The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations Novel - Chapter 791

Chapter 791
Ghislain inquired with a look of feigned ignorance.
“Is there a problem?”
“…”
“You did mention you would grant me anything I desired, correct?”
“Those were my words, however…”
Arterion ran his fingers over his chin, lost in thought.
He had committed to providing whatever resources they required—but he never imagined Ghislain would demand the lich currently serving as his personal aide and sentry.
“Hmph…”
Dragons were, by their very nature, acquisitive creatures.
Regardless of an object’s immediate utility, if it possessed worth, a dragon’s primary drive was to stash it within their hoard.
‘That lich is a rare prize, a slave not easily replaced…’
A sorcerer with the talent to reach the 8th circle was a once-in-a-century phenomenon.
That was precisely why Arterion had spared Naktura, choosing servitude over destruction. An 8th-circle lich was a tool of immense power.
Publicly, there wasn’t a single dark mage on the continent who had attained the 8th circle. Even if one existed, tracking them down would be a near-impossible feat.
Understandably, when Arterion first claimed Naktura, his fellow dragons had been consumed by envy.
And now, this youth was asking for him as if it were a simple favor.
Come to think of it, the boy’s avarice rivaled that of a dragon.
“Ahem. Cough.”
After clearing his throat to break the tension, Arterion finally responded.
“Iralniel informed me that you have dabbled in the dark arts. Even so, commanding an 8th-circle lich is far beyond your current capabilities.”
“Then I simply need to sharpen my craft. Once I attain the 8th circle myself, controlling him should be no issue.”
“Mm. I see.”
Noticing Arterion’s continued reluctance, Ghislain pressed his advantage.
“Didn’t you tell him he would earn his release if he managed to kill us? That implies you were already prepared to let him go.”
“Well… in a manner of speaking, but…”
Not exactly.
Arterion had anticipated Naktura’s defeat the moment he gauged the party’s potential.
Deploying the lich had merely been a trial to test their mettle. After all, surviving a confrontation with an 8th-circle lich was a peerless lesson.
If a few of them had perished in the struggle, it was a price he was willing to accept.
He hadn’t foreseen them neutralizing Naktura so efficiently—and without suffering a single loss.
Arterion started to speak several times, only to hesitate.
As the Dragon Lord, a blatant reversal of his word would be a stain on his pride.
Furthermore, transferring an 8th-circle lich would monumentally increase the strength of the Julien Mercenary Corps.
From a strategic standpoint, it was the logical choice.
Finally, Arterion let out a weary breath, his face reflecting his internal struggle.
“Very well. On the day you reach the 8th circle, the lich shall be yours.”
Ghislain beamed, looking as though he had known this would be the outcome all along.
“My thanks.”
“…You are truly a piece of work.”
Arterion clicked his tongue at the younger man.
The level of support he had already pledged was staggering. Most mortals would never dream of asking for a single grain more.
‘But this one is cut from a different cloth.’
He pursued his desires with an utter lack of shame.
People usually walked on eggshells around dragons, desperately trying to read the room—but Ghislain showed no such inhibition.
‘Though… I suppose that is the temperament required to challenge the Pope.’
A man who didn’t flinch before a dragon certainly wouldn’t tremble before the Holy See.
In many ways, he was the perfect choice to stand guard over the saintess.
‘And as for the other…’
Arterion shifted his gaze toward Julien.
The young man was sitting with Deneb, the two of them laughing as they recounted their recent trials.
Deneb’s expression was radiant, clearly overjoyed by their reunion.
Observing this, Arterion’s brow twitched with slight annoyance.
“The saintess is forming an unhealthy emotional bond with a mortal.”
“Is that truly a concern?” Ghislain asked.
Arterion gave a firm nod.
“Absolutely. The saintess must prioritize the divine will above all else. To be compromised by personal sentiment is a failing.”
“…I see. You believe so?”
“That Julien lad… he would sacrifice everything for her. It is noble, in a sense. But for the saintess to be so moved by a human—it bodes ill.”
“And why is that?”
“Her purpose is the salvation of the world. That is her primary directive.”
“And is she not working toward that goal at this very moment?”
“Yes, but…”
Arterion’s voice trailed off.
Regardless of his logic, he could not dictate the heart of the saintess.
Ghislain grasped the underlying tension as well.
Julien and Deneb.
The bond between them was so fierce they would die for one another.
That meant they were also each other’s greatest vulnerability.
And such a vulnerability could compromise their mission to save existence.
‘Hmm…’
A nagging thought began to tug at the edge of Ghislain’s mind.
Why had the future versions of Ereneth and Arterion viewed Julien as the Adversary?
He had previously dismissed it as a simple error. Even Ereneth, after getting to know Julien, had moved from certainty to mere suspicion.
But… what if there was a deeper catalyst?
What if it centered around Deneb?
‘Hmm…’
However, looking at how the future had played out, the Demonic Realm had indeed been sealed.
That suggested events had unfolded according to the plan laid out by Julien and Deneb.
He couldn’t afford to let baseless hunches breed distrust.
Besides, the Arterion standing before him now seemed perfectly stable.
‘Ugh, this is giving me a migraine.’
Ghislain gave his head a firm shake.
Overthinking the past or future wouldn’t change the present. The path had already shifted the moment his soul returned to the past.
His entire goal was to forge the Hero and his companions into even greater versions of themselves.
Therefore, the outcome was destined to be superior. Everything happening now was just a step toward that victory.
The only thing that mattered was exerting his full effort—trusting his own instincts as he always had.
‘For the time being, I will focus on the variables I can influence.’
Everything else would be addressed when the time came.
That was Ghislain’s core philosophy.
Noticing the silence, Arterion asked,
“What has you so deep in thought?”
“…Just contemplating those two.”
“There is no use trying to intervene now. Forcefully separating people often only binds them tighter.”
“You have a surprisingly keen grasp of human nature.”
“Call it the perspective gained from centuries of observation. Regardless, I will not contravene the saintess’s desires. We shall watch and see how it unfolds.”
Following that conversation, Arterion began assembling the materials Ghislain had requested.
The collection of rune stones intended for the mana focusing arrays was staggering—so immense that when the group saw them piled like mountains in a vast storage hall, they were struck dumb.
“W-Wow…”
“Is this the largest stockpile on the continent?”
“I didn’t know this many rune stones even existed…”
With a cache of this magnitude, one could theoretically construct a massive mana array and reside within it indefinitely.
Usually, rune stones were depleted too quickly for such a luxury—it was a scenario most mages only dreamed of.
Ghislain surveyed the haul, fighting to keep his expression neutral.
“Hmph. Acceptable.”
It seemed to match the hoard he had once secured in Fenris—perhaps it even surpassed it.
Back then, even with such riches, Ghislain couldn’t keep a large-scale array running constantly. There were always too many other crises demanding resources.
But here, every single stone was dedicated solely to their growth.
With this supply, he could operate the mana arrays without fear of exhaustion.
Arterion swung open the doors to another chamber.
“If it is steel you require, select whatever catches your eye.”
“W-Woooooah…”
Once more, the group was left breathless.
The hall was lined from floor to ceiling with shimmering armaments, organized meticulously.
Every piece looked far too exquisite for mere training. They were relics.
Even the blades scattered near the entrance were masterfully crafted by dwarven hands. They were of such high quality that using them for practice felt like a sacrilege.
Arterion spoke with surprising grace.
“When your labor here is finished, each of you may choose one weapon to keep. Consider it a tribute to those charged with the Saintess’s safety.”
A collective gasp of wonder rippled through the mercenaries.
They already carried fine dwarven steel, but adding another legendary weapon to their belt was a welcome prospect.
When it came to masterwork gear, there was no such thing as too much.
Julien, however, appeared conflicted. He was well aware of the legendary greed of dragons.
He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of simply walking away with a dragon’s personal hoard.
Hesitantly, he asked:
“Are you certain it is appropriate for us to accept these?”
“It is fine. Whatever you take, I shall simply command the dwarves to forge replacements.”
“Ah…”
Arterion spoke as if it were a trivial matter—but the weight of his words wasn’t lost on the others.
If it could be easily replaced, it wasn’t a true treasure in the eyes of a dragon.
It also meant the local dwarves were in for a long, grueling stint at the forge.
Beyond the armaments, Arterion provided the high-tier spellbooks Ghislain had asked for—and pledged to summon beasts for live combat drills whenever they were needed.
Within a few days, the groundwork for their training was almost entirely laid.
Any minor gaps could be filled as they progressed.
However, there were a few requirements that were difficult to meet in this environment.
Chief among them was the “fine dining” Ghislain had requested. In this frozen, desolate wasteland, high-quality cuisine was the hardest thing to find.
Ghislain wondered how Arterion would deliver on that promise. A Dragon Lord, after all, didn’t make idle vows.
As it turned out, Arterion settled the matter with brutal efficiency.
“Wait here.”
He vanished for a short time—only to return with dozens of individuals in tow.
They were trembling, some even weeping as they were herded along. Ghislain’s brow furrowed.
“…Who are these people?”
“Your kitchen staff and attendants.”
“…”
“They were the premier chefs of the Kingdom of Snowbur. Satisfying your palate should be well within their skills. The kingdom will provide regular shipments of high-grade provisions.”
“…”
Arterion had simply intimidated a neighboring realm and abducted their finest culinary talents and servants.
It was direct, effective, and—most of all—entirely consistent with dragon logic.
A dragon was never going to source ingredients and cook a meal personally.
The group stood in stunned silence. They couldn’t help but feel as though they were the ones wearing the black hats.
Ghislain rubbed the back of his neck.
“Hm…”
While he appreciated efficient results, even he had limits when it came to victimizing the innocent.
Finally, he let out a heavy sigh.
“…We can manage our own meals. Please, return them to their homes.”
“I decline.”
“…On what grounds?”
“The word of a dragon is absolute. I issued a decree to the kingdom, and they obeyed. These mortals will stay and serve until your training concludes.”
Ghislain shook his head.
Attempting to apply human morality to a dragon was a lost cause. He had no choice but to yield.
“Fine. We will accept their services for the duration.”
With that, every piece of the puzzle was finally in place.
Ghislain dedicated himself to the study of 8th- and 9th-circle sorcery alongside Astion.
Julien and Kyle immersed themselves in the crucible of live combat.
They hunted monsters daily, and on occasion, they even traded blows with Naktura, the 8th-circle lich, who participated in their drills with visible resentment.
Lionel and Marika threw themselves into the advanced mana refinement methods and combat styles Ghislain provided—striving to transcend human limits.
Ereneth communed with the potent natural energies of the land, strengthening her bond with the spirits of the elements.
The rest of the mercenary troop trained relentlessly under Ghislain’s watchful eye, sharpening their coordination and skills.
Ghislain even established a massive mana focusing field so the entire group could live and work within its influence. It was the most efficient way to bolster their power.
They were free from all mundane distractions.
Their daily needs were catered to by the world-class chefs and attendants “recruited” into the camp.
Because of this, the Julien Mercenary Corps was able to focus entirely on one goal: becoming unstoppable.

—

“Those miserable bastards…”
Darentz ground his teeth as his boots hit the permafrost.
His unit had been stationed in the port city of Tulan by the Pope’s decree.
But the Julien Mercenary Corps had vanished into this icy wilderness with the dragon—and a full year had passed without a single update.
There was no news of the Sacred Stone. There wasn’t even proof that the Saintess was still alive.
Ultimately, the Pope had commanded Darentz to venture into the frozen wastes to confirm the situation himself.
He had sailed on a vessel provided by allied lords and unfurled the banner of the Holy Empire the moment they touched land.
Without that flag, the Dragon Lord would likely have viewed them as intruders and turned them to ash instantly.
“Gods… what a wretched, freezing tomb.”
As he scanned the white landscape, Darentz noticed a strange sight.
“Is that a carcass?”
The area was littered with the frozen remains of monsters.
It was clear evidence that the Julien Mercenary Corps had been active in this area.
If they were all dead, it would be a disaster—it would mean Darentz would have to spend weeks searching for their remains in this blizzard-prone waste.
“Move out.”
Darentz directed his soldiers toward the ancient altar.
Even with his skills as a superhuman assassin, he had no desire to wander aimlessly toward a dragon’s den.
When they arrived at the altar, Darentz channeled his mana into the intricate magic circle etched into the stone.
RUMBLE!
The etchings began to radiate light, and a terrifying amount of mana erupted toward the sky.
It felt as though a deity was looking down upon them—a thunderous, overwhelming presence.
Then—
Arterion’s voice boomed from the altar.
“So the vermin have finally arrived… Though you fly the Empire’s colors. I shall hear your plea.”
Darentz and his subordinates immediately cast themselves onto the frozen ground. He spoke with a quivering voice.
“I-it is a supreme honor to stand before you, Great One. I am Darentz, commander of the Crips, acting on the orders of His Holiness the Pope.”
“Hmph… Very well. Proceed.”
“We were assigned to provide an escort for the Julien Mercenary Corps. Their trail vanished here, and we have come to see if they are safe.”
“An escort, you say… Was that truly your purpose?”
“Y-yes, without question. It was a direct mandate from His Holiness.”
Darentz kept invoking the Pope’s name like a shield. It was his only hope for survival.
There was a long, heavy silence.
When Arterion spoke again, his voice was laced with a chilling, mocking tone.
“An escort? No… I suspect you were sent here to assassinate the Saintess.”
The blood drained from Darentz’s face, leaving him deathly pale.