The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations Novel - Chapter 792

Chapter 792
— Terminate the Saintess and claim the Sacred Stone.
This was the decree delivered by the Pope.
However, Darentz found himself unable to simply parrot those words. He was uncertain of the Dragon Lord’s current disposition.
“I… I have arrived solely by the grace of His Holiness to verify the status of the Julien Mercenary Corps. Regarding the fate of the Saintess… that is a matter beyond my jurisdiction.”
Darentz pivoted the conversation with practiced ease. He placed heavy emphasis on his role as a mere messenger, suggesting that whatever transpired was not of his own making.
Arterion, of course, saw right through the subtext of Darentz’s speech. He had long since deduced the Pope’s true feelings regarding the Saintess.
Thus, he spoke,
“The alliance between dragonkind and the Papacy was forged to combat the Demonic Realm. Deliver this message to him.”
Rumble…
Arterion’s overwhelming presence began to constrict around Darentz.
“Advise him not to choose the difficult path, but to join forces with the Saintess against the Demonic Realm. Treaties are always subject to interpretation. Do you follow?”
A pact existed, yet the nuances of its application were broad. Essentially, while dragons were barred from direct interference in the Pope’s business, they remained capable of applying significant indirect pressure.
Darentz, struggling to breathe under the weight of the aura, bowed low.
“I shall… ensure the Great One’s perspective is understood.”
‘The Saintess survives!’
Darentz felt a slight surge of relief. Her survival would provide the Pope with temporary peace of mind.
But Arterion’s voice cut through his thoughts once more.
“This is not a suggestion. It is a final notice.”
He had never held a high opinion of the reigning Pope. From their very first encounter, Arterion had detected a fundamental wrongness.
Within the Pope’s eyes, a strange void and a ravenous greed existed in tandem.
‘An expression no normal mortal should possess.’
Yet, he was powerless to contest the papal election. According to the ancient statutes, the selection of a Pope was strictly a human endeavor.
While he hadn’t blocked the ascension, he had consistently denied the Pope’s demands for the Sacred Stone. The instincts of a dragon warned him of a corruption radiating from the man.
‘I assumed his mortality would soon solve the problem…’
That assumption had proved false. With the rise of the Demonic Realm in this age, the Pope’s influence had grown to unprecedented heights.
There was little else to be done. He could only trust that the Saintess and the Julien Mercenary Corps might find a way to manage the Pope without disaster.
For now, his contributions were limited to fostering the strength of the Julien Mercenary Corps and issuing such warnings.
Arterion spoke with deliberate slowness.
“The Saintess lives. The Julien Mercenary Corps does as well. You have your confirmation—now, depart.”
“M-might I ask how long they intend to remain in this place?”
Darentz’s throat felt parched.
If they intended to stay indefinitely, the situation would become a nightmare. They might be forced to wait for decades. Even if the Pope demanded her return, they would be at the mercy of the Dragon Lord’s whim to release her.
Naturally, Darentz had no interest in such a fate.
Arterion let out a mocking scoff.
“Who can say…? The Julien Mercenary Corps and the Saintess are currently attempting to negotiate with me. They have piqued my curiosity, so I shall observe them further… though, if you insist, I could send them back this very moment.”
“Gasp! N-no! I have verified their well-being, and that is what I shall relay to His Holiness!”
Darentz recoiled in terror and bowed once more.
If Arterion used his meddling as a pretext to keep the Sacred Stone, Darentz’s own life would be forfeit. It was better to retreat and wait for the Pope’s further instructions.
However, Arterion was not finished with him.
“As the Pope’s diplomat, I shall spare your life. But you will leave an arm behind.”
“W-what are you saying?”
“The penalty for your disrespect. Consider the pact a blessing; it is the only reason you survive at all.”
“G-great one…”
“Extend your arm over the magic circle. I will allow you to choose which one.”
The atmosphere turned leaden the moment Arterion ceased speaking.
Shaking violently, Darentz offered his left arm to the circle.
He remained ignorant of what specific disrespect he had shown, but his survival instincts screamed that defiance would result in something far worse.
Fwoooosh!
Suddenly, a surge of freezing energy erupted from the circle. The cold sliced through him, turning his limb into solid ice instantly.
Craaaash!
The frozen arm shattered into a thousand shards, showering the floor. As the ice fragments settled, Darentz let out a strangled cry of agony.
“Ghhhhh…”
He finally grasped the dragon’s meaning regarding “room for interpretation.”
The dragons might not stop the Pope’s plans directly, but they were perfectly capable of crippling his agents.
Arterion’s voice boomed again.
“Go. Report everything you have witnessed. If the Julien Mercenary Corps manages to convince me, I shall surrender the Sacred Stone. Tell him to be patient.”
“…I understand.”
Darentz stumbled as he turned to leave. He bit his lip to hide the scorching hatred bubbling inside him, though a paralyzing fear kept his mouth shut.
‘Just you wait…’
In his heart, he made a silent vow that he would eventually hunt down and murder the Saintess.
Arterion watched Darentz depart for a time. Even as the man grew distant, he remained visible through a specialized technique.
The massive spear floating before the dragon projected a perfect image of the altar’s surroundings.
He turned his head slowly.
“Does that satisfy you?”
Ghislain gave a nod.
“Yes. I appreciate the gesture.”
“Even with the treaty, I could have ended him. Eliminating transcendents usually makes negotiations simpler, does it not?”
It was a valid point. Traumatizing the Pope so he wouldn’t act impulsively was a sound strategy.
But Ghislain shook his head.
“There is someone else destined to end him. I want to leave that privilege to her.”
Ghislain had spared Darentz for Marika; she deserved to exact her own vengeance.
While having the job done for her wouldn’t be terrible, her primary drive was to kill Darentz and dismantle the Crips herself. If he fell now, her purpose might falter, leaving her hollow.
“…Very well. If that is your wish.”
Arterion responded with indifference and made a casual swipe with his hand.
Ssshh…
The projected image dissolved instantly.
Ghislain asked with genuine interest, “What sort of magic is that?”
“Nothing elaborate. A blend of spatial coordinates and vision enhancement. It is quite mana-intensive, however.”
“Mmm, remarkable.”
Spoken like a true dragon—referring to a high-level, mana-heavy spell as if it were a simple trick.
Ghislain, however, harbored no doubt that he would eventually reach that same pinnacle. He held a firm belief in that future. Such absolute certainty often became the catalyst for reality.
And that very conviction was currently being channeled into Astion.
“Urgh! Why am I always the one burdened with this mind-numbing study?!”
Magic of the 8th Circle and beyond represented a massive leap in complexity. Ghislain, however, didn’t flinch—largely because he had no intention of doing the studying himself. Instead, within his mind, he offered Astion his most enthusiastic support.
— You can do it. I have full confidence that ‘I’ will master the 8th Circle.
“Why must your self-confidence manifest as my labor?!”
— I believe in myself… and I believe in you.
“That doesn’t even make sense!”
Ultimately, Astion was left to toil through the nights alone. Well, not entirely alone.
Occasionally, Naktura, an 8th-circle mage, would assist him under Arterion’s instructions. Naturally, Naktura—still bitter about his failed bid for freedom—used every opportunity to belittle Astion.
“Are you thick? How can you fail to grasp this? Honestly, do they just hand out mage titles to idiots these days? In my era, only the brilliant survived.”
Naktura was relentless, fueled by the memory of the thrashing Ghislain had given him. He was unaware that the man who had beaten him and the soul currently studying magic were technically different.
Thus, Astion became the punching bag for Naktura’s frustrations. Naktura, surprisingly, found the constant berating to be quite cathartic.
‘Socializing really does make a difference.’
Mages were typically reclusive, enjoying their own mental landscapes—provided it was by choice. Being trapped in isolation, however, was a different story entirely.
‘This is actually enjoyable!’
Secretly, he hoped the Julien Mercenary Corps would never leave.
Despite this, Naktura dutifully reported Astion’s growth to Arterion. And on the day Astion finally breached the 8th Circle through sheer perseverance, Naktura discovered a detail of his own fate he hadn’t expected.
“Has Astion attained the 8th Circle?”
“He has. He is a novice in that realm, but he has arrived. Shall I present him for verification?”
“That won’t be necessary. If you say it is so, I believe you. It is time for your departure.”
“…Departure? But I am your servant, my Lord, am I not?”
Naktura panicked. To him, “departure” sounded like a euphemism for total erasure. As a lich who had sacrificed everything to avoid death, true extinction was his greatest fear.
Arterion looked at him with a trace of pity.
“When you were briefly dismantled, I gave my word that once Astion reached the 8th Circle, I would transfer your contract to him.”
“T-to me?”
“Indeed. You will serve as Astion’s subordinate and assist the Julien Mercenary Corps. Can you do that?”
“Absolutely! Without question!”
“Once Astion’s control stabilizes, I will finalize the transfer. Prepare yourself.”
“I live to serve your command, Lord!”
Internally, Naktura was elated.
‘Success! Absolute success!’
He was fortunate that his skeletal face couldn’t betray his joy. Living in a frozen wasteland with nothing but a dragon was terrifying and mind-numbingly dull. Anything involving the Julien Mercenary Corps would be an upgrade.
From that moment on, Naktura’s demeanor did a complete 180.
“Ah, a true prodigy! I have never witnessed such brilliance. Truly, you have the soul of a dragon!”
“…???”
“To learn a hundred things from a single lesson! Where has such talent been hiding?”
“…???”
Astion eyed him with deep distrust. The man who had been his tormentor was now his biggest fan. It was unsettling. Even worse…
“Study is exhausting, is it not? Oh, your shoulders are like stone. Allow me to provide a massage.”
…the sensation of cold, bony fingers kneading his shoulders while he worked. It made his skin crawl.
Astion remained suspicious of the shift until he put the pieces together.
‘The old corpse just realized Ghislain is about to own him!’
He assumed Naktura had known all along, but it seemed Arterion had only just revealed the plan. Once Astion realized he held the upper hand, he didn’t hold back. It was time for payback.
Whenever he felt a hint of boredom or frustration, he put Naktura to work.
“Water.”
“…”
“Fruit.”
“…”
“My back.”
“…”
Naktura complied with every whim, treating it as an investment in his future comfort.
Consequently, Astion’s studies became much more luxurious after reaching the 8th Circle. And without fail, as soon as Astion performed a spell, Ghislain would mentally record the process and master it instantly.
Watching this, Astion could only shake his head.
‘A literal monster of magical intuition.’
He couldn’t fathom how Ghislain bypassed the traditional struggle—using pure willpower to align with the world’s laws was a feat beyond typical transcendence.
The rest of the team made rapid progress as well, particularly regarding their mana capacities, which now dwarfed their previous limits.
As time marched on, Ghislain’s ambitions grew.
‘If we had a few more years in this environment, I could probably push even Osvald to transcendence…’
“Osvald the great! I have achieved revolutionary strength once again today!”
Even the lazy Osvald was content enough, provided he wasn’t in immediate mortal peril. Compared to his past hardships, training was a vacation.
But Ghislain’s hope for more time was a fantasy. The world didn’t have years to spare.
In the third year of their stay, Arterion summoned the group, his voice grave.
“The time has come to move.”
“Has something occurred?”
In response, Arterion made a gesture. The air rippled, revealing a dark, crimson-tinted vision.
“This is an image recorded in a crystal sphere by another dragon. It is fragmented, but the message is clear.”
Kyaaaaaah!
Vile creatures were shown tearing through smoking ruins. Ghislain recognized them instantly.
Riftspawn.
The invaders from the other side had finally arrived.
Arterion gazed at the chaos with a solemn expression before speaking again.
“The legions of the Demonic Realm are on the march.”
He slowly shifted his gaze toward Deneb.
“And they move faster than we anticipated.”