The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 448: The Overseer Must Have Done a Good Job (1)

Claude pulled out a stack of documents from a large box and distributed them to everyone.

“What is this?” one of the envoys asked, his tone cautious.

Ghislain responded with a casual expression, as though it was no big deal.

“Given the current situation, we’ve preemptively drafted an agreement to expedite matters. The finer details can be adjusted later depending on circumstances. For now, let’s proceed with signatures.”

“...”

The agreement was filled with clauses heavily favoring the Kingdom of Luthania.

The envoys, unaccustomed to such a direct and aggressive approach, were momentarily at a loss for words. Should they be grateful for the preparation, or wary of the implications?

‘This guy planned everything from the start.’

‘Is he trying to tie us down like this?’

‘How does he plan to deal with the consequences of handling things so recklessly?’

As frustration and bewilderment simmered, Claude, who had distributed the documents, smiled and addressed the room.

“Come now, there’s no point in overthinking this. I’ve drafted this as a professional, and there’s nothing unreasonable in it. It’s all about working hard together. So, please, go ahead and sign. This is how we build a family-like atmosphere!”

“Hmm...”

Upon closer inspection, the agreement didn’t seem to contain anything overtly problematic. It mostly covered provisions, decision-making authority during military operations, and logistical details. However, it was clear that the priority was firmly tilted in favor of the Kingdom of Luthania.

Seeing the envoys hesitate, Claude presented yet another document.

“Ultimately, someone has to take the lead, don’t they? Let’s not waste time. Sign here, and you’ll each receive a special gift.”

Updat𝓮d fr𝙤m ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com.

“A gift?”

The envoys turned their attention to the new document, which listed additional supplies—food, medicine, and other necessities—they could take back with them. The quantities were staggering, enough to make them hesitate for an entirely different reason.

“Ah, well...”

The sheer volume made it impossible to ignore. Claude wasn’t simply taking from them; he was offering something substantial in return.

Initially, they had felt insulted by his audacity, but the list of support began to soften their stance.

‘This could be seen as fair compensation for military aid.’

‘This will help maintain my dignity back home.’

‘Right now, securing supplies is more critical than anything else.’

With widespread chaos causing a dramatic drop in food production, the supplies on offer were far more urgent than troop considerations.

But then, one envoy tilted his head, puzzled, and asked, “Why is there a flyer for a 50% discount on The Chronicles of Count Fenris, Volume 3 in this? Are we expected to purchase this?”

Ghislain’s gaze shot toward Claude, narrowing. That bastard was clearly up to something while Ghislain had been occupied elsewhere.

Claude quickly darted over and swapped the document out. “My apologies. It seems there was some mix-up with unrelated materials. Here’s a token of my sincerity instead.”

From his pocket, Claude produced a small jewelry box and handed it to the envoy with an unnervingly smooth gesture.

“W-what is this?” the envoy stammered, visibly uncomfortable. Who openly handed out bribes like this?

Unbothered, Claude waved over several aides, who began distributing identical boxes to all the envoys from a nearby crate.

“Please, don’t decline. They’re modest gifts, really. Think of them as souvenirs.”

Even the pro-monarchist nobles of Luthania, seated nearby, received the boxes, including Marquis Branford. Branford held his box awkwardly, his expression caught between confusion and disbelief.

‘This man... Is this really the same person who repelled Rodrick’s grand army at Silverlight?’

The atmosphere grew stilted, with everyone glancing at one another, unsure of how to react. Somehow, the uniform distribution of gifts made them feel less like bribes and more like ceremonial tokens.

Before anyone could raise an objection, Claude clapped his hands and shouted, “Come now! Let’s sign quickly! The banquet is ready, and this is only temporary, so why the hesitation?”

“Hrm... Well, thank you for the souvenir,” one envoy finally relented, offering a half-hearted expression of gratitude as he signed. The substantial support promised had already tipped the scales in Claude’s favor. There wasn’t much justification to refuse.

If questioned back home, they could simply explain it away as a provisional agreement.

With the signatures collected, Claude swiftly gathered the stack of agreements and disappeared from the room.

Ghislain avoided Marquis Branford’s gaze, turning slightly as he remarked, “This wasn’t my idea. Regardless, the foundation for the alliance has been laid. Let’s address any shortcomings collaboratively from here.”

Clap, clap, clap.

“Well said! Let’s make this work. My nephew must have prepared everything thoroughly!” Marquis Maurice exclaimed cheerfully. For him, receiving jewelry and securing Luthania’s leadership of the alliance was reason enough to celebrate.

Following Maurice’s lead, the other pro-monarchist nobles and envoys reluctantly joined in the applause. After all, it was better to focus on moving forward than to dwell on the unorthodox methods.

Exchanging pleasantries and reassurances, the group began moving toward the banquet hall. Before they left, Ghislain addressed them one final time.

“The Duke of Delphine’s faction will be making a move soon. Troop deployments need to happen swiftly.”

“Don’t worry. Our forces are already engaged in battling the Rifts, so redeploying them shouldn’t be a challenge.”

“We’ll provide the rations. All you need to send are the soldiers.”

“Ha, that’s a relief to hear!” one envoy chuckled, finding comfort in Ghislain’s offer.

Though tensions had eased, the envoys, experienced in diplomacy and court politics, made no effort to show further dissatisfaction once the decisions were finalized.

Ghislain excused himself from the banquet, citing military duties, and left the socializing to Marquis Branford and the other nobles. As he returned to the northern military camp with Claude and the Fenris administrative staff, a knight rushed to meet him.

“My lord! An elf is waiting to see you!”

“An elf?” Ghislain raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, and... they’re exceptionally strong.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“There was a brief altercation... Captain Kaor and Alfoy engaged them but were quickly defeated. Both have been carried away, injured. They couldn’t even land a hit.”

Ghislain’s expression darkened at the report.

Both Kaor and Alfoy were top-tier talents within Fenris. Kaor, as the leader of the Shadow Mountain Mercenaries, had reached the peak of his abilities, and Alfoy, a 5th-circle mage, was formidable by any standard.

For both to be incapacitated so swiftly was almost unheard of.

Such an elf could only mean one thing.

A sudden surge of overwhelming energy emanated from within the camp. Ghislain narrowed his eyes.

‘This aura...’

It was familiar, unmistakably so. He had felt it in his past life.

While there had been strong elves before, none could have overpowered someone like Kaor so effortlessly. None, except for one.

‘Ereneth.’

One of the Seven Strongest on the continent, known as the Guardian of the World Tree.

That unmistakable presence was hers.

‘Why now?’

Ereneth had never been on good terms with the Human Alliance. While she had offered her aid early on, she eventually distanced herself, acting independently. Her disdain for certain leaders within the alliance had further estranged her.

Instead of focusing on the Rifts, she had dedicated herself to fighting the Salvation Order, disregarding pleas to leave the cult alone.

‘In hindsight, she was right. The Salvation Order caused the Rifts.’

Her actions must have been based on information she’d kept hidden. But why she had come now—and to him, of all people—was a question that needed answering.

‘It must be because of my accomplishments.’

The Northern Army, under Ghislain’s leadership, was currently the most effective force against the Rifts. He had also exposed and dismantled much of the Salvation Order’s schemes.

It was only natural that someone like Ereneth would take notice and come here.

If, as in his past life, she was offering to assist in dealing with the Rifts, then this development was a monumental boon. Ereneth’s strength was unparalleled.

“Let’s meet her,” Ghislain ordered, striding toward the camp.

As he entered the camp, Ereneth stepped forward, her aura of raw power pressing down on everyone present. Behind her were dozens of elves, all radiating disciplined energy.

Ereneth didn’t bother masking her strength, and the sheer intensity left the soldiers on edge. Vanessa and Tenant were already preparing for battle, their hands on their weapons, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Even Belinda and Gillian, Ghislain’s closest aides, gripped their weapons tightly, their postures tense.

“Relax,” Ghislain said, glancing around at his people. “She’s not our enemy.”

Despite his reassurance, no one eased their stances. Ereneth’s presence was simply too oppressive.

Finally, she stopped a few paces away from Ghislain, her sharp gaze locked onto him.

‘Hmph... The rumors about his resolve weren’t exaggerated.’

Ereneth deliberately released an aura surpassing that of a superhuman, gauging the reaction of her opponent. However, Ghislain simply met her gaze with an indifferent expression, unfazed by the overwhelming energy.

Recognizing his lack of reaction, Ereneth retracted her aura and pulled back the hood that covered her pointed ears.

“Are you Count Fenris?”

“That’s correct.”

“I am Ereneth, the Grand Chieftain of the Elves.”

Though there were multiple elf tribes, only one individual bore the title of Grand Chieftain: the protector of the World Tree, a colossal tree said to embody the essence of the elves’ homeland.

In these times, with most elf tribes decimated and the remaining elves enslaved, the title was largely symbolic. Yet, it still carried immense weight.

The mere mention of her title shocked those present.

“A Grand Chieftain? Could she be the Guardian of the World Tree?”

“That legendary elf?”

“I thought she was a figure from fairy tales... but she’s real?”

The title “Guardian of the World Tree” had long been etched into the legends of the continent. Tales spoke of an elf who dwelled in hiding with the World Tree, protected by barriers. Many dismissed these stories as folklore. But now, with an elf claiming the title standing before them, the astonishment was palpable.

Only Ghislain remained composed, knowing her identity from the outset. He addressed her calmly.

“Your greeting seemed a bit intense.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” she replied with a faint smile. “But your people were... persistent. The red-haired one kept challenging me to a fight, and the mage wouldn’t stop trying to gamble with me.”

Ghislain glanced at Vanessa, who nodded repeatedly, her expression resigned. It was clear what had happened.

Kaor likely wanted to test his strength against someone formidable, while Alfoy must have seen her as a potential mark for his usual schemes.

Sighing, Ghislain shook his head. “I see. You don’t seem like an ordinary individual. What brings you to me?”

He already had a guess but pretended otherwise. It wasn’t something he could directly reference without exposing the ties from his past life.

Ereneth’s soft smile returned. “I’ve come to meet Count Fenris.”

“May I ask why?”

“This place has too many eyes and ears. Perhaps we should speak somewhere private?”

“Let’s do that.”

Ghislain dismounted, gesturing for her to follow him to the command tent where they could converse in detail.

As Ereneth walked alongside him, her eyes wandered, settling on a group of Fenris soldiers. Among them were the cavalry archers, Lumina and Ascon, alongside Fenris’s elves. Nearby, Galbaric and the other dwarves, serving as engineers, hastily turned their heads away upon noticing her.

“This place treats elves differently than others,” Ereneth remarked.

“They are valuable allies,” Ghislain replied.

“You don’t treat them as slaves?”

“They are not. Within my territory, I’ve promised them freedom.”

A faint smile tugged at Ereneth’s lips, a rare display of satisfaction.

“Good. That’s something we can discuss further later. For now, I appreciate your respect for them...”

She trailed off, her expression abruptly hardening. Her steps halted.

“What’s wrong?” Ghislain turned to face her, puzzled.

All he had done was casually clear some dust in the air ahead of him using a bit of mana. Yet, in that brief moment, Ereneth had sensed something deeply unsettling.

As an elf, her sensitivity to the flow of natural energy was unparalleled. She had seen it—fleeting, but unmistakable—a flash of crimson-black energy, ominous and unnatural.

To confirm her suspicions, Ereneth drew upon her own power.

The air around her shifted as vibrant green energy surged, radiating from her like a tidal wave.

Thrum! Thrum! Thrum!

The people nearby immediately reacted, raising their weapons and summoning mana in alarm. The oppressive force bore down on Ghislain, threatening to crush him if he didn’t respond.

His eyes narrowed as he summoned his own mana, the pressure around him intensifying. The air grew heavier as his crimson-red gaze began to glow.

The more Ereneth’s energy pressed against him, the stronger Ghislain’s aura became, pushing back with equal force.

Her sharp eyes widened slightly as she ground her teeth.

"Red eyes. Black energy."

It wasn’t entirely unfamiliar—such mana techniques were rare but not unheard of on the continent. Yet something about his energy felt both ancient and altered, as though it had been warped over time.

The earth beneath her feet responded, sprouting thick vines that coiled protectively around her body.

Wrapped in the living vines, Ereneth spoke, her voice colder than ice.

“What is your connection to the Salvation Order?”