The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 419: Dialogue, Empathy, Persuasion (2)

The one-armed man, Tenant, spoke in a subdued voice.

“Why did you save me? No, more importantly, how did you save me? I was certain I had died...”

“There’s always a way.”

Ghislain smiled. To be honest, it was half luck.

Ghislain had slit Tenant’s throat and infused it with Dark energy.

At the time, Tenant had completely exhausted all his mana, leaving his Aura Blade dissipated. If left alone, he would have collapsed from sheer exhaustion anyway.

The Dark energy that Ghislain channeled into Tenant’s body simultaneously sealed his wounds and blocked his airway, causing Tenant to pass out.

Devoid of strength, Tenant didn’t sense anything unusual and accepted the sensation as the process of dying.

Back then, Ghislain had simply shrugged.

"If he dies, he dies."

Tenant had been so resolutely determined to die that persuasion had been impossible. Ghislain had no choice but to take this approach.

In the end, Tenant clung to life by a thread. Ghislain promptly administered a potion for emergency treatment and brought him to the estate, leaving him in Piote’s care.

With his usual smile, Ghislain asked, “How’s life in the prison? Comfortable enough?”

“...A man like me doesn’t deserve even this.”

“You’ve changed quite a bit.”

Once the epitome of arrogance as the strongest in the West, Tenant had become a hollow shell, consumed by guilt.

Defeat in battle and the death of his lord had left him crushed. A man who once radiated overconfidence now bore the weight of disgrace, as he had always been someone who prided himself on his honor.

Since being imprisoned, Tenant hadn’t caused any trouble—no escape attempts, no efforts to take his own life.

Instead, he simply spent his days in silent contemplation, his gaze filled with regret.

Ghislain’s smile faded, replaced by a somber expression.

“Tenant, let me be direct. While you’re still just at the threshold, you’ve reached the level of a Master. I need your strength.”

“...So that’s why you saved me?”

“Yes. Rifts are opening, and monsters are pouring out. Every capable fighter is needed.”

Tenant bowed his head.

“I don’t deserve that honor. Kill me instead.”

“You challenged me to a duel. The fate of the loser is decided by the winner, isn’t it? And until I say otherwise, you’re not allowed to die.”

“....”

Tenant couldn’t refute that. The loser of a duel was subject to the victor’s terms, a fundamental principle of such contests. Entire fief wars had been resolved with duels based on this rule.

With all the disgrace he carried, Tenant couldn’t bring himself to dispute the outcome of the duel.

Had Marquis Rodrick died at the hands of the Fenris army, Tenant might have had a reason to rally and keep fighting. But there was no such excuse for him to cling to.

“If I... join you, I’ll only make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Everyone here is already uncomfortable. You’ll fit right in.”

The knights behind Ghislain nodded silently. No one in the Fenris estate had entirely “normal” circumstances.

Even Gillian and Kaor, despite working together, were awkward around each other. The same went for Claude and Alfoy, and the elves and dwarves were no exception.

Everyone lived with some level of unease, but Ghislain’s sheer power and authority held it all together, forcing them to coexist in this unconventional environment.

Adding one more former enemy to the mix didn’t make much difference.

“The Drake Mercenary Company has no more grievances with you now that Marquis Rodrick is dead. His heirs also perished in the war. There’s no lingering resentment you need to worry about.”

Tenant sighed heavily at Ghislain’s words.

“Even so, how can you use a man who personally killed his own lord and disgraced his honor?”

“Tenant, it’s time to atone.”

“Atonement...?”

“Everyone acknowledges your loyalty. But was your life truly honorable?”

“...”

“Marquis Rodrick may have been your lord and benefactor, but to his people, he was a tyrant. As his retainer, you turned a blind eye to that. Don’t you think that was wrong?”

“That’s...”

“Sure, peasants are just the property of their lord. But do you truly believe that’s how things should be? If you’re a knight who values honor, then ask yourself honestly.”

Tenant bowed his head once more, speechless. He couldn’t deny the truth of those words.

As a knight, he had failed to protect the weak or offer honest counsel.

Instead, like many others, he had ignored the suffering, hiding behind the pretense of loyalty to his lord.

Ghislain addressed him again.

“The people who suffered under Marquis Rodrick’s rule are now suffering again, this time because of the monsters from the Rifts. If you truly value honor—”

Thunk!

Ghislain drove a sword into the ground before Tenant.

“Then pick up that sword and fight for them.”

Tenant stared at the sword embedded in the ground for a long moment before asking, “And if I refuse?”

“I’ll tie you up and toss you into the monsters’ den. If you want to die so badly, go die miserably out there.”

At that, Tenant chuckled softly. After a few moments, he reached for the sword.

The knights behind Ghislain instinctively tensed, gripping their weapons.

Tenant slowly rose, drawing the blade, and spoke.

“I will not swear loyalty to you.”

“I don’t need your loyalty. I just need you to fight where I tell you to.”

“I will help protect the people and retire once this war is over.”

“Peaceful times have no use for a warrior who knows only how to fight. If you’re offering to lighten the load when the time comes, I’ve no reason to refuse.”

The two men exchanged smiles. Tenant quipped with a smirk, “If you intended to use me, couldn’t you have left my arm intact?”

“That was the price of humility.”

Tenant chuckled again, then made one last request.

“Bring me a mask. I don’t think I can face people with my shame laid bare.”

“I’ll see to it. Not that a mask will keep them from knowing it’s you.”

Tenant had been publicly defeated by Ghislain, his arm severed, in front of countless soldiers. No mask could truly hide his identity.

Tenant knew this but didn’t retract his request. At the very least, it would shield him from the shame of showing his face.

Thus, the Fenris estate gained another Master-ranked warrior.

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***

“Phew, the kingdom’s situation these days is a disaster.”

“Indeed. How did things deteriorate so much that cultists could spread and create such abominations...?”

“Well, at least the North hasn’t been affected. It’s fortunate for us, perhaps even beneficial.”

At someone’s comment, the others chuckled. The group gathered around the large outdoor platform consisted of northern lords.

Ghislain had invoked his authority as Northern Army Commander to summon the northern lords. With little excuse to refuse, they had gathered with their levied troops.

The lords had a good idea of why they had been summoned.

“I’m sure he’s planning to gather troops to deal with these ‘Rifts.’”

“That’s not all. It’s obvious he’ll use our forces in the war against the Ducal faction too.”

“We can’t just hand over our troops so easily, can we? Surely, everyone here agrees.”

“Of course. In times like this, we must conserve our strength. Let’s find excuses and offer minimal support.”

While the other regions of the kingdom were in chaos—dealing with Rifts and the war against the Ducal faction—the relatively safe northern lords didn’t want to take unnecessary risks. Some even saw this as an opportunity to profit.

Naturally, they planned to minimize their contribution and preserve their forces.

One lord, looking uneasy, voiced his concerns.

“But will the Count of Fenris accept that? Everyone knows how stubborn he is. He’ll likely demand the legal maximum—half our forces.”

“He dragged away significant forces during the last food purchase. It was a nightmare trying to recover.”

“He’ll undoubtedly use similar tactics to pressure us this time.”

The lords grumbled. With Fenris controlling essential resources like grain and iron, they had little choice but to comply previously.

Although the situation had improved somewhat since then, offending the now-powerful Count of Fenris could still jeopardize their ability to purchase food.

Count Jimbar, the lord of the fief neighboring Ferdium, spoke up.

“That lad was nothing more than a scoundrel in his youth—never thought he’d rise to this prominence. Still, this time might be different.”

“How so?”

“He’s got his hands full with the Ducal faction and these Rifts, doesn’t he? He has nothing to gain from fighting all of us.”

“In that case...”

“The combined troops we’ve brought here number in the thousands. Even if he’s stubborn, would he really dare to fight us all here and now? If we present a united front, he’ll have no choice but to back down.”

“True, but what about retaliation? Won’t he punish us later, perhaps by restricting our grain purchases?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Are you suggesting we hand over half our forces out of fear? That’s unacceptable.”

“Hmm...”

The lords nodded in agreement.

By law, a regional commander could conscript up to half of a territory’s forces during wartime, leaving the remainder to maintain security. However, giving up half their troops would cause the lords significant financial strain—not to mention they would be responsible for the operating costs and supplies for those troops.

Faced with the prospect of immediate instability, no one was keen to comply.

Count Jimbar made a sly suggestion.

“This might be a good opportunity for us to formalize an alliance among ourselves.”

“An alliance?”

“Yes. Otherwise, we’ll always be at the mercy of the Count of Fenris.”

“Excellent idea. We must protect our own rights!”

The lords unanimously agreed. Individually weak northern fiefs, when united, could become a force to be reckoned with.

Thus, the Northern Alliance was hastily formed, with Count Jimbar, the bold instigator of the idea, serving as its first leader.

“That brat won’t dare act recklessly with me as Alliance Leader. After all, I’ve known the Marquis of Ferdium for years. My fief has long supported their lands.”

“Exactly. Let’s show that upstart that we’re no pushovers.”

While the rest of the kingdom burned in turmoil, the northern lords, relatively unscathed, had the luxury to scheme and plot.

“And yet, that brat summoned us here and hasn’t even bothered to show up! Who does he think he is?”

The grumbling lord barely finished his sentence when the Fenris forces appeared in the distance.

Cries rang out from the knights stationed as guards.

“The Count of Fenris has arrived!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Leading the procession was Ghislain astride the Black King, flanked by his close retainers and approximately 2,000 cavalrymen.

The advancing Fenris forces exuded such overwhelming presence that even the seasoned soldiers of the other fiefs couldn’t help but tense.

The gathered lords on the platform gulped nervously.

“Was... was that brat always like this?”

“Something about him seems... different.”

“Why does he look so imposing?”

As Ghislain approached, the lords’ unease only grew. Though they had formed the Northern Alliance, facing Ghislain in person stirred doubts. His reputation for being unyielding wasn’t comforting.

From atop his horse, Ghislain scanned the gathered lords.

“It’s been a while since we’ve all met.”

Some faces were familiar. Among them were lords who had once aligned with the Ducal faction, only to withdraw. Others had been dragged into the conflict unwittingly by their vassals.

But for now, none of that mattered. Anyone reestablishing ties with the Ducal faction would become Ghislain’s first target.

‘Amelia isn’t here.’

Of course, Ghislain hadn’t expected her to be. That cunning woman had already secured a deal with the Royalist faction, moving independently before Ghislain could invoke his authority as Northern Army Commander.

‘Well, no matter.’

Amelia likely had her hands full revising her plans due to the cult’s meddling. For now, their paths wouldn’t cross in conflict.

Ghislain dismounted and took his seat, speaking without preamble.

“You all know why I summoned you here as Northern Army Commander.”

The first to respond was Count Jimbar, the newly appointed leader of the Northern Alliance.

“Ahem. I suppose you’re here to use your authority to demand we participate in the war.”

“That’s correct. The civil war is one thing, but we also need to stop the expansion of these Rifts. The North hasn’t been affected, so you should have no trouble mustering your forces.”

“Ahem, well, the kingdom is in peril, and we can’t stand idly by. That’s why we’ve already discussed our contributions amongst ourselves.”

“Contributions? This isn’t a matter of voluntary support; it’s conscription under kingdom law.”

“Ahem, well, it’s all the same, isn’t it? In any case, we’re ready to do our part.”

Ghislain nodded slightly.

“Is that so? Good. Then I take it you’ve reached a decision?”

“Yes, we’ve agreed to contribute one-third of our forces and resources. Surely, that will suffice.”

One-third was a significant portion—enough to form a substantial army and incur considerable costs. The lords felt they were being more than generous.

But Ghislain’s expression darkened.

“Are you joking? The kingdom is on the brink of collapse, and you expect to buy safety with ‘just’ that?”

“Now, hold on! How can you say that’s ‘just’?! We’ve done everything we can! Were you really expecting to take half our forces?!”

“Yes. I’ll be taking everything.”

“What?! That’s only allowed in the most extreme cases, like a full-scale invasion! This isn’t—”

Ghislain cut Count Jimbar off mid-sentence.

“Half? Who said anything about half?”

“What do you mean? By law, the maximum conscription is half a lord’s forces—surely that’s what you’re referring to?”

Ghislain leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“It seems there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding...?”

“Bring everything. Every soldier you can spare, except for the bare minimum needed to maintain security. Understood?”

The lords were stunned into silence, their minds reeling from the demand.