The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations Novel - Chapter 790

Chapter 790
In the middle of the chaotic strikes he had just endured, only a single thought occupied Naktura’s mind.
‘I—I have to put some space between us.’
He possessed no talent for physical brawling. His entire existence had been committed to the mastery of sorcery.
Consequently, even as a mage of the 8th-circle, he was perilously weak when forced into melee range. And when those clinging to him were individuals of superhuman caliber? Shaking them off using magic was nearly a lost cause.
For Naktura, this development was nothing short of a living nightmare.
“Guhk…! My army…!”
He desperately attempted to call forth his undead thralls, but even that effort yielded little result.
Naktura surveyed the field of battle—and was seized by pure dread.
‘To think they would employ elementals in such a crude, undignified fashion!’
The spirits that Ereneth had summoned were all physically restraining the undead, seizing them by their ankles. Even the ethereal specters in the sky were being caught in mid-air embraces and headbutted by soaring elementals.
Spirits of the earth were relentlessly destabilizing the ground, ensuring the undead could barely maintain their footing.
It was the epitome of shameless, “anything goes” survivalist elementalism.
Exploiting the disorder sown by the spirits, Osvald tore through the ranks of the undead with his massive hammer.
“Gahhh! Stay back! I’m terrified!”
Crash! SMASH! BOOM!
Every time an undead held by a spirit was met by Osvald’s hammer, their skeletal frames shattered into splinters.
Simultaneously, the superhumans persisted in their assault on Naktura, and even his magically reinforced bones were starting to fracture and snap.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOOOM!
Crack! Craaaack!
The constant rhythm of breaking bone made it impossible for Naktura to maintain his focus.
‘W-Who are these lunatics? What is their profession? Were they career thugs in a previous life?!’
On an individual level, they were not as powerful as he was. Nevertheless, he was the one being systematically dismantled.
He had lived for centuries, yet he had never encountered a group so skilled in the art of coordinated beatdowns.
Not even the most elite orders of knights could rival this level of synchronization. It was an onslaught so surgical it was almost impressive.
Naktura found himself reflecting that the world had evolved significantly during his long imprisonment.
‘At this rate, I’ll be reduced to powder!’
That was no exaggeration. Flecks of bone dust were visibly swirling in the air.
The unending storm of violence was pushing Naktura to his absolute limit.
‘What can I do? How do I flee this insane rampage?!’
He attempted several counterattacks, but every time he began to weave a spell, a powerful wave of mana interference struck him.
He couldn’t find the necessary concentration to manifest high-tier magic while being pummeled without a pause.
And though his adversaries were technically beneath his level, they were all superhuman—swift enough to evade or tough enough to absorb any minor spells he managed to cast.
‘N-No… If it concludes like this, my chance at liberty…’
Once a sorcerer permitted superhumans to breach their personal space, very few avenues for escape remained.
He was only surviving because of his lich nature. Any mortal mage would have been crushed to death long ago.
If this continued, the objective would be lost. He would never see freedom—only a life of eternal shackling remained.
‘In that case…’
Abruptly, a flicker of malice and insanity ignited in Naktura’s gaze.
He was a lich. Unlike mortal wizards, he possessed a final, desperate gambit.
“You miserable mortals! Do you have any idea who I am?!”
KRAAAAAA!!
A staggering torrent of mana surged from his frame.
Near his chest, a radiant light erupted like a small star. A violent vortex of mana began to spiral outward from his core.
Naktura intended to self-destruct—obliterating his own essence to burn away everything in his vicinity.
If he was destined to vanish, he would ensure everyone else went with him.
That outcome alone would suffice to fulfill the mission. He would reclaim his freedom in death.
“DIEEEEEEEEE!!!!”
With a frantic howl, his mana surpassed its breaking point.
In that split second, Ghislain unleashed his own full mana reserves and bellowed.
“Get back!”
KRAAAAAA-BOOOOOOM!!
A cataclysmic shockwave detonated outward from where Naktura stood.
The companions reacted instantly and dove for cover, but the explosion was so immense that no one escaped completely. They were all caught in the secondary blast and thrown a great distance.
A massive pit had been gouged into the earth where the lich had stood. Had anyone received the full force of that blast, even a superhuman would have been vaporized.
The group was severely hurt. Limbs were fractured, organs were bruised—they were spitting up blood.
And that was merely from being grazed by the outer edge of the detonation.
Hssssss…
At the epicenter of the blast, dark smoke swirled, and tiny shards of something drifted through the wind.
They were the pulverized remains of the Death Knights Ghislain had called forth.
They had formed a circle around Naktura, absorbing the brunt of the fire with their spectral bodies.
Ghislain had also spent the last of his energy to shield both the Death Knights and his allies.
Even so, the Death Knights had been utterly destroyed, and the party had sustained injuries just from the lingering shock.
Within the fading remnants, the leader of the Death Knights, Gascot, wheezed weakly.
“Urgh… That bastard… doing this nonsense again…”
This wasn’t the first time his form had been blown to pieces.
Thinking back, he had only ever enjoyed one genuine battle. Every other time, the supposedly legendary Death Knight had functioned as nothing more than a human (or undead) shield.
“Y-You…”
Gascot attempted to finish his thought, but his essence flickered out before he could.
It would take a significant amount of time before he could manifest again.
Still, it was thanks to the Death Knights that they had survived the cataclysm.
Holding his throbbing chest, Lionel panted:
“Is… is it finished? Is it truly over?”
Ghislain lay flat on the ground, his lungs burning.
“Yeah. It’s handled.”
“…If you’re sure?”
They had just eliminated a terrifying foe—yet, strangely, the fight had felt more manageable than anticipated.
Then again, the destruction of that final explosion had been truly horrific.
Had they failed to intercept it, they would have been erased from the world.
It was certain that Naktura had been wiped out. All the undead that had swarmed the area were now crumbling into nothingness.
“Ghislain! Can you hear me?!”
Ereneth scrambled over to the fallen Ghislain.
He had taken the most severe damage, having stood on the front line and depleted his mana to stop the blast.
Luckily, Ereneth had remained further back and was mostly unharmed. She immediately invoked spirits to surround Ghislain’s form.
They weren’t as effective as holy healing, but spirits possessed natural mending properties.
Only then was Ghislain able to steady his breathing.
Seeing this, Kyle let out a pained groan.
“Us too, if you don’t mind… I’m seeing stars over here…”
The ones nearest to Ghislain—and the explosion—had been Julien and Kyle. They had taken the full force of the aftershock.
“Just hold on!”
Ereneth spoke with urgency as she poured more elemental power into Ghislain.
Kyle, nursing his cracked ribs, grumbled,
“This is miserable… Without Deneb around, these moments are the absolute worst…”
Deneb, their specialized healer, was not present.
Consequently, the group’s recovery rested entirely on Ghislain’s sorcery and Ereneth’s spirits.
Both were quite potent, and their mending effects were respectable—but they simply couldn’t rival the purity of divine grace.
Ereneth moved with haste, radiating waves of spirit energy toward the injured party members.
It wasn’t enough to restore them to full health, but with rest, they would mend.
The conflict had ended, but no one found the strength to stand easily.
It wasn’t merely due to their wounds—they were drained from the long, punishing trek.
As they lay there, recovering their breath, a voice echoed through the fading snowstorm.
“…Quite impressive. I believe you are the first group to endure this long here.”
It was a voice dripping with satisfaction—Arterion’s.
A moment later, a ripple of magic swept through the air, and the fierce blizzard began to divide. Through the opening came a gentle beam of sunlight.
“Ah…”
A warmth that began to thaw their frozen limbs.
Sighs of relief escaped from every member of the party.
Ghislain used his staff to push himself up, then turned with a grin.
“Let’s move. It looks like the test is concluded.”
The others gathered what remained of their strength and got to their feet. They walked slowly along the path that had been cleared through the drifts.
There were no further ambushes. The myriad terrors that had pursued them—vanished, gone, as if they were never there.
A short time later, they finally reached their goal.
“Wow…”
No one spoke first—the word just fell from their lips at once.
The panorama before them was stunning enough to strike them dumb.
A massive spire of crystal ascended from the endless snow and the frozen soil.
So gigantic it could have been mistaken for a peak, the tower was encased in pure, azure mana crystals.
Inside the crystalline shell, ancient sigils and dragon crests pulsed softly, drifting in a slow dance.
The perimeter of the tower was hauntingly quiet. No wind. No snow. A heavy, sacred silence draped the landscape.
But within that quietude existed a staggering sense of weight.
It was clear why no wild beast dared to approach.
This was the sanctuary of the Dragon Lord.
Even Ghislain, who was rarely moved, found himself whispering in wonder as he gazed up at the tower.
“Incredible. So it wasn’t a cavern. How did they manage to construct this in such a place?”
It was the sole mark of civilization in this icy void. One couldn’t help but marvel at how such a monument had been built.
Creeeeeaaak…
The colossal gate swung open on its own, as if greeting visitors.
The party stepped forward, their faces etched with awe.
Then, a few moments later—
“Julien!”
Deneb came sprinting out, her face glowing with happiness.
“Deneb!”
Julien’s face brightened as well, and the two of them rushed toward each other, meeting in a tight embrace.
Kyle made a face, looking as though he had just swallowed something bitter.
“Well, I’ll be. They aren’t even pretending anymore.”
Everyone was already aware of the mutual affection between the two.
They had simply been trying to stay discreet around the rest of the group—until this moment.
After the trials they had faced in Vallscrum, the pair had become more transparent regarding their bond.
“Waaaah! You finally made it!”
The other mercenaries who had been waiting inside poured out as well.
Everyone looked overwhelmed with feeling. After all, if the main group had failed to arrive, they would have all perished.
Osvald struck a dramatic pose and bellowed:
“The legendary Osvald! Having painted the frozen wastes with blood, having marched through this harsh land with the stride of a titan, has struck down the lich—the sovereign of death—and has finally arrived with honor! Now, we shall bring down the wicked dragon and—wait, no, ignore that part. Regardless, what a stirring, revolutionary trek it has been!”
“WOOOOAAAHHH! OSVALD!”
“The idiot is still kicking!”
“Incredible! Truly incredible!”
The mercenaries hoisted Osvald up and threw him into the air in triumph. For once, his grandstanding sounded like a genuine epic.
Then Arterion came into view.
He looked over the group, then offered a faint smile.
“Well played. I am truly amazed that not a single one of you fell. This time, I will give you my recognition.”
Only then did the group truly feel the reality—they had arrived. The stress snapped, and they slumped to the ground one by one.
The mercenaries who had been resting inside took them up onto their backs.
Deneb hurried over, weaving divine power over them.
Fwoooooosh.
A soft radiance flowed out, bathing the group.
They had endured so much, and the soothing warmth of that light pulled them all into a heavy, dreamless slumber.
Ghislain slapped his own face several times to ward off the exhaustion. Then, he looked toward Arterion and questioned,
“Is the trial truly over?”
“Yes. I would say you have met the basic requirements.”
“Was this preparation for… potential future events?”
“Let’s just say… it was necessary on many levels.”
The two spoke in riddles, keeping their words vague.
But the others didn’t care about the subtext.
The only goal was getting the unconscious members into the safety of the tower.
Even Ghislain, who had managed to stay upright, found he lacked the energy to keep talking once they passed through the doors.
The party finally drifted into a peaceful, long-awaited sleep.
After a full day of recovery, the group finally regained their senses.
Arterion spoke to the still-dazed Ghislain.
“Now, inform me of what you desire. I will provide whatever is required for your advancement.”
“Now that’s the kind of offer I like. In that case, I’m going to ask for a lot.”
Ghislain didn’t hold back. He listed everything he had been planning.
Brutal training—definitely. But the support and the preparation? He demanded the very best.
True to that philosophy, he asked for: lavish meals to sustain their bodies, top-of-the-line gear, vast quantities of rune stones to construct mana-focusing arrays, rare magic scrolls from every discipline, and even monsters for live training exercises—everything imaginable.
It was a request list that would have bankrupted a great kingdom.
But Arterion gave a nod without a moment’s pause.
“Do not worry. I will provide everything you ask for. If what I have isn’t enough, I will squeeze it out of every nation on this continent.”
The dragon’s ultimate purpose was to combat the Demonic Realm and uphold the equilibrium of the world.
It was the reason the dragons existed—a duty given to them by the goddesses at the dawn of time.
Thus, there was no reason for Arterion to deny the growth of the Julien Mercenary Corps, who served alongside the saintess.
At Arterion’s quick agreement, Ghislain grinned with profound satisfaction.
He was finally in a position to address several matters he had been forced to put off due to constant crises.
Since things had come to this, he intended to remain here and become far more powerful than ever before.
Everything Ghislain had requested was for the benefit of the group’s training.
But—there was one individual request he had left.
“There is one more thing I want for myself.”
“Name it. If it is within my capability, it is yours.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. It is something only you can grant me, Arterion.”
“What is it?”
Ghislain’s eyes gleamed as he answered:
“That lich—please, hand him over to me.”
“….”
Arterion stared at him in a long, heavy silence.
His look said it all.
‘What is actually wrong with this human?’