The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations Novel - Chapter 799

Chapter 799
Ghislain locked eyes with Viscount Horento and spoke firmly.
“From this point forward, you are going to be a very active partner to our cause.”
“W-What sort of partnership…?”
Crack!
“Aaaagh!”
Without warning, Ghislain’s hand axe bit deep into the Viscount’s shoulder.
The nobleman released a high-pitched wail, crying out in agony.
“W-What is the meaning of this! A nobleman who has surrendered is entitled to—”
Crack!
“Guh!”
The blade found his other shoulder, and Horento slumped to the earth as if his very bones had turned to dust.
The surrounding knights, sorcerers, and clerics recoiled in shock.
Under normal circumstances, they would have charged to rescue the Viscount. However, having already laid down their arms, they remained frozen.
No—to be more accurate, they were simply too terrified to take a step.
Ghislain cast a chilling look over the crowd before refocusing on Horento.
“For a leader, you are remarkably dense. Do you still not grasp what it means to truly empathize with my position?”
“Ghhkk, ugh…”
Viscount Horento could not even lift his arms to staunch the bleeding, managed only to gasp for air in ragged bursts.
These individuals were beyond reason. The mere act of taking on the Imperial Army with such a meager force was madness—to say nothing of the fact that they had actually triumphed.
Yet, for a superhuman to behave with such blatant disregard for decorum!
Paralyzed by fear, Horento gave a frantic nod.
“Y-Yes, I understand. I will assist you in any way—”
Crack!
“Uwaaaah! Stop! Anything, I’ll do anything! Just give the word!”
Finally, Ghislain clicked his tongue and whispered to himself.
“It seems everyone requires a bit of physical persuasion before they see sense. Not a single person has understood me on the first try. It truly is a rarity to find someone with genuine empathy.”
If he had to recall one, there was that man named Tarim they had once taken prisoner from the Revolutionary Corps.
That individual possessed an almost supernatural level of empathy. He could anticipate needs and provide answers before the questions were even formed. It was unsettling how deep his perception reached.
If the world were populated by such people, humanity might actually know peace.
Ghislain shifted his axe, pressing the cold edge against Horento’s throat.
“You are traveling with us all the way to the Pope. Lying will get you nowhere.”
“Y-Yes, I follow.”
“Explain the current troop distribution the Empire has established to intercept us.”
“T-That…”
Crack!
The hand axe slammed into Horento’s leg.
“Gyaaaaah! I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”
Fumbling in a panic, Horento extracted several parchment maps from his coat.
These detailed Imperial lands and the primary bastions of the various kingdoms.
The surfaces were littered with peculiar notations—more than a hundred markers in total.
“H-Here. Every marked location represents a stationed military force.”
“Why are there so many? Surely all of this wasn’t organized just to stop us?”
“N-No, not strictly to block you.”
“Then for what purpose?”
“It was a security measure in case you tried to flee with the Sacred Stones. They were well aware they were dealing with multiple superhumans.”
“I see.”
Ghislain understood the logic.
Once a superhuman decided to make a run for it, they were notoriously difficult to pin down.
Granted, with enough soldiers and a wide enough perimeter, they could eventually be cornered—but the Julien Mercenary Corps possessed several such elites.
Furthermore, no one was certain who carried the Sacred Stones. They could have easily divided the cargo and gone their separate ways.
If even one individual managed to slip away and disappear?
The remaining stones would become irrelevant.
From the Empire’s perspective, sealing off every exit was the only logical priority.
Ghislain examined the maps in silence. Every path leading away from Tulan was choked with troops, and some were even stationed in remote, outlying regions.
Even with the vast resources of the Empire, maintaining direct command over such a fragmented force was impossible.
“Are these the regional armies of the various kingdoms?”
“Y-Yes. They have conscripted troops from every nation and spread them thin across the map.”
“Shouldn’t these armies be at the front lines against the Demonic Realm?”
“W-Well, currently the border kingdoms and the dragons are holding the line…”
Horento’s voice trailed off.
In truth, every nation had already transitioned into a total war footing.
Internal conflicts had ceased, political rivals had united, and the wealth of the world was being funneled into the defense of existence.
This was the standard human response to the Demonic Realm. Failure meant the total erasure of the race.
Nevertheless, they could not ignore the mandates of the Pope.
The logic he provided—that the Sacred Stones were the key to ending the Demonic threat forever—was far too persuasive.
And because the war was still in its infancy, the masses still trusted his word and followed his lead.
“Hm, so if we simply went into hiding…”
If the Julien Mercenary Corps vanished along with the Sacred Stones, the Pope would undoubtedly lose his mind.
The more frantic his search became, the more his authority would erode. The grand coalition might even start to crumble.
Ghislain toyed with the satisfying thought for a moment before dismissing it with a shake of his head.
‘It’s a tempting idea, but I can’t do it.’
If his only aim was the Pope’s downfall, that would be the most effective path.
However, that would play right into the hands of the Salvation Order. If the Pope fell now, humanity would be left in an unwinnable position.
That was precisely the nightmare scenario Arterion had been terrified of.
‘No, this needs a swift resolution.’
Only then could the human nations unite properly to face the Demonic Realm.
Ghislain scanned the maps with precision, looking for a path that minimized combat and maximized their speed.
Then, a discrepancy caught his eye.
“What is this? Why is the deployment handled like this? These positions are inverted.”
Nations usually guarded their own borders. Indeed, many were doing just that.
Yet, some kingdom’s forces were stationed deep within the territories of others, their roles swapped.
It was a logistical nightmare in terms of supplies and maintenance.
Suddenly, Ghislain saw the pattern.
“These are the kingdoms we once assisted.”
Viscount Horento nodded.
“Y-Yes. Because of the fear that they might look the other way and let the Julien Mercenary Corps pass, they were moved.”
“They really went to great lengths to ensure we were caught.”
The Julien Mercenary Corps had saved many of these nations from ruin, establishing deep ties of gratitude.
For those kingdoms, taking up arms against the corps was a bitter pill to swallow. It meant not only breaking a vow of alliance but meeting kindness with a knife in the back.
Of course, their primary hesitation was practical: they knew exactly how powerful the corps was. They would suffer horrific casualties, and they weren’t eager to pay that price.
The Empire anticipated this—which is why they swapped the armies.
That way, even if one kingdom chose to ignore them, the corps would be spotted the moment they crossed into the next territory.
“I suppose they assume we can’t possibly escape the Pope’s reach anyway?”
“Yes. That seems to be the general consensus…”
Ghislain gave a nod. It was a logical assumption.
Even the nations the corps had saved would likely feel forced to act. If they played dumb, the Empire would hold them to account.
Ghislain let out a short, dry laugh and folded the maps.
“Well, I never expected a smooth ride. Let’s move out immediately. Everyone, prepare yourselves.”
The Julien Mercenary Corps quickly swapped their gear for Imperial Army uniforms, masking their identities.
Recognizable items, such as Osvald’s massive hammer, were hidden away in Ghislain’s subspace.
This was a tactic they had mastered over years of mercenary work. Marika, with her background as an assassin, was particularly adept at the art of disguise.
While Ghislain could have used magic to mask their faces, the effect would fail once his mana ran low. Physical disguises were the more reliable option.
The plan was simple: move fast, masquerading as Imperial couriers.
“Our destination is the Imperial Capital. Viscount Horento, you are our guide. Ensure we steer clear of as many foreign armies as possible.”
“M-Me? You want me to lead?”
“Exactly. The story is that the Julien Mercenary Corps successfully fled. We are the messengers carrying this vital update to the Empire. You understand the stakes, don’t you? You’ll need to play your part perfectly.”
“Y-Yes. I will do it.”
“Excellent. I’m counting on a convincing performance. Don’t be clumsy. Get those wounds bandaged and put on fresh clothes. A commander who supposedly sat safely in the rear shouldn’t look like he’s been through a meat grinder, right?”
Ghislain gave a light laugh and patted Horento’s shoulder.
The Viscount, pale as a ghost, nodded. But his mind was racing.
‘These madmen… they aren’t fleeing? They are heading straight for the heart of the Empire? And they’re dragging me along?’
He had witnessed the sheer, monstrous power of the Julien Mercenary Corps in the previous fight. But could they really survive against the combined might of the kingdoms and the Empire?
It was impossible. Even if they somehow reached the capital, they were walking into a death trap.
And when that happened, the guide—himself—would be branded a traitor and executed right alongside them.
‘I have to find a way out of this.’
He couldn’t resist for the moment. The raw power of the man before him was too overwhelming.
But the road to the Empire was long. A chance would surely arise.
Until then, he would play the submissive servant and wait for his moment.
Once the group was ready, Ghislain addressed the surviving Imperial soldiers.
“Everyone into the ocean. Right now.”
“…???”
“I’m not going to kill you. But I can’t have you spreading rumors too quickly. Stay in the water until we are long gone.”
Kwooooom!
In the sky above, Naktura lifted his staff, summoning massive orbs of fire that hovered menacingly.
At the sight of the magic, the Imperial troops scrambled for the waves. Even those who had been searching for the stones didn’t dare resist—they had seen the wreckage of their main force.
Splash! Splash!
One by one, the soldiers dove into the sea. Once Ghislain was satisfied that the shore was clear, he climbed onto his horse.
“Let’s move. We need to put as much distance behind us as we can before the news breaks.”
Osvald spoke up, sounding exhausted.
“No break?”
“We can sleep in the saddle, can’t we?”
“….”
When Ghislain made a decision, there was no arguing.
Everyone had grown significantly stronger; though they were weary, they still had the endurance to push forward.
The Julien Mercenary Corps set off at once, with Viscount Horento taking the lead.
Ghislain checked the map and pointed forward.
“This way.”
Tulan sat within the borders of the Snowbur Kingdom. Every exit from the realm was heavily guarded by their local forces.
Ghislain picked the path that offered the quickest exit from the territory.
Horento felt a lump in his throat.
‘He’s taking us directly into the lion’s den.’
Because that specific pass was so vital, a major power had been stationed there.
That man was Count Braxian, a renowned Swordmaster of the Snowbur Kingdom.
‘But is even Count Braxian enough to stop them?’
The Count commanded nearly ten thousand men. After this assignment, his legion was slated to join the Imperial forces for the march against the Demonic Realm.
However, this was the same Julien Mercenary Corps that had just broken an Imperial army of equal size. Even Braxian might be in over his head.
Yet, there was one hope…
‘The Julien Mercenary Corps has to be at their limit.’
Regardless of their strength, fighting a war of that scale would have drained their reserves.
Furthermore, the Imperial Army had only crumbled because of the chaos regarding the “lost” stones and the sudden fall of Marquis Pherington.
‘If Count Braxian spots the deception and strikes with everything he has immediately…’
They might actually be able to wipe out the exhausted mercenaries.
The only hurdle was how to alert him.
‘I have no way to signal him… none at all.’
Ghislain was riding a hair’s breadth behind him.
If Horento so much as twitched suspiciously, his head would be off his shoulders in a heartbeat.
Horento knew it, and he knew Ghislain was watching for it.
Ghislain’s voice came from behind him.
“You know the rules. If things go sideways, you’re the first person I kill before I even draw my sword against them. Keep your face neutral. Give them no reason to suspect a thing.”
Tears welling in his eyes, Horento nodded.
A superhuman was shadowing his every move. With his own limited skills, there was no escaping.
Suspicion from either side was a death sentence.
The mercenaries would kill him for betrayal, or the Snowbur soldiers would kill him for being a puppet.
Horento realized he was trapped in a nightmare with no exit.
‘Am I really going to the capital with these people?’
A trip that ended only in a gallows was hard to stomach.
And so, with a stomach knotted in fear, the Viscount rode on with the group.
As anticipated, they eventually encountered Count Braxian and the vanguard of the Snowbur army.
The soldiers stepped aside to create a path, and the disguised Julien Mercenary Corps rode slowly through the ranks.
Alerted to their arrival, Count Braxian rode forward to greet them.
He looked at Viscount Horento and spoke.
“A quick return. So, you’re saying the Julien Mercenary Corps got away?”
“Y-Yes. They managed to punch through the Imperial lines and vanish in multiple directions. Marquis Pherington has charged me with delivering the report to the capital personally.”
“I’m surprised to see a man of your rank acting as a common runner.”
“The situation is dire, and the Marquis has entrusted me with a secondary, highly sensitive task.”
“And is that a task I might be permitted to hear?”
“It is a direct Imperial directive. I cannot share it.”
Horento kept his voice as stable as possible.
In reality, his heart was hammering against his ribs. One part of him prayed Braxian would see through the ruse—the other part was terrified he would.
If a battle started, Horento would be the first casualty.
Braxian considered the answer and gave a nod.
He couldn’t force an Imperial officer to leak high-level secrets, nor could he delay a messenger on official business.
“Proceed then. If I spot anyone out of place, I’ll ensure they are captured with the full might of my command.”
“Good. They are incredibly powerful, so maintain your vigilance.”
Horento forced a thin, weak smile and tightened his grip on the reins.
Now, he and Ghislain’s party were riding through the very heart of the encampment, flanked by rows of soldiers. The sheer weight of an organized army made the passage feel like walking a tightrope.
Perhaps it was his own guilt, but Horento felt as though a hundred spears were aimed at his back.
The mercenaries were equally on edge. Being surrounded by a regular army was a precarious position.
“Come, let’s move through quickly!”
Horento’s voice shook slightly. If they could just push their horses a bit faster, they might make it out.
But then—
“One moment.”
Count Braxian held up a hand, signaling them to halt.
“W-What is it? Is something wrong?”
Horento asked, his nerves fraying.
He tried to hide his panic, but under such scrutiny, his composure was failing.
Braxian stared at him for a long, heavy silence before speaking.
“Why is an Imperial nobleman so visibly shaken? Who exactly is it that you’re running from?”
“I… I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean exactly what I said. You are far too on edge.”
Braxian’s eyes narrowed, sharp and inquisitive.
“We are on the same side, are we not?”
His gaze was that of a hunter who had caught the scent of blood.