The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations Novel - Chapter 795

Chapter 795
Naktura was currently gripped by a profound sense of exhilaration. By his very essence, he was a practitioner of the dark arts who thrived on ruin. To a dark mage, conflict represented the ultimate purpose of life and the primary justification for his breathing. Yet, after being trapped within the confines of a dragon’s den for countless years, he had been forced to bottle up those violent urges. Now, the very second he gained his freedom, he was greeted by a clash of such massive proportions!

‘This is absolutely magnificent!’

Savoring the internal rush of adrenaline, he reaffirmed his belief that joining the Julien Mercenary Corps had been a masterstroke. However, such savage delight was not something he could display openly. Raising his staff with a flourish, he projected a voice brimming with sovereign authority.

“Insignificant wretches. This day, your spirits shall lose even the ability to shriek within my inferno!”

Paaaaaaaah!

A colossal sphere of flame descended into the heart of the Imperial legions, who were already reeling in disarray. The strike was so abrupt that any attempt at a defense was nonexistent.

Kwaaaang!

“Aaaargh!”

A tower of fire erupted as a monstrous conflagration consumed the Imperial ranks. These flames did not merely incinerate; they lunged outward like a predatory animal, liquefying everything in their path.

Count Pherington engaged Ghislain in combat while bellowing orders.

“Mages! Form the protective shield! Neutralize that incantation!”

The Imperial leadership was well aware that Astion possessed the power of a 7th-Circle mage. Consequently, they had arrived with a formidable contingent of sorcerers. Though half of their magical support had moved toward the coastline, those remaining frantically wove a defensive barrier.

Sensing the heavy, oppressive resistance, a flicker of spectral blue fire ignited within Naktura’s hollow eyes.

“You think such amateurish parlor tricks can halt my progress?”

It appeared the opposition possessed a 7th-Circle mage of their own, as the barrier they produced was remarkably resilient. However, an 8th-Circle master understood the specific methods required to puncture such a defense.

Drrrrrr!

As Naktura channeled a greater surge of mana, the protective dome began to riddle with fractures. Through these openings, he launched a relentless barrage of magical strikes.

Kwaang! Kwaang! Kwaaaang!

Though the intensity of the spells was somewhat diminished by the barrier, they remained lethal to the common infantry. Explosions of fire and bolts of lightning tore through the Imperial formations without pause.

Ghislain’s reinforcements were not limited to Naktura alone.

Kuuuuung!

Waves of obsidian mana pulsed, and from the depths of the shadows emerged warriors encased in dark plate armor.

One hundred Death Knights.

The moment they materialized, they fanned out across the field, commencing a systematic slaughter of the Imperial troops.

The desperate cries of Imperial officers echoed from all sectors.

“Front line, knights! Hold them back! Now! Clerics, initiate the purge!”

The elite cavalry at the vanguard of the Empire met the Death Knights head-on. Behind them, a brilliant, holy radiance began to expand.

Paaaah!

“O Great Goddess, wipe these abominations from the earth!”

Accompanied by the fervent chants of the priesthood, a wave of sanctified energy washed over the front lines. The Empire had anticipated Astion’s necromantic nature and had brought their clergy to wield the power of the light.

The tactic was undeniably potent.

Naktura, hovering in the sky as he rained down destruction, felt a jolt of surprise.

‘Wait, what is this? Why are there so many practitioners of the cloth?’

Naktura’s mood soured instantly. The divine energy was being directed more intensely toward him than toward his undead knights. Already occupied with the struggle against the mages’ barrier, he now had to divert his focus to shielding his own form. The Death Knights, while not the primary targets of the holy light, still found their movements becoming sluggish and strained.

However, the Julien Mercenary Corps possessed more than just one trump card.

“Vengeful spirits of the land! Rise and strike!”

Kurrurururung!

The earth elementals called forth by Ereneth tore through the topsoil. Whenever those massive, stony limbs swung, the terrain fractured, dragging soldiers into the yawning chasms below.

With these catastrophes occurring in dozens of locations at once, the Imperial forces lost all cohesion.

“A spirit master! They have a spirit master!”

“Mages! Bind those elementals!”

“It’s a master-level summoner!”

Ereneth smoothed back her hair, her face reflecting a sense of triumph.

“Hmph. Trying to seize our Blessing Stone. I’ve already entrusted that to Deneb.”

The grueling regimen she had endured in the frozen wastes had yielded incredible results. Unlike the typical elves who took centuries to slowly gather wisdom in their woods, Ereneth had received immense backing and had reached her peak at a staggering pace.

Having ascended to the status of a superhuman, she was a variable the Imperial army had failed to calculate.

Kwaang! Kwaaaang! Kwaang!

The elementals under Ereneth’s command now turned their fury toward the mages stationed in the rear of the Imperial army.

“Ensnare the spirits! Hurry!”

The mages were forced to weaken their defensive dome to concentrate on neutralizing the elemental threat. Thanks to the constant pressure of the divine light, the lich’s offensive had already slowed.

Even so, they were unable to intercept every strike. The Imperial lines continued to crumble.

Exploiting these fractures, Julien and Kyle led a fierce charge. Close on their heels were Osvald and the rest of the mercenaries.

Paaak!

The second they hit the lines, the knights who had been holding their own against the Death Knights were shattered. Through these new gaps, the undead warriors surged forward again, reaping the Imperial infantry.

Chiiiiik!

Under the saturation of holy light on the field, plumes of dark vapor hissed away from the Death Knights’ armor. Despite this, they remained warriors of the highest caliber. Even in a weakened state, they were far more than the average soldier or knight could hope to survive.

Kwaang! Kwaang! Kwaaaang!

“Uaaagh!”

The air was filled with the cacophony of splintering wood, snapping metal, and the wails of the dying.

The Imperial army, its discipline evaporated, could no longer capitalize on its superior headcount. The directives of the officers were drowned out by the noise of battle, and the few commands that reached the ears of the soldiers were too incoherent to follow. They were now relying purely on their remaining numbers, as all tactical order had vanished.

At that point, the high-ranking commanders on the Imperial flanks began to engage.

“So, that is the one they call Julien.”

“And there is Kyle.”

The prowess of Julien and Kyle was undeniable. As they tore through the Imperial ranks with blades of Aura, they were impossible to ignore. These flank leaders were also superhuman combatants dispatched by the Empire, and they accelerated toward their targets.

Kwoooooooom!

As the superhumans collided, a massive shockwave rippled outward, vaporizing any lesser soldiers in the vicinity.

Kwaang! Kwaang! Kwaaaang!

Both the mercenaries and the Imperial troops instinctively retreated. To be caught in the crossfire of such a duel meant certain death.

This separation actually gave the Death Knights more room to operate. They focused on the fractured units of the Empire while the mercenaries followed their lead.

“The great Osvald! Shall annihilate the foe in a truly groundbreaking way!”

Osvald bellowed with false bravado, even as he secretly scouted for an escape route should things turn sour.

It was during this peak of chaos that Darentz, who had been observing from the sidelines, finally took action.

“Proceed. Slay the saint.”

At his signal, the killers of the Crips utilized the turmoil to crawl toward their target. Guarding Deneb were only the masked Marika and the six assassins under her command.

The Crips operatives ignored the battle at large, focusing entirely on breaching Deneb’s perimeter. Finally, dozens of them managed to close the gap, though it cost the lives of many of their comrades. Throughout the entire ordeal, Deneb remained still, her eyes shut and her hands joined in silent devotion.

Paaak!

The assassins sprang forward simultaneously, preparing to rain daggers upon her. But Marika, standing sentinel, was a blur of motion.

Pook! Pook! Pook!

Her cloak flared, and scores of daggers tethered to her frame whipped out, impaling the attackers. The blades moved with serpentine precision, striking down even those who attempted to follow the first wave.

Despite the swift execution of dozens of men, Marika’s expression remained stony. She scanned the area with a piercing look before zeroing in on a specific direction.

Suddenly, Deneb spoke softly.

“Goddess. Grant Your favor to the weapons and armor of those who serve Your cause. Cleanse their scars, banish their dread, and imbue them with eternal bravery.”

Paaaaaah!

A volcanic burst of holy power radiated from Deneb. Unlike the light used by the Empire’s clergy, this radiance was selective, weaving only into the members of the Julien Mercenary Corps.

As a silvery aura enveloped them, their injuries vanished instantly. The strikes of common soldiers failed to leave even a mark upon them, and any significant damage healed almost as soon as it occurred.

The mercenaries now possessed a level of resilience and recovery that bordered on the miraculous.

Noticing the glow emanating from her own form, Marika issued an order.

“Maintain your position and protect Deneb.”

The remaining six assassins signaled their understanding.

Marika turned her attention to Lionel, who looked dazed by the scale of the conflict.

“Snap out of it. If you refuse to kill, then at least ensure Deneb is shielded. If she falls, you will never see the Pope.”

Lionel was still struggling with his conscience, having once served as a knight of the Empire.

At her reminder, he nodded firmly. He would not allow harm to come to Deneb.

He raised his shield, planting himself firmly in front of her. While he could not bring himself to slaughter his former countrymen, he was prepared to be an unbreakable wall for the saint.

Marika exhaled sharply and surveyed the field once more.

‘Deneb is safe for the time being.’

Thanks to Ereneth’s intervention, the Imperial center was in shambles. Meanwhile, the Julien Mercenary Corps was gaining ground, tightening their grip on the enemy forces.

Marika’s eyes locked onto a single figure.

The moment she chose her mark, she vanished, reappearing like a launched projectile.

Chaeang!

Darentz, who had been lurking in the Imperial ranks waiting for a moment of weakness, bared his teeth in a snarl.

“You… you actually have the nerve to hunt me down.”

“……”

“Very well. I intended to end your life here anyway. I will make you suffer for having the audacity to challenge me.”

Kaaang!

Darentz lashed out with his blade at a speed that defied the eye.

Marika twisted away and struck back, but Darentz parried her with equal fluidity.

Skeak! Skeak! Skeak!

Every time they crossed paths, Imperial soldiers nearby dropped dead without realizing they had been hit. Both Marika and Darentz were cutting down anyone who obstructed their duel.

As they fought, the Imperial army’s internal structure deteriorated further.

Count Pherington was covered in a cold sweat as he witnessed the devastation of his forces.

This was a catastrophe. He should have planned for more contingencies.

The thought that they would cast the Sacred Stone into the ocean had never crossed his mind. He had been too focused on the political goal of coercing them into a surrender.

Even now, he needed to pull his troops back into a cohesive unit, but the sorcerer in front of him was an insurmountable obstacle.

Kaang! Kaang! Kaaaang!

No matter how many times he struck, he couldn’t manage to land a blow on the man known as Astion.

He had been told the man was proficient in melee combat, but he hadn’t expected him to outperform a master of the blade like himself. After all, the man was supposed to be a mage.

Yet, this was nothing like any mage he had ever encountered. In all his years, he had never seen a caster fight with such martial skill.

“Kh…! You are no mere mage!”

How could a practitioner of magic possess better sword technique than a Swordmaster?

He had abandoned his horse long ago, realizing this was not a fight that could be won from the saddle. Even so, after just a few exchanges, he was being overwhelmed. It didn’t even appear that his opponent was using his full potential.

Kaaang!

Ghislain parried the Count’s blade and offered a cold grin.

“I am indeed a mage. Do you think you would be standing here if I actually began to cast?”

“What?”

“You call me a mage, yet you cannot even kill me while I’m using a staff. What does that say about you?”

“You wouldn’t dare…”

Pherington’s face drained of color. He realized exactly what was about to happen.

Bwoong!

Ghislain’s body suddenly ascended into the air. A massive, violent surge of mana erupted from him, saturating the atmosphere.

“You should never give a mage the freedom to act.”

Paaaah!

In a heartbeat, hundreds of fireballs materialized around Ghislain. This particular brand of explosive magic was terrifyingly potent, fueled by his status as an 8th-Circle master.

Count Pherington looked back at his mages and screamed.

“Mages! Strengthen the shield!”

“It is far too late for that.”

With those chilling words, Ghislain unleashed the fireballs, sending them screaming toward every cluster of Imperial troops.

Kwaang! Kwaang! Kwaaaaaang!

The horizon turned a deep crimson as entire regiments of the Empire were obliterated in a heartbeat.

The mages of the Empire were too exhausted to resist; they had spent their mana trying to contain Ereneth’s elementals.

They had assumed the lich was neutralized by the divine light.

But they had completely failed to account for Ghislain.

While occupying the Count, Ghislain had simply been waiting for the exact moment the enemy’s magical defenses faltered. Now, he had successfully executed a massive, wide-scale annihilation spell.

Pherington’s features twisted in horror.

“T-this is impossible…”

This was the nightmare of facing a mage. If given a single opening, they could turn a thousand men to ash in seconds.

It was clear now that everything leading up to this point had been a setup to create this exact moment. With just this one spell, more than half of the Imperial army had been decimated.

“You monster!!!”

Blinded by a murderous rage, Count Pherington leaped into the air, swinging his sword at Ghislain with everything he had.

A titanic blade of Aura cleaved through the air toward the mage.

Gagagagagagak!

However, the blow did not reach Ghislain. It was halted by a dense shield of 8th-Circle mana, which only barely showed a crack from the impact.

Had Pherington remained calm, he might have adjusted his stance or retreated. Instead, he was lost in his fury.

When his ultimate strike failed to connect, he froze in mid-air, unable to process the failure.

In that split second—

Ghislain’s staff whipped out like a bolt of lightning, connecting squarely with Pherington’s head.

Kwaaaaaang!

The Count’s body was driven into the earth like a meteor, creating a crater of shattered stone.

As he touched down, Ghislain immediately commandeered the horse that Pherington had left behind.

Hiiiiiing!

The animal reared, trying to dislodge the stranger. But a single, heavy punch from Ghislain to its snout silenced its resistance immediately.

Seated firmly on the horse, Ghislain reached out his hand into the air.

Jiiing—!

The fabric of reality tore open, and a singular, obsidian spear slowly manifested.

Kardnakh. The weapon that delivered death to those who opposed its master.

Thud.

Gripping the shaft tightly, Ghislain surveyed the wreckage of the Imperial army and smiled with dark intent.

“Now, let the negotiations truly begin.”

Hiiiiiing!

With a sharp, aggressive cry—

The horse under Ghislain lunged forward, charging back into the fray.