The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 496: I’ll Do My Best (1)

Ghislain smiled as he repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fists. He reminded himself that he couldn’t cause trouble here. There was too much at stake for the mission ahead.

With a strained smile, he spoke:

"I understand that maintaining one’s gear is a soldier’s personal responsibility."

A senior soldier widened his eyes and asked, "What kind of army does that?"

"......."

"Where’s this mythical army that follows such rules, you little punk?"

"......."

"Hah, kids these days don’t know how the world works."

Standing up, the soldier approached Ghislain.

"Name’s Victor. I’m the squad leader here. Since you’re new, I’ll personally handle your education. Got it?"

Victor lightly tapped Ghislain on the neck as he continued.

"Why aren’t you answering? You think the military’s some kind of joke?"

"...No, sir."

"Or do you think your military career is over already?"

"......."

"Get to the laundry now unless you want me to beat the crap out of you. Or go ahead, report me if you dare."

"Should I kill him?"

Ghislain kept his trembling smile as he entertained the thought.

He could silently snap Victor’s neck with a thread of mana, but killing him would jeopardize the mission. If the squad got into trouble, they might not be sent to the negotiation site.

The military had an unspoken rule of leaving problematic units behind in critical operations.

"Maybe I’ll just rough him up a bit?"

No, even that was too risky. The unit had to reach the negotiation site without a hitch.

"You bastard, I’ll remember your face."

"What are you standing around for? Get moving!"

"...Yes, sir."

Ghislain picked up the pile of filthy clothes and trudged off to do the laundry, muttering under his breath.

"Man, military hazing really needs to be eradicated."

He made a mental note to conduct surprise inspections in the Fenris forces. Though the army was known for its strict discipline, it was better to be safe than sorry, especially with the recent influx of new recruits from various territories.

"For top combat efficiency, this nonsense needs to stop."

He resolved to tighten discipline within the northern forces.

"Lukas used to be good at this," he thought nostalgically.

Lukas had been a comrade in Ghislain’s mercenary days. Back then, as a rookie, Lukas had been a master at doing laundry.

The memory brought a twinge of longing. Though it hadn’t been that long since they parted, he missed his old comrade’s face.

When Ghislain returned after finishing the laundry, he found himself saddled with the task of cleaning the soldiers’ gear.

"This is disgusting."

The state of the equipment was appalling—a clear indication of how low the royal army’s standards had fallen.

He understood why. After the army’s catastrophic defeat and recent restructuring, they had been scrambling to recruit anyone they could find.

With Marquis Branford’s downfall, even basic supplies weren’t being properly distributed. It was no surprise the equipment was in such poor condition.

"Still, how could discipline deteriorate to this extent?"

The royal army hadn’t been like this before. Maurice, the former Commander-in-Chief, was meticulous when it came to maintaining order and discipline.

Now, it was clear that they had prioritized sheer numbers over quality.

Ghislain grabbed a rag and some oil, carefully cleaning and repairing the soldiers’ weapons one by one. He sharpened blades and fixed any defects.

Though he could finish the task in moments with his abilities, he chose to hide his strength.

Even so, his skill was extraordinary, leaving the soldiers in awe.

"Whoa, who is this guy?"

"How is he so fast?"

"His work makes the weapons shine!"

Soldiers who had been idling around gathered to watch, astonished by his expertise. Even Victor looked uneasy as he asked:

"Hey... you’ve served in the military before, haven’t you? Don’t tell me you were with the Delphine forces?"

Recently, many soldiers from the Duke’s faction had joined the royal army. The existing soldiers treated them with caution due to their superior skills and aura of confidence.

Ghislain shook his head.

"I’ve served, but not with the Delphine forces."

"Then where?"

"With the Rayfold army."

"What? The one led by that Countess who recently expanded her eastern territories?"

"Yes, I was with them for a while."

Ghislain didn’t bother hiding his military background. It was nearly impossible to conceal the telltale signs of military experience.

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However, he refrained from dropping names like Fenris or Ferdium. Instead, he invoked the Rayfold name, which he was familiar with and could convincingly elaborate on.

Victor, still curious, asked:

"How’d you end up here? Isn’t the Rayfold army doing pretty well these days?"

"Ah, I’m originally from the east. I was forcibly conscripted during the eastern campaign, but I was discharged after it ended."

"I see. And you decided to rejoin the army?"

"Well, times are tough these days. Farming and trade aren’t exactly viable options. And when I heard the king had recovered his health, I thought I’d join the royal army."

Victor and the other soldiers exchanged sympathetic looks.

"You should’ve just gone back to the Rayfold army."

"Why? Is there a problem?"

"No, never mind."

Victor clicked his tongue. The royal army was no longer a place soldiers could easily leave once enlisted.

The mandatory service period was an issue, but there was a bigger problem:

Victor hesitated before sighing. Though Ghislain was new, he decided to share the grim reality.

"Listen up, rookie."

"What is it?"

"You know about the northern army, right? Their commander?"

Ghislain’s eyes turned cold, and he briefly considered whether he should kill Victor on the spot.

As he slowly raised his hand, Victor spoke up with an unexpected statement:

"We might end up fighting that terrifying northern army."

"...What?"

"You’ve heard of the northern army, haven’t you? Fenris? The count?"

"I’ve heard rumors."

"Yeah, the monster army they say is the strongest in the kingdom. That’s who we might have to fight."

"Why are we fighting them?"

Victor glanced around before continuing in a hushed tone. Other soldiers gathered around Ghislain, eager to join the conversation.

Lately, the possibility of battling the northern army had been the hottest topic among the troops.

"There’s a rumor that the northern army’s commander disobeyed the king’s orders."

"Yeah, and now there’s talk of teaming up with the Duke’s forces to crush them."

"If we go up against that insane army, we’re all dead."

The soldiers’ faces were pale with fear. The northern army’s reputation was well-known, and the thought of facing them terrified the royal troops.

Victor, however, tried to rally their spirits.

"What’s with all the panic? Fenris may be scary, but that’s just hearsay. Have any of you seen him in action?"

The 2nd Corps had never fought alongside or against the northern army. All they knew were the stories.

Victor, though secretly just as scared, couldn’t show it as their squad leader.

Turning to Ghislain, he boasted:

"Hey, rookie. Don’t worry. Fenris is just a man. A spear can still pierce him. If he shows up in front of me, I’ll skewer him through the gut!"

"...Understood."

"Honestly, if I mastered mana cultivation, I’d be stronger than most knights."

The surrounding soldiers nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, the squad leader’s a beast in a fight."

"He’s got natural strength."

"Remember when he took down that knight during the battle with the Duke’s forces?"

Of course, the knight had been gravely injured and exhausted, but it was true that Victor had finished him off.

Ghislain nodded mechanically, his eyes empty.

"You must be incredibly strong."

"Exactly. So if we end up fighting the northern army, just stick with me. Got it?"

"...Yes."

"Fenris is all hype anyway. How good can a noble be at fighting? It’s always the people under them doing the real work."

"...You’re probably right."

"If we fight, let’s be the ones to kill Count Fenris and earn the glory."

"...I’ll do my best."

"Good attitude, rookie. Since you’re good at maintaining weapons, I’ll leave that to you from now on. I’ll excuse you from other tasks in return."

"......."

Victor patted Ghislain on the shoulder and returned to his spot, followed by the other soldiers.

"What the hell is this..."

Ghislain lamented his inability to reveal his identity as the commander of the northern army.

Soon, evening arrived. When Ghislain saw the food rationed to the troops, his expression turned incredulous.

"What the hell?"

The meal was pitiful—thin soup and a single piece of bread.

As far as he knew, the royal army’s rations had been significantly improved after the drought. Fenris had consistently supplied enormous quantities of food, especially chicken, to the army.

"Even though the supplies were cut off, they shouldn’t have run out this quickly."

Marquis Branford had carefully stored the food, even using mages for freezing preservation.

But now, it seemed like the soldiers were being given just enough to survive.

Ghislain asked Victor:

"Why are the meals like this? The Rayfold army fed us much better."

Amelia Rayfold, for all her faults, took exceptional care of her soldiers. The Rayfold army was almost as well-fed as Fenris’s.

Victor sighed, glancing around before speaking in a low voice.

"Things weren’t always like this. Until recently, we were eating pretty well too."

"What changed?"

Victor lowered his voice even further.

"Ever since His Majesty recovered and consolidated power, there’s been a purge among the nobles."

"I heard about that."

"The ones at the top are skimming everything. They’ve taken massive amounts of the food."

"......."

"Damn it. Going from decent meals to this garbage is pissing me off, but what can you do?"

"How are we supposed to function on this?"

"Still, these days, the army’s the only place that feeds you at all."

"Really?"

"The people in the capital can’t even eat one proper meal a day. Everything’s being taken from them. At least we’re soldiers, so we get two meals a day. You should’ve just stayed with the Rayfold army."

Victor grumbled as he brought a piece of bread to his mouth. Ghislain let out a quiet sigh.

"How long has it been since the high nobles were ousted? And it’s already like this."

"This kingdom’s full of trash."

He had a newfound appreciation for how hard the former nobles must have worked to hold things together.

Shaking his head, Ghislain ate his meal. It was disgusting, but he endured it.

The next day marked the beginning of training. Ghislain participated without resistance, obediently following orders. Until the negotiations, he had to stay in line.

"One, two! One, two!"

One of the primary drills was running—basic endurance training essential for long marches.

At times, the drillmasters pushed the soldiers to run endlessly, with some collapsing from exhaustion. Occasionally, competitions of pride emerged among the troops.

After a grueling session, soldiers began to drop, one by one, wearing expressions of disbelief.

"What the hell is with this guy...?"

"How is he still running...?"

"Was he a messenger in his previous unit?"

Only Ghislain remained, jogging steadily with a serene expression.

He deliberately held back his strength, maintaining a pace that appeared ordinary.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Soldiers collapsed onto the training ground one after another. Ghislain clicked his tongue at the sight.

"Good grief, why are they so weak? Is it because they’re not eating properly?"

The soldiers here were beyond weak. In Fenris, anyone collapsing from such a light run would immediately face special training.

Despite his restraint, the stark difference between Ghislain and the others was painfully obvious.

Victor, out of pride, managed to finish but was gasping for air as he addressed Ghislain:

"Huff... you... you’re really good at running... huff..."

"Thank you, sir."

"This time... huff... I went easy on you... huff..."

"Of course, sir."

Ghislain’s lifeless response didn’t deter Victor from trying to justify how much he had “gone easy” on the new recruit.

Ghislain’s exceptionalism was impossible to hide. There was no way he could feign fatigue during such basic drills.

The same was true for other training sessions.

"Shields up!"

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Formation training was critical for infantry, and the drillmasters ran it with military rigor.

"Thrust!"

"Thrust!"

With synchronized commands, soldiers thrust their spears through the gaps in their shields, targeting straw dummies.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

At first, they managed well. But as time passed, their forms weakened, shields drooped, and gaps in the formation appeared.

The new recruits, especially, struggled. Their thrusts were weak and often missed the mark entirely. Spear heights were all over the place.

And yet, there was one soldier who stood out.

"Who is that guy?"

The drillmaster’s eyes widened as he watched a single soldier among them.

Normally, everyone would be a mess by this point, but this one soldier remained sharp and precise.

Holding his shield firmly, he struck with perfect form, repeatedly landing clean hits on his target.

The drillmaster had never seen anyone like him.

"Stop!"

The drillmaster halted the exercise and approached Ghislain.

"What’s your name?"

"Dougly, sir!"

The drillmaster nodded several times, then bellowed to the other soldiers:

"You idiots! Even the new recruit can manage this, and what the hell are you doing? All of you, start running laps around the training ground!"

The soldiers paled but obeyed, dragging their exhausted bodies into another grueling run. Ghislain could only watch with a neutral expression.

The drillmaster, however, smiled proudly at him.

"In all my years of service, I’ve never seen a recruit as hardworking as you. If anyone bothers you, let me know immediately."

"Understood, sir."

"You said you were with the Rayfold army before, right? No wonder their reputation for discipline is so good."

"......."

By accident, even Amelia Rayfold ended up being praised.

Ghislain wasn’t even trying. The training was so monotonous he found himself nearly dozing off.

The gap between him and the others was insurmountable.

With every session, Ghislain received endless praise from the drillmasters. While this drew resentment from the other soldiers, they didn’t dare mess with him.

A few days later, the 3rd Infantry Company of the 2nd Corps gathered on the training ground.

Standing on a high platform, the company captain addressed the troops in a stern voice.

"Attention! Today, we recognize a soldier who has shown exceptional performance. Step forward, Dougly!"

Ghislain stepped forward, facing the captain with a blank expression.

"Dougly is a model soldier and a shining example for all of you—"

The captain’s speech dragged on, extolling Ghislain’s virtues at length.

Standing before the assembled soldiers, Ghislain wore the same lifeless look as always.

He had unwittingly become the company’s top performer and was now receiving a commendation for his efforts.