome. Every time they conquered a trial of this magnitude, they could feel their power surging past ordinary limits.
Ghislain dropped into a low stance and channeled his mana. A brilliant blue radiance flooded into his staff.
“Let’s get to work.”
KWAANG!
Ghislain lunged forward like a bolt of lightning, sending the lead Ice Troll flying with a single strike.
Simultaneously, the rest of the group moved to hold their designated positions.
And so, within the Land of Extreme Cold—
The Julien Mercenary Corps began their brutal regimen of life-or-death training.

—

When the news first arrived that a Sacred Stone had been secured, the Pope was unable to hide his intense thrill.
“To think… they actually managed to obtain a Sacred Stone…”
In all honesty, he hadn’t placed much confidence in the Julien Mercenary Corps.
He had only offered them a sliver of hope because they had a reputation for solving the unsolvable across various kingdoms.
After all his own diplomatic missions had failed, and the only remaining option was total war.
And yet, a band of mere mercenaries had successfully acquired a Sacred Stone.
Beyond that—they had even fended off an attack by the Salvation Order during their journey.
His joy was profound. But beneath it, a wave of irritation began to swell.
“Iralniel, you have a lot of nerve…”
Reports stated that Iralniel, the High Chief of the Elves, had delivered the Sacred Stone into the hands of a common priestess.
The Chief had even declared openly that the stone belonged solely to her.
That declaration was a direct challenge to the Pope’s own standing.
The Sacred Stone was a holy relic that only he, as the voice of God on earth, had the divine right to hold.
“To dismiss my divinity so casually…”
Anger burned in his chest, yet he could not risk an open conflict with the elves at this stage.
Regardless, the Pope craved the Sacred Stone immediately. For now, however, he had to exercise restraint.
“Not quite yet… We must secure the others first.”
This was only the initial triumph. Now, a real path to victory was opening. He could not afford to alienate the Julien Mercenary Corps just yet.
Even so, worry gnawed at him.
The relic must not be lost to an ambush by the Salvation Order or any other faction.
He couldn’t deploy his own legion, either. If an imperial force became involved, it would mirror the failure of the previous envoys.
Furthermore, it might trigger a rebellion from the dwarves or cause the situation to spiral out of control.
Consequently, the Pope issued a quiet, new directive.
“Recruit the most efficient and lethal assassination cell available. Their first task is to locate the Julien Mercenary Corps and track them from the shadows. They are to protect the group from any threats and provide a detailed report on every action they take.”
Lionel was already with them—but he was only a single man. The Pope didn’t trust him to protect both the mercenaries and the Sacred Stone alone.
Moreover, there was no telling how much Lionel’s loyalty had drifted while traveling with the group.
This was why he was deploying an assassination team as a more reliable safety net.
Of course, the assassins were only the first tier of oversight. He would never leave something so vital solely in their hands.
“Deploy an intelligence squad alongside them to observe the Julien Mercenary Corps with total discretion.”
Even the imperial intelligence network wasn’t enough. The mercenaries had to return to the Empire unharmed, with their task finished.
“Notify all allied kingdoms. Command them to prepare their militias so they can be mobilized instantly to support the Julien Mercenary Corps if they face any peril.”
From this point on, every nation would act as a guardian for the Julien Mercenary Corps.
The Pope was that obsessed with securing the Sacred Stone.
He felt certain that the artifact would eventually be his.
However, that certainty was shattered by the next report he received.
“A Saintess? Did you say a Saintess?”
The title of ‘Saintess’ was a rank that only the Pope was authorized to bestow. It was tradition.
And yet, rumors were spreading of a ‘true’ Saintess appearing. It was said she had performed a genuine miracle of the Goddess in front of a massive crowd.
Initially, the Pope assumed Lionel was simply confused. But shortly after, a formal letter arrived—penned by King Grondal of the dwarves.
“What? ‘Congratulations on the arrival of the Saintess’? That common girl is the rightful owner of the Sacred Stone?”
Securing the dwarven Sacred Stone should have been a reason to celebrate. But the fact that someone else—not him—was its master was completely intolerable.
“Even you, Grondal, you old fool…”
Even the king of the dwarves had acknowledged the priestess as the true guardian of the relic.
Where did that leave the Pope’s own efforts? Was he merely a supporting character in the rise of a false Saintess?
“I will never accept this.”
The Pope was livid. He wanted the Julien Mercenary Corps wiped out immediately.
“A Saintess?! A Saintess, you claim?! Who gave anyone the right to name a Saintess?!”
A Saintess had risen—one he had not sanctioned. Yet, numerous witnesses claimed she had channeled the Goddess’s own power.
If that were true, this Saintess would be viewed as equal to him—or perhaps even his superior.
It was unacceptable. She had to be eliminated.
Only through her death could the Pope cement his own status and unite the human race.
“The Sacred Stone belongs to me. I will be the one to use it and end this eternal conflict.”
The Pope whispered those words repeatedly to himself.
He had been groomed since birth to be the conduit of God.
He believed—with every fiber of his being—that he was the savior destined to conclude the war against the Demonic Realm.
The immense divine power he possessed was his proof. No one could challenge that strength.
And now, a sudden obstacle had appeared.
Immediately, the Pope issued a revised command.
“Until the final Sacred Stone is in our grasp, continue to protect and watch them. But, should they succeed in getting it…”
He suddenly gripped his head, hit by a stabbing migraine, and spoke with cold finality.
“…Execute the Julien Mercenary Corps and the pretender Saintess, and bring the Sacred Stones to me.”
That order was distributed to every diplomat and military commander across the realms, as well as to Darentz, who was tracking the group from a close distance.
Now that the Demonic Realm was active, even a dragon would not stop the Pope’s progress.
If the elves or dwarves attempted to resist, he was prepared to crush them with iron and blood.
As long as he held the Sacred Stones, humanity alone would possess the power to defeat the Demonic Realm.
From that day forward, the Pope suffered from agonizing daily headaches, fueled by waves of hatred, rage, and paranoia.
“Ghhh…”
It wasn’t just the pain anymore. The strange symptoms he had kept at bay with his divine aura were returning.
[%!%^$$#]
Unintelligible whispers began to fill his mind.
The words made no sense—yet their malicious tone felt like a cold blade against his soul.
That voice had haunted him since his youth.
It was because of this curse that he rarely left the sanctuary of the cathedral.
If he were to step outside the protection of the massive divine barrier, he feared those whispers would swallow him whole.
They were too intense to be silenced by his power alone.
This was why the Sacred Stones were mandatory. Only with their combined strength could he finally sever this curse.
And with the power of the Goddess, he would wipe the Demonic Realm from existence and save the world.
That was his entire purpose.
He believed it with total, unwavering devotion.
“I will… redeem this world… Only… I am capable… Therefore… the pretender must fall…”
The Pope chanted those words like a holy prayer, kneeling over and over—
Praying that his absolute faith would remain uncorrupted by the darkness.