The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations - Chapter 292
Chapter 292: The End is Near (2)
The tide of battle swiftly turned in favor of Fenris and the allied forces.
This was due to the mounted archers, who had shaken off Emerson’s pursuit and now rained arrows relentlessly on the rear of Desmond’s army, which had split into two.
“Ugh! Aaaargh!”
Attacked from both the front and back, Desmond’s troops began to collapse miserably.
Ferdium forces, which had already been holding their ground admirably despite their smaller numbers, secured complete dominance with the support of the mounted archers.
“Now’s the time! Crush them completely!”
Among them, Zwalter stood at the forefront, killing enemies more fiercely than anyone. A quiet man’s anger is always the most terrifying.
“Waaaaaaah!”
Riding the wave of this momentum, Desmond’s forces under Viscount Garein’s command could no longer hold their ground.
Panic is contagious. One by one, Desmond’s soldiers began to flee, and their ranks crumbled so easily it was almost pitiful.
“Don’t run away! You fools!”
Viscount Garein shouted desperately to rally his troops, but there was no reversing the tide of this battle.
The knights of Ferdium, even coughing up blood, maintained their focus to the bitter end, knowing that victory was now within reach.
This same realization dawned on the royal army. With Emerson’s forces absent from Desmond’s side, the troops pressed their advantage in numbers.
Though not as aggressive as Ferdium’s forces, they steadily pushed the enemy back in a textbook fashion.
With both flanks broken, the center of Desmond’s army found itself encircled.
The central forces could no longer send reinforcements to other areas. Their formation had already disintegrated due to the efforts of Ghislain and Vanessa.
The knights and cavalry of Fenris launched a charge against the central forces, cutting down enemies with overwhelming strength.
Among Fenris’ warriors, three stood out in particular.
“Phew! I’m sweating buckets here!”
“Hang in there! We’ve almost won this!”
“Look, they’re all running away!”
To the collapsing enemy forces, who had already lost their will to fight, even a numerical advantage no longer mattered. The three members of the Labor Assault Team lifted the visors of their helmets briefly to catch their breath.
“Ah, I can finally breathe!”
A middle-aged man let out a loud cheer. This was none other than the leader of Desmond’s spies, who had been dragged into the Labor Assault Team after infiltrating Fenris territory.
The other two also opened their visors, their faces showing similar relief. All three were drenched in sweat.
No matter how protective their armor was, it lacked the magical enhancements of knight-grade equipment, causing the heat to build up inside over time.
Their bodies felt as heavy as waterlogged sponges, but their faces brimmed with exhilaration.
“Hahaha, who would’ve thought the Count of Fenris would actually beat Desmond?”
At the leader’s comment, the other two nodded vigorously.
“Honestly, I thought we’d run away or switch sides again, but this is turning out better than expected.”
“Come on now, let’s keep taking care of the ‘enemy.’ We’re almost done here. Seriously, this armor is incredible.”
These men had skills far superior to regular soldiers. Clad in full Galvaniium armor, they were practically invincible.
The leader gripped his spear tightly and whispered with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“All right! It’s tough, but let’s give it our all for a little longer! After this, we’ll make a fresh start!”
The three had already resolved to defect completely to Fenris.
They had homes in Fenris and plenty of savings. Once Desmond, the so-called strongest in the north, was crushed, there would be no immediate threat to them.
While Raypold was said to rival Desmond, that faction was bogged down by rebellion and internal strife.
If Fenris conquered Desmond’s estate, the families they had left behind in Desmond territory would also be safe. This was the perfect opportunity for a new beginning and to erase their old identities. Missing this chance would be foolish.
Just as they readied themselves to dive back into the fight, a Desmond officer spotted their faces and shouted.
“You! You three!”
The three turned their heads in unison. Seeing who it was, their faces turned pale as they screamed.
“That, that bastard?!”
They hastily lowered their visors, but it was already too late.
The officer pointed at them furiously.
“What are you doing here, you traitors?!”
This officer had been one of Desmond’s instructors for training and managing spies. He had been drafted into this war due to Harold mobilizing nearly every available soldier.
Serving as the leader of a small unit, he was shocked to discover the spies he had sent into Fenris standing in the enemy ranks.
Realizing their cover was blown, the spy leader shouted in desperation.
“Kill that bastard before he says any more!”
If the officer kept shouting, it would spell trouble for them. Their dreams of a fresh start might shatter. The leader adjusted his stance and yelled.
“Stream Attack! Hit him now!”
The spy leader let out a loud shout and swiftly hurled his spear.
“Urgh!”
Desmond’s officer, who had been about to speak further, was caught off guard by the sudden attack and instinctively deflected the spear. But the assault didn’t stop there.
Seizing the opening, another member of the team approached and thrust his spear forward.
Thrust!
Though the officer, being quite skilled, quickly steadied his stance to block the second attack, it turned out to be his last act of resistance.
“Hyaah!”
Thwack!
A third member pulled an axe from his waist and struck the officer’s neck.
Having been thrown off balance by the two prior attacks, the officer was in no position to block the third.
This perfectly coordinated long-range, mid-range, and close-range strike was the hallmark technique of the trio: the “Stream Attack.”
“Traitors… You… treacherous scum…”
Unable to finish his sentence, the officer collapsed, coughing up blood.
The three spies glanced around cautiously, ensuring no one else had seen them, and heaved a collective sigh of relief.
“Whew… Thank goodness. If he’d kept talking, we would’ve been in real trouble. Damn, this bastard made our training hell; feels good to take him out.”
Just then, Gordon, who had been clearing out Royal Guards and advancing through the enemy formation, approached them. He spotted the officer’s corpse and was visibly surprised.
“Wow! You three took down an enemy officer? The enemy count’s officer, no less? That couldn’t have been easy—well done!”
The higher the rank of the enemy killed, the greater the recognition earned. Laughing heartily, Gordon spoke to the trio.
“To think you fought so hard and even killed an officer! I admit I had my doubts, suspecting you were spies just because you were in the Labor Assault Team. My apologies for that! I’ll make sure to report your deeds to the higher-ups!”
“Ha… ha…”
“We told you we weren’t bad people…”
“You don’t need to go out of your way to report it…”
The three spies forced awkward smiles. The last thing they wanted was to attract undue attention or have their faces remembered. If any captured prisoners later identified them, it could spell disaster.
Oblivious to their inner turmoil, Gordon shook his head and replied cheerfully.
“Our lord always rewards merit generously! Don’t worry about a thing and keep fighting! There’s not much left now!”
“Ha… ha…”
The trio continued to smile awkwardly as they resumed fighting.
‘Damn that guy, why can’t he just stick to building muscles instead of meddling in everything!’
They renewed their resolve: anyone who recognized their faces had to be eliminated immediately.
Meanwhile, Desmond’s forces were collapsing on all fronts, including the positions where the Labor Assault Team was active.
From the highest and safest vantage point, Harold bit his lip so hard it bled.
“My army… My army…”
He couldn’t believe it. His forces, reputedly the strongest in the North, were falling apart. Every soldier was an elite.
Despite having brought an overwhelming number of troops, the battle was turning into a a massacre. No—it had already been lost.
The formations were utterly shattered, and deserters were fleeing in droves from all sides.
Even Emerson’s cavalry, which had been putting up a fierce resistance, was now surrounded by Ferdium and royal forces, unable to escape and being slaughtered.
And the man responsible for this disaster was now charging toward him.
“Harold―!”
Ghislain’s shout, filled with rage and exhilaration, echoed as he stormed forward with the force of a hurricane.
“Ghislain! You bastard!”
Harold roared, rising from his seat. It was all because of him. He, who had always triumphed, had seen everything he worked for fall apart because of this man.
He had poured every resource of his estate into this final battle, only to fail even at that.
This was the end for him. He would no longer be called the Great Lord of the North.
Everything he had built was crumbling today. His wealth and exalted reputation—all of it would go to that man.
Harold, who had walked the best path from birth, had lost to a whelp who had once been mocked as the North’s weakest.
His name would now be recorded in history only to be ridiculed for eternity.
He couldn’t allow it. He could never forgive this humiliation!
“Raaaargh!”
Harold’s eyes turned bloodshot as he let out a feral scream.
Beside him, his strategists grabbed his arms and pleaded.
“Count! It’s over! You must surrender!”
“Your Personal Guards are gone! You must flee!”
“You can make it to a nearby duchy’s territory!”
“Guh!”
Those who dared suggest escape or surrender were all decapitated by Harold’s sword.
The nearby strategists and a handful of soldiers cautiously stepped back.
Harold, with disheveled hair and blood tears streaming from his eyes, was far from sane.
What had sustained him until now was his pride and honor as the Great Lord of the North. Having lost it all, his life had no meaning anymore.
There was only one way to recover—eliminate the young whelp approaching him.
Ghislain dismounted from the Black King and approached Harold with his sword drawn.
“Harold.”
“Ghislain.”
The two glared at each other as they called each other’s names.
Though Harold had acted under the orders of a ducal family, his intent to destroy Ferdium was undeniable. In their previous lives, he had succeeded in doing so.
Thus, Ghislain and Harold were destined to clash. Their relationship, much like Ghislain’s connection with the ducal family, was a bond of enmity that could only end with one of them dead.
And now, the moment to sever this ill-fated tie had arrived once more.
Ghislain, bloodied and bruised, grinned with exhilaration.
“At last, the time has come to kill you.”
“Hahaha…”
Harold did not respond with words. He merely laughed, a deranged sound, his gaze as murderous as Ghislain’s.
Just by looking into each other’s eyes, they knew how deeply they loathed one another.
Harold took a step forward and finally spoke.
“I should have crushed Ferdium outright with my army instead of targeting your little sister back then.”
That was his first regret.
“When you acquired the Runestone, I should have led the entire army myself—abandoning all pretense of justification and striking immediately.”
That was his second regret.
“When I dealt with Count Cabaldi, I should have crushed the kingdom’s army and come to kill you instead.”
That was his third regret.
Harold had had opportunities—several—to kill Ghislain. But the ducal family’s orders, political considerations, and the surrounding power dynamics had held him back.
While he hesitated, Ghislain had grown strong enough to destroy even him.
“But I won’t miss my last chance.”
Ghislain, bloodied and alone, had come running. After a long battle, his condition was visibly abnormal. His breathing was labored, and his body was riddled with wounds.
Harold, too, was a high-ranking knight. He had mastered the advanced swordsmanship passed down in Desmond’s family and possessed talent second to none.
Though age and his duties as a lord had dulled his skills, he wasn’t weak enough to let a wounded beast escape him.
Harold unleashed all his mana. But he didn’t stop there. He began to draw on his very life force, pushing his mana core to the brink of destruction.
Now, he had only one goal.
To kill Ghislain and salvage his shattered pride.
Even at the cost of his own life.
“Die.”
With a word dripping with hatred, Harold charged at Ghislain.
Harold’s fiery assault was formidable. The force of his blow made Ghislain stagger momentarily as he blocked the sword.
But even then, Ghislain’s exhilarated grin didn’t falter. Holding Harold’s blade at bay, he spoke.
“I still remember how it felt to kill you.”
“Hah… You’re more insane than I thought. But today, you’ll die by my hand.”
“Even after slicing your corpse into hundreds—thousands—of pieces, my anger didn’t subside. Instead, the emptiness deepened. Killing you didn’t bring anyone back. It was nothing more than a futile venting of rage.”
Harold’s eyebrows twitched. It was nonsensical rambling, yet the raw emotion behind it made it feel oddly truthful.
Ghislain continued, still smiling.
“This moment is different. I am certain of it. That’s why I’m happier now than ever before.”
A tempest of mana burst forth. Harold, unable to withstand the shockwave, stumbled back several steps.
Ghislain had reopened his Third Core. His mana surged more powerfully than ever, causing his hair to ripple wildly in the energy’s flow.
‘Crack!
His body, already at its limit, was breaking down. Blood erupted from countless wounds, and his form twisted under the strain. Yet amidst the pain, Ghislain’s laughter remained jubilant.
This pain—
Was nothing compared to the agony of losing everyone in his previous life.
“There will be no corpse of yours that will be left this time, Harold Desmond.”
“Yes, yes! Scream and rave! The greater your madness, the sweeter my victory over you will taste!”
Harold grinned just as maniacally. His mind was consumed by boiling rage and hatred.
The two men exchanged grins filled with mutual loathing.
Boom!
Without warning, they swung their swords at each other simultaneously.