The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 281: Now It’s Our Turn to Help (1)

“Summon Count Powd at once!”

Just before Count Desmond’s forces launched their attack on Stonehaven Fortress, Marquis Branford, having received news of the Second Legion’s annihilation, erupted in fury. No one had expected Count Desmond to move so abruptly.

Though everyone had been tense, anticipating some level of internal conflict as he gathered his forces, they had not imagined that Desmond would wipe out the royal army on his own, without any formal warning.

Count Powd, often called the "Mouth of the Ducal House," had been practically dragged before Marquess Branford, who was currently residing in the capital.

“M-Marquess, your grace. I trust you’ve been well...”

“Count! Attacking Fenris without any justification—are you telling me this is the Duke’s will?”

“N-no, Count Desmond’s actions are not connected to us...”

“Are you here to play word games with me?”

Seeing the deadly gleam in Marquis Branford’s eyes, Count Powd lowered his head. Although Count Desmond had claimed neutrality up until now, everyone knew by now that he was a noble allied with the Duke’s faction. People had realized it as far back as the Cavaldi War.

Realizing he could no longer deny the connection, Count Powd stammered, finally speaking up.

“We...we genuinely don’t know what’s going on. This is, truly, Viscount Josef’s...no, the Ducal House had nothing to do with this.”

The Ducal House had indeed been preparing for a civil war, but only as a last resort. Raul wanted to seize control of the kingdom with minimal bloodshed. Despite the hassle and time it took, he had been using threats and persuasion to sway the lords of various regions.

The strategy was to leave only the most unyielding ones, craft a suitable pretext, and then eliminate them, securing the kingdom quickly. That had been the plan—until that troublemaker, Ghislain, appeared and disrupted everything.

“But for Count Desmond to move so recklessly on his own...”

Raul was beyond furious. He hated having his carefully laid plans thrown into disarray.

At this point, Raul no longer considered Count Desmond an ally but rather a pawn to be used as he saw fit.

“I assure you, we will not interfere in this matter. There will be no coalition against Count Fenris.”

Seeing Count Powd’s concession, Marquis Branford continued.

“So, you intend to turn a blind eye to a matter within your own faction? And take no responsibility for it?”

“We didn’t intervene previously in Count Fenris’s affairs, either, did we? Perhaps you might also consider stepping back...”

In other words, Powd suggested treating it as a private matter between individuals, as they had done before.

Marquis Branford’s lips curled slightly in irritation, and Count Powd, assessing his reaction, nervously calculated his next words.

"Fenris is finished either way. He has no chance against Count Desmond."

Count Desmond’s thirty thousand troops would make short work of Fenris. Even if the royal faction intervened afterward to subdue Desmond, they’d have to pay a high price in blood.

Count Desmond was highly skilled, and his forces were formidable. It could very well turn into a drawn-out conflict that would weaken the royal faction over time.

“If that happens, it will work in our favor. We can then initiate our rebellion without further delay. It’s not for lack of power that we’re biding our time,” thought Powd.

The Ducal House had the strength to overthrow the kingdom at any time. The only reason they hadn’t acted was Raul’s almost obsessive desire to minimize losses, as if he had larger plans for the kingdom once it was under his control.

Branford looked at Count Powd with a cold smile.

“So, your intention is to complicate matters even further. You plan to use Desmond to bait us into a fight, wear us down if we attack, and secure Fenris if we pull back. Either way, it works in your favor.”

Count Powd said nothing, merely keeping his head down, aware that Branford wasn’t expecting a response.

The Ducal House had drawn their line of non-involvement, and there was little the royal faction could do. They would have to face Desmond themselves after Fenris’s fall.

Branford observed Powd’s smug calmness and gave him a frosty smile.

“I’ve had enough of your schemes.”

“This is a misunderstanding, your grace. We are staying out of this precisely because we do not want war.”

“Of course. Tolleo!”

At Marquis Branford’s call, Tolreo, the commander of the knights, bowed, knowing full well what was coming.

“Yes, your grace.”

“Detain him immediately, and arrest every noble of the Duke’s faction residing in the capital.”

“As you command.”

At Tolleo’s signal, the knights grabbed Count Powd by both arms, subduing the guards who had accompanied him with practiced ease.

“What? What? Your grace, what is going on? I am the Ducal House’s envoy! My safety is guaranteed by custom...”

“If Count Fenris falls, I’ll personally send your head—and the heads of every Duke’s faction noble—to the Duke.”

“Wh-what?” Count Powd blinked in disbelief, unable to comprehend. Was the Marquis really prepared to risk civil war over a single young lord in the north?

It was madness. Branford, Fenris, Desmond—they were all acting like they’d lost their minds.

Branford growled, glaring at Count Powd.

“Did you think I’d let myself be dragged along by your tricks and wordplay forever? No more talk. If you want to live, pray for Count Fenris’s victory. Take him away!”

“Your grace! Your grace!” Powd’s cries grew desperate as he was dragged from the hall. Silence settled over the room, and the retainers dared not breathe under Branford’s fury. Only after a long pause did the steward speak.

“Marquis... are you truly certain about this?”

The one who had worked hardest to avoid civil war until now was Marquis Branford. He knew the true strength of the Ducal House. The defensive stance of the royal faction and the restrained attitude of the Duke’s faction had kept the current balance intact—until Desmond’s unexpected aggression.

With a sigh, Branford closed his eyes.

“It seems this was bound to happen the moment we allied with Ghislain Ferdium.”

He’d known Ghislain was capable, but his rapid growth had far exceeded expectations. It was only a matter of time before he clashed with Desmond, who would naturally seek to crush him before he could grow stronger.

Branford had tried to protect Ghislain, even assigning him royal forces, but he had never expected Desmond to resort to such ruthless measures.

The steward, his face dark, replied.

“The Third Legion will not reach Fenris in time. They’ll have to reroute through the Duke’s faction lands, which will delay them by at least a month.”

Nodding, Branford murmured to himself.

“Ghislain can’t defeat Count Desmond. He’s bound to fall.”

“If he retreats, he might survive. Marquis Ferdium is still formidable.”

“Yes, but he’ll lose control of the Cavaldi region, perhaps even Fenris. How long would it take him to rebuild with nothing? Maybe never, with Desmond blocking his path.”

Branford continued, “But we will still have to fight Desmond. The Ducal House will wait and watch, hoping we exhaust ourselves.”

“Marquis...”

“Civil war was always inevitable. It’s better that we make the first move, rather than be slowly bled dry.”

And with that, Branford closed his eyes, knowing that his decision would put the royal faction’s nobles on a path to war.

One slim hope remained to avoid conflict: Ghislain’s victory.

But Branford shook his head, brushing aside the thought. No matter how skilled he was, victory was out of reach. If Ghislain had been stronger, the civil war would likely have started somewhere else.

Far away, Viscount Clifton, commander of the Third Legion, received Branford’s orders.

“Our mission is to support and rescue Count Fenris. If Count Desmond wins before we arrive, we’re to seize the Duke’s faction lands of Harrington and Colind.”

Nodding to himself, he summoned his lieutenant.

“Prepare to depart immediately. We march to aid Count Fenris.”

And so, under Marquis Branford’s command, the Third Legion of the royal army began its march towards Fenris.

***

Count Desmond’s sudden attack didn’t only cause an uproar among the royal faction.

Zvalter Ferdium, now a marquess and Ghislain’s father, was left in shock upon hearing the news.

“Count Desmond... has invaded Fenris? And he even annihilated the Second Legion?”

“Yes! They say he has already entered Fenris territory!”

“This... this can’t be...”

The staggering news left Zvalter momentarily reeling, unable to steady himself. He had known a war would break out eventually. After all, Count Desmond had been the driving force behind the attacks on the Ferdium fortress.

But after joining the royal faction, he had begun to feel a sense of security, believing that any civil war would be a matter between the Ducal and royal factions, and that he and Ghislain would be part of a united front.

“To think he would face Count Desmond alone... that he’d even go as far as to attack the kingdom’s army...” Zvalter muttered in disbelief. He had suspected it might happen one day but hadn’t expected an attack to come so suddenly, without warning.

“Brother! Get a hold of yourself!”

Zvalter snapped back to his senses as his brother, Randolph, shouted, jolting him from his daze. There was no time to stand idly by. The fact that this news had reached Ferdium meant that a battle had likely already begun.

“Yes, yes... We must help Ghislain immediately... Wait, what about the fortress? Should we leave some guards behind...”

Even for a seasoned war veteran like Zvalter, Desmond’s sudden invasion was a shock. Desmond ruled the most powerful domain in the north and had reportedly mobilized a massive army of thirty thousand. This time, Zvalter feared his son might truly be in mortal danger—or perhaps he had already fallen. The thought made Zvalter’s mind go blank once more.

“Then we’ll need to reorganize the troops... and prepare Ferdium as well...”

As Zvalter hesitated, Randolph gripped his arms firmly, shouting, “Brother! Pull yourself together! We need to mobilize all our forces to help the young lord!”

“Yes, but we must leave some men to guard the fortress...”

“What does it matter? We’re in a truce right now!”

“I can’t trust them. We need to leave a guard...”

Zvalter was torn, his duty to his domain clashing with his fears for his son. During the Cavaldi War, he had left some forces behind to guard the fortress, but that had been different. Back then, he had the luxury of deciding whether to join Ghislain in his attack or persuade him to withdraw. This situation was far more dire. Ghislain was up against Desmond’s massive army, and every soldier would count.

“Brother! None of this matters if the young lord is killed!”

“What?”

“The fortress! The food supplies! The mana cultivation techniques! The barbarians! Even the advancement of Ferdium! None of it would have been possible without him!”

Zvalter fell silent, and Randolph shook his arms again, shouting, “So what if we lose the fortress? So what if the north goes up in flames? As long as we have the young lord, we can rebuild everything! Let’s leave it behind! We’re in a truce, so let’s trust the barbarians and leave this place for now!”

“Leave... this place?” Zvalter whispered, as if trying to process the idea. To abandon the fortress felt like abandoning his lifelong duty. Trusting the barbarians, especially their leader, Woroka, was an impossible notion for him. The sly chieftain had only agreed to peace out of fear of Ghislain’s might.

What if news of Ghislain’s death spread? Woroka would almost certainly break his word, taking advantage of the chaos to seize the fortress. Zvalter couldn’t bear the thought of losing both his son and the fortress he’d defended his whole life.

But Randolph continued, undeterred. “Brother! The young lord’s life is at stake! Are you really willing to sacrifice him to protect everyone else? After everything you’ve given for others, isn’t it time to take care of your own family for once? Don’t you feel even a bit of remorse toward your late wife?”

“You...”

“If Fenris falls, do you think we’ll be safe? Do you think Count Desmond will leave us alone? Elena will die too! Damn it, brother, why are you suddenly acting like a fool? Snap out of it!”

Zvalter felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. Randolph was right. Holding the fortress would mean nothing if Fenris fell. Count Desmond had long harbored intentions to destroy Ferdium as well.

If they didn’t act now, both Fenris and Ferdium would be doomed. It was a dire situation with no room to hesitate.

Regaining his composure, Zvalter pushed Randolph aside, determination returning to his eyes.

“Yes... We’ll save Ghislain first.”

Smack!

Zvalter slapped his cheeks hard to steel himself, shouting, “Mobilize every last soldier to Fenris! Send a messenger to Homern to begin preparations!”

Every able soldier in the fortress was summoned without exception. They had already heard the news: Desmond had invaded Fenris with a thirty-thousand-strong army, making him the most formidable threat in the north. Yet the soldiers felt no fear; instead, their determination only grew.

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There was a reason for their courage.

Scoban, a knight who had originally come to deliver supplies but had been roped into helping with preparations, drew his sword and yelled, “The young lord is in danger!”

The other knights and soldiers lifted their weapons as well. To them, Ghislain was more than a hero—he was a savior of Ferdium. They could not stand by and let him die.

In unison, they shouted, “This time, we go to aid the young lord!”

“Hurrah!”

With a powerful roar, the forces of Ferdium began their march toward Fenris.