The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations - Chapter 281
Chapter 281: It’s Our Turn to Help (1)
“Summon Count Fowd immediately!”
Just before Count Desmond’s forces attacked Stonehaven Fortress, Marquis of Branford erupted in fury upon hearing the news of the Second Legion’s annihilation.
No one had anticipated that Count Desmond would act so suddenly.
While the tension in the kingdom suggested an internal conflict was likely, no one expected such an unannounced, unilateral military move that obliterated even the royal forces.
Count Fowd, known as the “Duke’s Mouth” in the capital, was practically dragged to stand before Marquis of Branford.
“Your Grace, Marquis. Have you been well…?”
“Count! Attacking Fenris without just cause? Is this the Duke’s intention?”
“Th-that’s… Count Desmond has nothing to do with us—”
“Are you trying to play word games with me now?”
As Marquis of Branford’s glare filled with murderous intent, Count Fowd lowered his head.
Though Count Desmond had maintained a neutral stance until now, no one doubted that he was aligned with the Duke’s faction.
It was apparent to everyone, especially after the Cabaldi War.
Realizing there was no room for denial, Count Fowd hesitated before stammering an explanation.
“We… we honestly don’t know what is happening either. This truly isn’t the will of Viscount Joseph… or the Duke.”
It was true that the ducal family had been preparing for civil war, but only as a last resort.
Raul, the Duke, sought to seize the kingdom with minimal casualties. That was why he had been painstakingly persuading and intimidating lords across the regions, despite the time and effort required.
The strategy was to isolate those who could not be swayed, then create a pretext to eliminate them, securing the kingdom easily.
That was the Duke’s fundamental approach—until Ghislain appeared and disrupted the game.
But for Count Desmond to act so independently…
Raul was furious. He despised disruptions to his carefully constructed plans.
To Raul, Count Desmond was no longer an ally but a pawn he could afford to sacrifice.
“We promise… to stay entirely uninvolved in this matter. We will not cooperate in any joint attack on Count Fenris.”
As Count Fowd retreated a step, Marquis of Branford pressed further.
“Claiming ignorance despite being in the same faction? Refusing to take responsibility?”
“Previously, we also refrained from interfering in Count Fenris’ affairs. Perhaps Your Grace could do the same…”
The suggestion was to dismiss this as another private matter, as they had done before.
Marquis of Branford’s lips twitched in frustration. Count Fowd keenly observed his reaction, thinking rapidly.
Fenris is finished anyway. There’s no way he can defeat Count Desmond. Whether the Royal Faction intervenes or not doesn’t matter.
Count Desmond commanded a force of 30,000. It was only a matter of time before Count Fenris fell, likely losing his head in the process. Even if the Royal Faction defeated Desmond afterward, it would come at a significant cost.
Count Desmond was a formidable figure, and his subordinates were no less capable. The conflict could easily devolve into a prolonged stalemate, weakening the Royal Faction.
If that happens, it will work to our advantage. We can seize the opportunity to start the civil war. Our delay isn’t due to a lack of power but a calculated decision.
The Duke’s faction was overwhelmingly powerful. They could overthrow the kingdom at any moment.
Yet they refrained because Raul, the Duke’s strategist, was obsessively focused on minimizing damage.
It was as if he had plans beyond simply taking over the kingdom.
Regardless of his reasons, Count Fowd believed the Royal Faction owed their survival to Raul’s cautious approach.
Watching Count Fowd, Marquis of Branford pinched his forehead and laughed.
“So, this is your game. Let Fenris fall to Desmond, then provoke us into action. If we attack, you’ll sap our strength; if we hold back, Desmond secures Fenris safely. Either way, it suits you.”
Count Fowd did not respond, only bowing his head. The Marquis had likely not expected an answer anyway.
The Duke’s faction had washed their hands of the matter. The Royal Faction had no choice but to confront Desmond after Fenris was destroyed.
Seeing Count Fowd’s composed demeanor, Marquis of Branford sneered coldly.
“I’ve had enough of your scheming.”
“You misunderstand. We are avoiding involvement because we desire no war, Your Grace.”
“Right. Of course. Your word games are tiresome. Toleo!”
Marquis of Branford called for the knight commander standing nearby. Toleo, wearing an expression that suggested he had been expecting this, bowed his head.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Imprison that man immediately, and round up all nobles aligned with the Duke’s faction currently in the capital.”
“As you command.”
At Toleo’s signal, the knights surrounding the area immediately seized Count Fowd by his arms. His escort knights were subdued just as quickly.
Caught off guard, Count Fowd exclaimed in panic.
“W-What? Your Grace! What is happening? I am responsible for the Duke’s diplomacy! My safety is guaranteed by convention—”
“If Count Fenris falls, I’ll sever your head along with those of the Duke’s faction nobles and send them all to the Duke.”
“W-What? What?”
Count Fowd blinked in disbelief. Was this man truly prepared to trigger a civil war because of some upstart in the North?
And yet, even more shocking words spilled from the Marquis’ lips.
“Steward.”
“Awaiting orders.”
“Inform the Third Legion stationed closest to the North to immediately move and assist Count Fenris.”
“Understood.”
“Which of the Duke’s faction territories is the weakest?”
“The quickest to strike are the Barony of Harrington in the North and the Barony of Collind in the East.”
“Good. Once Count Fenris falls, inform Marquis McQuarrie to take over those two territories immediately. As for Desmond, I’ll form a separate force to deal with him.”
“…Understood.”
Despite the boldness of his commands, none of the retainers dared to oppose the Marquis.
When the Marquis issued an order, it was absolute. No one could defy his authority.
Such was the way of the Branford Marquisate.
Count Fowd, looking as though he might lose his mind, shouted in desperation.
“Your Grace! Starting a war without justification? This is madness! Are you truly intent on triggering a civil war? We have no connection to Count Desmond!”
Seeing the Marquis make such decisions before his eyes, Count Fowd couldn’t believe it.
No matter how much the Marquis cherished Count Fenris, was it worth risking the fate of the Royal Faction and the kingdom for such a reason?
Count Fenris, Count Desmond, the Marquis—they all seemed completely insane.
The Marquis growled, glaring at Count Fowd.
“How long did you think I would allow myself to be strung along by your schemes and word games? No more talking. If you want to live, you’d better pray for Count Fenris to win. Take him away!”
“Your Grace! Your Grace!”
Count Fowd’s screams, bordering on wails, echoed as he was dragged out.
A heavy silence descended over the chamber. The retainers, stifled by the Marquis’ wrath, barely dared to breathe.
After some time, the steward finally broke the silence.
“Marquis… Are you truly certain about this?”
Until now, no one had worked harder than Marquis of Branford to avoid civil war. He understood the true extent of the Duke’s power.
The current balance of power had been maintained by the defensive strategy of the Royal Faction aligning with the passive stance of the Duke’s faction.
That is, until the arrival of that man, Ghislain, which disrupted the game and prompted Count Desmond to act.
Closing his eyes, the Marquis sighed as he spoke.
“From the moment we accepted Count Fenris—no, Ghislain Ferdium—it seems this was destined to happen.”
He had known Ghislain was exceptional, but his growth had far outpaced expectations. Sooner or later, it was inevitable that he would clash with Count Desmond.
Count Desmond must have realized that, unless he crushed that potential entirely before it matured further, he would eventually be in danger himself.
The Marquis had even gone so far as to assign royal forces to protect Ghislain, hoping to shield him long enough for him to grow. But he had never imagined his opponents would act so recklessly.
The steward’s expression darkened as he replied.
“The Third Legion will not arrive in time. The fastest route crosses lands owned by the Duke’s faction, so they would have to take a detour.”
The news of the Second Legion’s annihilation had only just arrived. By now, Count Fenris’ forces might already be engaged in a siege.
The Third Legion was stationed further south than the Second Legion had been. Even under the best conditions, it would take over a month for them to reach Fenris’ territory, given the unfinished state of the roads.
The impoverished Royal Faction lords in the North would be of little help, with their poorly trained and few troops only adding to the losses.
The Marquis nodded, as if already aware of this.
“Ghislain cannot defeat Count Desmond as he is now. He will lose.”
“If he retreats, he might save his life. After all, the Marquess of Ferdium still stands.”
“Yes, but he’ll have to relinquish Cabaldi… Perhaps even Fenris itself.”
“Then all the effort we put into supporting Ghislain will have been meaningless. How long will it take for him to rebuild after losing all his foundations and techniques, becoming destitute again?”
“It might even be impossible. Count Desmond will be there to block his way.”
“The fall of Ferdium is only a matter of time. Count Desmond would never leave any loose ends.”
“Ghislain is finished here anyway. But we will have to fight Count Desmond. The Duke’s faction will simply sit back and wait for us to exhaust ourselves.”
“Your Grace…”
“Civil war is inevitable. It’s better to strike first. Otherwise, we’ll be picked apart bit by bit, powerless to resist, until we’re all dead.”
With those words, Marquis of Branford closed his eyes.
His decision would set the entire Royal Faction and its nobles on the path to war. He had wanted so desperately to avoid civil war, yet he found himself at the point of starting it himself.
The only way to avoid civil war and buy more time to prepare for Ghislain to win.
“But that’s impossible,” he thought.
No matter how remarkable Ghislain was, victory in this situation was inconceivable. Shaking his head, the Marquis dismissed the thought, putting any lingering hope behind him.
Deploying more royal forces to protect Ghislain wasn’t a realistic solution. A similar crisis could arise again whenever civil war eventually broke out.
If Ghislain had been stronger, the civil war might have started elsewhere first. But that was a hypothetical, and the Marquis needed to act on the reality before him.
Thus, Viscount Clifton, the commander of the Third Legion, swiftly received the Marquis’ orders.
“Our objective is to assist and rescue Count Fenris. If it is judged that Count Desmond has already won and Count Fenris has fallen before the Third Legion arrives, proceed to attack the Barony of Harrington, part of the Duke’s faction. Hmm, not an easy task.”
After nodding a few times, he summoned his adjutant.
“Prepare for deployment immediately. We are heading to aid Count Fenris.”
The Third Legion, following the orders of Marquis of Branford, began moving toward Fenris.
* * *
The chaos caused by Count Desmond’s attack did not only affect the Royal Faction.
Ghislain’s father, Zwalter Ferdium, now a marquis himself, was left dumbfounded when he received the news.
“Count Desmond… invaded Fenris? And wiped out the Second Legion too?”
“Yes, sir! He’s already entered Fenris’ territory!”
“Th-this is…”
The shocking news made Zwalter stagger momentarily, unable to steady himself.
He had always anticipated that war would break out eventually. After all, Count Desmond had been behind the Ferdium Siege.
But after joining the Royal Faction, Zwalter had allowed himself to feel somewhat reassured.
When civil war inevitably came, it would be the Duke’s faction against the Royal Faction. Zwalter and Ghislain assumed they would be part of the latter, forming a key axis of their efforts.
“That we would face Count Desmond alone… That he would attack even the royal forces…”
Zwalter muttered in disbelief. He had thought it was a possibility, but never imagined Count Desmond would strike so suddenly.
“Brother! Get a hold of yourself!”
Startled by Randolph’s booming shout, Zwalter’s heart sank, and he snapped back to reality.
This wasn’t the time to be dazed. The fact that the news had reached Ferdium meant that battles were already underway.
“Y-yes. W-we need to assist Ghislain immediately… Wait, what about the fortress? Should we leave a garrison behind…”
Even for a seasoned veteran like him, Count Desmond’s sudden invasion had been a severe shock.
Desmond’s domain was considered the strongest in the North, and he had raised an army of 30,000. For the first time, Zwalter genuinely feared that his son might die.
Or perhaps, he was already dead. The thought left Zwalter’s mind blank again.
“Then we’ll need to reorganize the troops… Ferdium must prepare as well…”
Randolph grabbed Zwalter by both arms, shouting urgently.
“Brother! Get a hold of yourself! We need to move the entire army and go help the Young Lord immediately!”
“Yes, but we need to leave behind some forces to defend the fortress…”
“What does that matter? We’re in a ceasefire right now anyway!”
“I can’t trust them. That’s why I need to station some troops for surveillance…”
Zwalter was caught in a storm of conflicting responsibilities—the heavy weight of his duty and the concern for his son clashing fiercely, preventing him from making a swift decision.
During the previous Cabaldi War, he had also left some troops behind at the fortress while advancing. Back then, they had the luxury of options: whether to assist or retreat, depending on the situation.
But this time was completely different. Ghislain had to hold off Desmond’s massive army. Even a single untrained recruit would make a difference in the current state of affairs.
“Brother! None of this matters if the Young Lord is lost!” Randolph’s voice grew louder, almost desperate.
“What?”
“This fortress! The food supplies! The mana cultivation techniques! The savages! Even the progress of Ferdium! None of it would have been possible without the Young Lord!”
“…….”
Randolph shook Zwalter’s arms more forcefully and shouted again.
“Even if this fortress falls! Even if the North burns! As long as the Young Lord survives, he can rebuild it all! We must abandon this place! It’s a ceasefire—trust those savage bastards for now and leave this place!”
“Abandon it… abandon this place?”
For Zwalter, who had spent his entire life guarding the fortress, the suggestion to abandon it felt akin to throwing away his sense of duty. Especially when it came to trusting the savages’ chieftain, Woroqa, whom he found utterly untrustworthy. That cunning man had only agreed to the truce because he was overpowered by Ghislain’s strength.
They had already secured some of the savages’ provisions. If they vacated now, Woroqa might seize the fortress again. And if news came of Ghislain’s death? Woroqa would grow bolder, rampaging unchecked. It would mean losing both his son and the fortress.
Reclaiming the fortress afterward would be near impossible, and the savages’ pillaging would grow worse, plunging the North into chaos once more.
Even so, Randolph continued, his tone unwavering.
“The Young Lord’s life is at stake! Your son is about to die! How long are you going to live only for others? You’ve lived your whole life that way. Now, at least once, think of your family! Aren’t you sorry to our late sister-in-law?”
“You…”
“If Fenris falls, do you think we’ll be safe? Do you think Count Desmond will let us live? Elena will die too! Damn it, brother! Why have you suddenly turned into a fool? Wake up!”
Randolph’s words were like a splash of cold water, snapping Zwalter back to his senses.
He was right. Guarding the fortress meant nothing if Fenris fell. Count Desmond had already attempted to annihilate Ferdium once.
If they stayed here, both Fenris and Ferdium would be doomed. The situation was dire enough that nothing else mattered.
With newfound clarity, Zwalter pushed Randolph aside and spoke decisively.
“…Fine. First, let’s save Ghislain.”
Smack!
Zwalter slapped his own cheeks hard, as if to steel his resolve, then shouted.
“Mobilize all forces to Fenris! Not a single soldier is to remain behind! Send a messenger to warn Homerne to prepare in advance as well!”
The entire garrison was called to arms. The soldiers had already heard the news—Desmond was invading Fenris. Despite the alarming nature of the report, none of them showed fear. Instead, their fighting spirit burned even brighter.
There was a reason for their unwavering resolve.
Skovan, who had been delivering military supplies and had inevitably been roped into helping, drew his sword and bellowed.
“The Young Lord is in danger!”
The other knights and soldiers simultaneously raised their weapons. To them, Ghislain was now a hero and savior of Ferdium. They couldn’t stand by and let him die.
Together, they roared in unison.
“This time, we’ll be the ones to save the Young Lord!”
“Woaaaaah!”
With thunderous cheers, Ferdium’s forces began their march toward Fenris.