The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 418: Dialogue, Empathy, Persuasion (1)

“Rifts have appeared in Belleve!”

“A new rift has opened in Shiaho!”

“The city garrison failed to contain it and is retreating!”

“The area near Baron Vervant’s estate has been decimated...”

Messengers from all over the kingdom flooded the capital with dire reports. The rifts, long feared, were now opening across the land.

There was no guarantee that the rifts currently active were the only ones. Whenever the kingdom focused on one, another would emerge elsewhere, making a coordinated response near impossible.

The royal court and the high-ranking nobles of the Crown Prince’s faction were in a state of panic.

“We must immediately deploy the royal army and any gathered territorial forces!”

“Pull troops from the southern frontlines against the ducal houses if necessary!”

“The monsters emerging from the rifts are reported to be superhumanly strong, and the rift beings are spilling out in droves!”

Emergency meetings were held daily as they tried to devise countermeasures. Thanks to earlier war preparations, some territories managed to hold their ground against the rift beings, but the strain was immense.

Marquis Stier Norton, the elderly royal chancellor, stroked his white beard anxiously and asked, “Are you saying these monsters—Equidemas, was it?—must be destroyed to stop the rift beings?”

His son-in-law, Marquis Branford, nodded solemnly.

“Yes. Count Fenris has already defeated one.”

“Then has the rift in his territory been closed?”

Branford shook his head gravely. “No, my lord. While the rift beings have ceased emerging, the rift itself remains open. Baron Finros has his entire military surrounding it to contain the situation.”

“Then how can the rift be closed?”

“According to Count Fenris, something else seems to remain within the rift. It appears that only after dealing with that entity can the rift be sealed.”

“Good heavens!” The chancellor clutched his forehead. The situation seemed beyond comprehension.

In truth, the chancellor’s role was largely ceremonial; Marquis Branford handled the kingdom’s affairs. The chancellor merely lent his authority to decisions and signed off on matters as needed.

“What should we do now?” the chancellor asked helplessly.

Branford, having already considered his options, spoke deliberately.

“Closing the rifts must take priority. Troops from the southern and eastern fronts should be redeployed to address the rifts.”

“What about the ducal forces in the south? Surely they’re dealing with rifts too?”

“The ducal houses have indeed seen rifts open in their territories,” Branford replied, his tone sharpening. “But since they were the ones who orchestrated this with the heretical Salvation Order, they likely won’t lift a finger to stop them.”

“Delphine must be insane!” the chancellor fumed, his frail body trembling. “To conspire with heretics for this madness! What does she hope to gain from ruling over a monster-infested kingdom?”

Branford remained silent, allowing the chancellor to vent his frustration. The old man had long wanted to retire but had stayed on to support Branford and counterbalance the ducal factions.

After a pause, the chancellor asked, “Did we not already eliminate many rift candidates? How can this still be happening?”

Branford nodded. “If not for Count Fenris’s preemptive efforts, we’d be dealing with three times the number of rifts.”

“Three times?” The chancellor’s pale face grew grimmer.

Even now, there were over a dozen active rifts within the kingdom. Without Fenris’s interventions, that number would have been catastrophic.

Other nations fared no better. Those that had sought to study the rifts rather than close them were now completely overrun.

“Have the monsters begun spreading?” the chancellor inquired.

“Not yet,” Branford reassured him. “The rift beings are confined to the areas immediately surrounding the rifts for now, thanks to the lingering influence of the Equidemas.”

“But how long can that last?”

Branford’s expression darkened. “Not long enough.”

The rifts were actively corrupting the surrounding environment, expanding their reach with every passing moment. If left unchecked, they would soon render vast swathes of the kingdom uninhabitable.

“What if the ducal forces move against us during this crisis?”

“We will have no choice but to respond, but we cannot neglect the rifts. Allowing them to remain will only undermine our war effort in the long run.”

The chancellor sighed heavily, his frail shoulders sagging under the weight of the kingdom’s plight.

“This is madness,” he muttered. “Delphine was so brilliant in her youth... How could she have become this deluded? What’s the point of seizing a kingdom overrun by monsters?”

Branford hesitated before replying, “...The northern forces will assist us.”

“The north? You mean Count Fenris?”

“Yes,” Branford confirmed.

The chancellor nodded wearily. Fenris was now seen as the kingdom’s greatest hope.

Having crushed the formidable Marquis Rodrick in the west, Fenris was rapidly emerging as the most powerful force in the kingdom. His military capabilities and strategic acumen were unmatched.

Furthermore, the north had yet to see any rifts, a curious anomaly that left its forces untouched and ready for deployment.

“And the west?”

“A few rifts have opened there as well, but the situation is under control. They’re stabilizing quickly under Count Fenris’s leadership.”

While Fenris’s forces were tied up managing the west, the north remained the only region with intact military strength.

Branford continued, “Countess Amelia Raynald has also pledged her support.”

“Raynald? Amelia Raynald? The same woman accused of usurping her father’s title?”

“Yes,” Branford said.

“And what does she want in return?”

“She has asked for royal recognition of her title and certain eastern lands.”

The chancellor’s bushy white eyebrows furrowed deeply.

“She already controls the most prosperous lands in the north. Why ask for territories so far away?”

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“We don’t yet know her full intentions,” Branford admitted. “However, she has stated that she’ll reclaim the lands herself—whether occupied by rifts or the ducal forces.”

The chancellor shook his head in frustration. “What could she be planning? Does she truly have the strength to pull that off?”

Though many doubted Amelia’s abilities, Branford knew better.

“If she were ordinary, she wouldn’t have secured the Raynald title in the first place,” he said.

“Very well,” the chancellor relented. “Do as you see fit.”

As the chancellor rose from his chair with great effort, he cast one last glance at Branford.

“And one more thing—being apart from your wife for too long does no one any good. You’re not young anymore; perhaps it’s time to soften up a little.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind,” Branford replied stiffly, his expression unreadable.

The other nobles in the room stifled their laughter. Everyone knew that Branford’s wife had returned to her family, unable to endure his harsh personality. The chancellor’s parting remark was a not-so-subtle rebuke.

The old chancellor’s departing words to Marquis Branford drew quiet chuckles from the other nobles.

Only the chancellor would dare admonish the infamous Iron-Blooded Marquis like that.

Bang!

As the door closed behind the chancellor, Branford slammed the table, silencing the murmurs. His gaze swept the room, his voice sharp.

“From this point forward, our priority is to eliminate the rifts. We cannot fight with enemies at our backs.”

The Price of Strategy

Maurice, one of the trusted military advisors, crossed his arms skeptically. “And what of the ducal forces? Are we truly leaving only minimal troops to monitor them?”

“For now, yes. We must, even if it’s risky,” Branford replied.

Maurice grimaced. “It’s only a matter of time before they strike. If they don’t move immediately, those rifts will devour the kingdom piece by piece.”

The room fell into heavy silence. The situation was dire. With the rifts spreading across the kingdom and resources stretched thin, the Crown Prince’s faction was trapped in a classic double bind.

It was clear that the Salvation Order’s strategy—to sow chaos and delay responses—was succeeding. The Crown Prince’s forces had no choice but to deal with the internal crisis before addressing the ducal forces.

Branford spoke decisively, “Reorganize the troops affected by the rifts as quickly as possible. All regional forces are to be deployed to surround and contain the rifts. No one is to be spared from this effort.”

“But the monsters emerging from the rifts are of superhuman strength,” Maurice countered. “Using standard territorial forces will result in massive casualties. And yet, we can’t leave the capital unguarded.”

The capital was the beating heart of the Crown Prince’s faction. It had to be protected against potential assassination attempts or invasions.

Branford nodded grimly. “Count Fenris will handle the monsters.”

Maurice snorted. “Of course. Who else but him?”

“We will focus on containing the rift beings and protecting civilians. Count Fenris and his knights will take care of the rift monsters.”

“But we all know he won’t do it for free,” Maurice pointed out dryly.

Branford’s lips curled into a tight smile. “Then we give him what he wants.”

Turning to the gathered nobles, Branford issued his command:

“This is wartime. Count Fenris is to be granted full authority as the Commander of the Northern Army. Furthermore, all rights regarding rift elimination are to be transferred to him. Provide him with any resources he requires, and meet his demands without hesitation. Is that clear?”

The assembled nobles nodded in unison. Fenris was their best chance at minimizing losses and halting the rift expansions.

Fenris Territory

Having finished his inspection of the western territories, Ghislain returned to Fenris. In his absence, the entire territory had completed preparations for war.

War was second nature to them, a routine as ingrained as breathing.

Clang. Clang.

As Ghislain strode through the estate, his knights, clad in armor, fell into step behind him.

Among them, Gordon cautiously approached, lowering his voice.

“Are you truly planning to use him, my lord?”

Ghislain smirked faintly. “Why else would I go to the trouble of sparing him? Have you ever seen me pull my strikes before?”

Gordon scratched his head, a bit embarrassed. “Now that you mention it, no. This is a first.”

It was true. When Ghislain killed, he did so with finality. His strikes were brutal, leaving no room for recovery. Heads were severed, hearts pierced, and skulls shattered—death so absolute not even a necromancer could intervene.

This time, however, Ghislain had deliberately spared his opponent.

“I have to admit, it feels strange,” Gordon continued. “He’s our enemy. What if he decides to stab us in the back? He’s dangerous, and we’ve got plenty of reasons to hold grudges.”

Ghislain chuckled. “Do you really think a man like that cares about petty revenge? Do you live by honor and pride, Gordon?”

“Hell no.”

Gordon’s quick response drew laughter from the other knights.

“Exactly,” Ghislain said, clapping Gordon on the shoulder. “He’s got skills, but he’s made his share of mistakes. If he wants redemption, I’m giving him the chance to earn it.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Gordon asked warily.

Ghislain’s expression turned cold. “He doesn’t get to die without my permission.”

The group arrived at a hidden underground prison, tucked away in a secluded corner of the estate.

This was where Fenris housed the scum of the earth—those who weren’t even deemed worthy of joining the penal battalions. These were people Ghislain had kept alive for one purpose: to be thrown into the most dangerous missions when the time came.

At the very back of the prison, in the deepest cell, a lone figure sat motionless.

Creak.

The heavy iron door groaned open, revealing a man swathed in bandages, his left arm conspicuously missing.

The prisoner slowly raised his head as Ghislain stepped into the dimly lit cell, a casual grin on his face.

“How’s the body holding up?” Ghislain asked. “Feeling better?”

The man’s gaze met Ghislain’s, his expression unreadable.

“You’re lucky I decided to let you live.”