The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations Novel - Chapter 789

Chapter 789
BOOM!
A gargantuan Ice Golem shattered into a spray of frozen shards before collapsing.
Past the glittering debris, amidst the biting gale, Ghislain stood firm, wrapped in heavy leather attire.
His clothing had been fashioned from the skin of an Ice Troll. He wasn’t the only one; the entire company was outfitted in the same rugged gear.
“Hmm… by my count, it’s been roughly six months.”
Ghislain spoke softly, his weary gaze drifting toward the overcast sky.
This territory was truly—unbearably—hostile.
Any sign of human life had long since vanished. The horizon offered nothing but an unending tide of monsters.
Worse yet, the creatures here were undergoing a forced evolution by consuming their own kind.
The reason this ecosystem hadn’t imploded long ago was obvious.
Dragon Lord Arterion.
The magical aura he had radiated over the millennia was driving these beasts into a state of hyper-fertility and constant growth.
Ghislain didn’t have the whole story, but he could piece it together.
‘The Shadow Mountain Range back in the Turian Kingdom…’
That was a land so infested with threats that the entire national army was tied down just to contain them. Arterion had been nesting there.
It was logical that the surging monster populations in the Shadow Mountains were Arterion’s doing—and this frozen wasteland was clearly suffering from a similar phenomenon.
“Phew…”
Each breath Ghislain released crystallized into a frigid vapor. Ice crystals began to form on the edges of his coat.
The survivors here were all formidable enough to withstand the sub-zero temperatures, but doing so meant a relentless drain on their mana reserves.
Since the duration of this campaign was unknown, they had to be frugal with their energy and magic. That was the reason they had turned the hides of local predators into clothing.
The strategy worked perfectly. These beasts were built for the arctic chill, making their pelts the ultimate survival gear.
Furthermore, Ghislain had instructed the squad in various wilderness survival skills:
How to tailor leather, how to prevent weapons from becoming brittle in the cold, the safest methods for preparing monster meat, constructing snow shelters, and more.
Because of these lessons, the group had managed to endure and keep fighting in this barren, icy void.
However, the frozen expanse was immense and full of peril.
With the non-stop skirmishes slowing their progress, it was only natural that half a year had passed without them reaching Arterion’s lair.
“Ugh, this is foul… I just want to go home…”
Osvald, eyes welling up as he chewed on another piece of bland, charred monster flesh, turned to Ghislain and pleaded,
“Can’t we dip into the emergency supplies again?”
Ghislain’s subspace storage held a massive quantity of food.
Because items within that space were preserved in stasis, he had everything from gourmet meals to fresh produce that looked like it had been picked that morning.
Occasionally, when the group’s spirits were at their lowest, Ghislain would serve a meal from that hidden hoard.
A hot, savory meal in this frozen purgatory was enough to make them weep with joy.
Even Ereneth the elf had briefly set aside her vegetarian ways for those rare feasts.
Yet, Ghislain refused to use those supplies unless it was a true crisis. It wasn’t out of greed.
“No. Surviving off the land is an essential part of your growth.”
In the upcoming conflict with the Demonic Realm, predictability was a luxury.
There would be moments of total isolation or supply chain collapses.
This was a dress rehearsal for those exact hardships.
The food in the subspace was a final fallback, reserved for when the land offered absolutely nothing.
Faced with Ghislain’s iron will, Osvald sulked.
‘I bet he’s sneaking snacks in the middle of the night…’
Ghislain was eating the same flavorless gristle as everyone else, but the disgruntled Osvald judged others by his own lack of discipline.
His suspicion wasn’t entirely baseless in his own mind. Osvald, once a man of significant bulk, had withered away over the last few months.
Daily combat combined with a diet of barely edible scraps had taken a visible toll.
He wasn’t the only one. Julien looked like a sculpted skeleton, and Ereneth appeared as parched as an old, dying tree.
Kyle and Lionel looked like starving vagrants, and Marika’s eyes were so hollow she resembled a restless spirit.
No one had been spared the physical toll. Everyone was at their limit. That was the reality of their grueling trek.
Ghislain glanced at the ruined remains of the Ice Golem and noted,
“…Hold on just a bit longer. I believe the lair is nearby.”
Ice Golems were constructs of pure magic. In this territory, only Arterion possessed the power to forge them.
That meant this creature was likely a sentry guarding the inner sanctum.
At his words, hope flickered in everyone’s eyes.
The hardship was immense, but the finish line was finally within reach.
As the party rose to continue their trek after their short break—
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion rocked the firmament, and a shroud of darkness began to bleed in from the horizon.
“Hm?”
Ghislain narrowed his eyes, circulating his mana. The rest of the party didn’t flinch; they moved into combat positions instantly.
The howling wind suddenly died. The very air seemed to lock in place.
In that suffocating stillness—as if the world itself had held its breath—a figure emerged.
He wore a robe that shone like polished obsidian.
Azure soul-fires flickered within the hollow sockets of a bleached skull.
A low murmur of ghostly voices swirled around his frame.
“…So, you are the intruders?”
A parched, grating voice vibrated through the air.
RUMBLE!
The moment the words left his jaw, skeletal hands burst from the frozen earth all around them.
GROAAAH…
Within moments, hundreds of corpses began to saturate the clearing.
There were skeletons in shattered plate mail holding rusted blades, and ethereal wraiths that drifted like freezing mist.
These were the ghosts of the many who had perished in this wasteland over the centuries.
The voice from the storm spoke with an ominous weight.
“I am… the ultimate sentry of Lord Arterion’s sanctuary, a being who has moved beyond the veil of death. My name is Naktura.”
“Oh…”
Ghislain’s face showed a glimmer of interest.
The skeleton before them was a Lich.
Liches were functional immortals. By anchoring their essence in a specific phylactery, they could reform as long as the vessel remained whole.
Becoming a Lich was no small feat for a mage; one required the mastery of at least the 7th-Circle to even attempt the ritual.
And the power radiating from this one suggested an 8th-Circle tier.
“A ‘sentry,’ you say. Then I assume Arterion is the one holding your phylactery.”
To permanently end a Lich, one had to find and shatter its life-vessel.
Even if they struck him down here, he would return. Arterion must have placed him here specifically to act as a final roadblock.
Ghislain looked at Naktura and asked,
“Are you here to bar our way?”
“Bar your way? Me? Such arrogance.”
Naktura’s jaw clattered in a mockery of a laugh, then he growled, the blue flames in his eyes erupting with intensity.
“I have come to grant you the gift of death. It is you, miserable mortals, who will be struggling to stop me.”
“But why?”
“Hm. Why, you ask…”
Naktura placed his skeletal fingers under his chin, falling into a theatrical pose of reflection.
It was almost comical—in a dark, twisted way. He looked nearly… playful.
“Very well. It has been an age since I last conversed with a living soul—I shall tell you. Lord Arterion has promised me my autonomy… if I provide him with your corpses.”
“I see. So your motivation is purely your own freedom?”
“I believed I would be chained here for eternity. I could not ignore such a bargain.”
“Well, considering the stakes, I can’t really hold it against you.”
“You are quite bold. Does my presence not instill fear in you?”
“What is there to fear in a collection of old bones?”
At Ghislain’s nonchalant response, Naktura’s tone grew frigid.
“You impudent child… I was being charitable by entertaining this dialogue… But no matter. Once I am liberated, I shall rediscover the joys of the world.”
He spoke to himself for a moment, then leveled his staff at the group.
THRRRRRUMM…
Mana poured from the staff, and crimson arcane circles manifested across the battlefield.
From these circles, a thick, bloody mist began to swirl, coating the ground.
It was a high-level dark spell designed to drive any nearby undead into a state of murderous frenzy.
Seeing this, Ghislain suddenly held up a hand.
“Wait!”
“…What is it now?”
“What was your original crime that got you locked up in the first place?”
“…Does that truly concern you?”
“Oh, it’s very important.”
Ghislain smirked. He had just decided on something he wanted.
To secure it, he needed to know this Lich’s history.
Naktura paused briefly before answering.
“I aligned myself with the Salvation Order during the Great War.”
“Understood.”
That was enough. The context was clear.
But Naktura was quick to elaborate.
“To be fair, it was a misunderstanding. Would you like to hear the details?”
“Not particularly.”
“Listen anyway.”
“….”
“When the Salvation Order eventually dominates the world, even practitioners of the dark arts will be targeted. So, I wasn’t truly their ally. I simply desired a bit of global instability. I had every intention of bargaining with the human coalition later. I planned to be a hero for humanity, in my own way.”
“….”
“But as luck would have it—before I could switch sides, the Salvation Order collapsed. And I was captured. What a hollow and unfair destiny. Nobody grasped my grand vision.”
“….”
Indeed. It was the same tired narrative. No different from the dark mages currently causing havoc.
It was a common pattern—sorcerers who craved anarchy often flocked to the Salvation Order.
It appeared Arterion had bound this Lich not just for his power, but because of his past.
Still, a criminal was a criminal—and Arterion likely hadn’t been a kind master. Perhaps that was why the Lich, starved for social interaction, had become so unexpectedly chatty.
Naktura raised his staff once more.
“Your curiosity is satisfied? Then—for the sake of my liberty, your lives must end.”
Goooooooh…
The scarlet fog thickened, obscuring their vision. From the depths of that mist, the legion of undead lunged at the party.
“Move out!”
Ghislain roared and leaped forward, with Julien and Kyle flanking him.
CRASH!
Julien’s blade split a skeleton’s skull; Kyle’s sword reduced a wraith to nothingness. The two moved like a storm, carving a path through the dead. The rest of the team followed, pushing the front line back.
Ghislain led the charge, tearing through the heart of the undead army like a cyclone.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Every strike from Ghislain’s staff shattered bone into dust. Arcane lightning surged from his weapon incessantly, vaporizing anything in his path.
His momentum was so overwhelming that he cleared half the distance in a heartbeat.
Witnessing this, Naktura was stunned.
“What is this…”
The azure flames in his skull flickered with agitation.
The undead here had been powerful individuals in life. Only the strong had ever dared to trek into this frozen wasteland.
Even in their diminished state, there were hundreds of them. Yet they couldn’t even slow the reckless advance of Ghislain’s team.
“…It seems you are more than mere mortals.”
Naktura hoisted his staff high.
GUOOOOOH!
A massive surge of magical energy swirled around the artifact.
Surveying the fray, Naktura’s gaze locked on a target.
“That one dies first.”
He aimed the staff at Ghislain—the one he identified as the primary threat.
KWA-KWA-KWA-KWA-KWA-KWA-KWAAAANG!
A beam of pure obsidian energy erupted, gouging a trench through the earth.
It was a full-power strike from an 8th-Circle Lich. The shockwave alone turned the nearby undead into powder.
But Ghislain didn’t flinch. He watched the approaching beam with steady eyes.
“Lionel!”
“Got it!”
CLANG!
A heavy shield was slammed into the frozen soil.
Lionel appeared out of nowhere, planting himself in front of Ghislain and bracing for impact.
KWAaaaaaaaaAAAAANG!
“Grghhh!”
Lionel ground his teeth, absorbing the relentless pressure of the beam. He channeled every ounce of his mana into the shield’s reinforcement.
Even for a transcendent warrior, blocking an 8th-Circle spell was a monumental task.
CRRRK—
Hairline fractures spread across the shield, and Lionel was slowly forced backward.
“That worm thinks he can halt my power?”
Naktura was insulted. A man who hadn’t even achieved transcendence was resisting his magic?
In a matter of seconds, the fool would be incinerated—but the fact that he was standing at all was infuriating.
Naktura poured even more energy into the spell.
DRRRRRRRRRRRR!
“Ghhhhaah!”
Lionel spat blood as the beam’s intensity surged.
He had reached new heights through brutal training, but an 8th-Circle mage was still a tier above. He was reaching his limit.
But he wasn’t alone.
As Naktura prepared to crush Lionel, he suddenly jerked his head to the side.
SHICK!
Marika, appearing like a shadow, buried a dagger into his chest.
CRACK!
With the sound of shattering glass, Marika was blown backward by a magical ward.
“You little—!”
A Lich didn’t need a heart to survive—he had no organs. However, the mana infused in her blade had vibrated through his frame, rattling his core.
It was a strike meant to cause internal shock—and without flesh to dampen the blow, the force traveled directly into his skeletal structure, causing cracks to form.
Snarling, Naktura turned his focus toward Marika.
To a sorcerer, an assassin at close range was the ultimate nightmare.
But before he could utter a single incantation—Ghislain was already hovering in front of him.
“What?!”
Panicked, Naktura threw up a hasty barrier—but it was too weak to stop Ghislain’s momentum.
KWAaaaaaaaaANG!
With a violent impact, Naktura was driven into the dirt.
As Ghislain moved to pin him down, Naktura’s staff flared with dark light.
WHIP!
A vortex of shadow mana exploded outward. The power was too great to ignore—Ghislain had to bring up his own defenses to stay grounded.
BOOM!
The explosion threw Ghislain back several paces.
Seizing the opening, Naktura scrambled to his feet and began a new chant—
—only to be disrupted.
“Earth Spirit! Wake up!”
KUGUGUGUGUGUNG!
The ground buckled as Ereneth joined the fray, causing Naktura to lose his footing.
A massive fist of stone erupted from the permafrost, hitting Naktura with the force of a battering ram.
CRASH!
His skeletal frame was launched through the air before hitting the ground again.
He was rattled. Despite having no face, his erratic movements and shaky voice betrayed his fear.
“Y-You pests…!”
He struggled to stand and cast again, but—
SHICK!
Marika was already behind him, driving her blade into the base of his spine.
CRACK!
She was tossed away again by the magical feedback—but Naktura’s bones were now severely fractured.
KRRRRUMBLE! KRRRRRUMBLE!
Ereneth summoned wave after wave of spirits, burying the remaining undead horde beneath the snow and soil.
Julien and Kyle had already thinned the numbers significantly, and the rest were being neutralized—there was no more need to worry about the minions.
With Ereneth’s suppressive fire, Julien and Kyle had a clear line to the Lich. They lunged forward, blades gleaming.
CLANG!
Naktura barely managed to intercept Julien’s sword with his staff—but Kyle delivered a heavy low sweep.
That dishonorable brat—?!
Losing his balance, Naktura stumbled—
—and Ghislain’s following blow landed with perfect timing.
BOOM!
CRRACK!
The sound of snapping bone echoed as Naktura’s ribs gave way and his spine groaned under the pressure.
His bones… they hurt.
Even without a nervous system, Naktura felt the sensation. A cold, primal dread.
Only then did the realization hit him—he was facing total destruction.