The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 399

Neighhhhh!

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

With a long, piercing cry, the Black King burst through the open castle gates, its hooves pounding the earth.

Ghislain seized the reins of the Black King, swiftly mounting the steed. Some of the soldiers emerging from the castle brought along extra horses, prepared for the knights to mount. The knights wasted no time, jumping onto their steeds, and soon the Fenris Army was fully mounted, without exception.

Riding forward on the Black King, Ghislain shouted once again:

"Charge! Sweep them all away!"

"Uraaaahhhh!"

The Fenris Army erupted into a deafening battle cry.

The Black King, with Ghislain astride it, surged forward like a streak of light. Despite starting after the soldiers, the steed soon took the lead, charging to the forefront of the advancing cavalry.

The retreating Rodrick Army was thrown into chaos, their panicked screams filling the air.

"The Fenris forces are coming!"

"Cavalry charge incoming!"

"Run! Get out of the way!"

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!

The ground trembled as if struck by an earthquake, the result of ten thousand mounted cavalry advancing in unison.

Within the command tent of the Rodrick forces, frantic shouts rang out.

"You fools! Form ranks! Raise your spears and shields! Get into formation now!"

But it was too late. The Rodrick Army’s ranks had already crumbled, with soldiers turning their backs to flee. A cavalry charge against such disarray would lead to absolute annihilation.

The soldiers, demoralized and beaten down, could not summon the will to fight.

"You fight them!"

"We’re running for our lives!"

"We can’t win! They’re unbeatable!"

Instead, the soldiers screamed back at their commanders, their despair turning into anger. To them, the leadership were idiots gambling with their lives in a hopeless fight. If death was inevitable, running offered the slimmest chance of survival.

But for most of the infantry, their flight didn’t last long. The Fenris cavalry quickly caught up, closing the distance in moments.

Boom! Crash!

"Arrrghhh!"

The sheer mass of 10,000 cavalry advancing in a single line swept across the battlefield like an unstoppable wave, crushing everything in their path. The Fenris Mobile Unit plowed through the Rodrick soldiers, leaving devastation in their wake.

At the heart of the charge rode Ghislain, cutting a path straight through the enemy lines as he bellowed:

"If you want to live, throw down your weapons and lie on the ground!"

The commanding voice sent shivers down the spines of Rodrick's soldiers, many of whom immediately dropped to the ground in submission.

However, not all could be spared. The sheer number of soldiers lying prone made it impossible to avoid trampling some of them.

Boom! Crunch!

"Arghhh!"

"I surrendered! Spare me!"

"Move to the side! Roll away!"

Cries of the trampled mingled with shouts from soldiers desperately trying to avoid the onslaught, turning the battlefield into a chaotic cacophony.

Even so, the Fenris cavalry didn’t intentionally kill those who surrendered. They only charged forward, crushing anything that obstructed their path.

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!

The Fenris forces advanced relentlessly, piercing through the crumbling Rodrick lines. Rodrick's soldiers either scrambled to escape the battlefield or threw themselves to the ground in surrender.

Watching this, Earl Glasgow clenched his fists in frustration, tears of anger welling up as he roared:

"These spineless cowards! How can they not even put up a fight with such overwhelming numbers?!"

If the soldiers had collectively turned to resist, their deaths wouldn’t have been so meaningless. Even now, their numerical advantage remained significant.

But what battle could be fought when no one wanted to fight?

This was war. Numbers meant nothing once morale was shattered. Fear spread like a plague, infecting even the strongest of wills.

Maintaining morale and loyalty was crucial in war, but Rodrick’s army had neither. Despite their size, they lacked the essentials of discipline and resolve.

"You worthless scum! Trash! Fight, damn you! Turn around and fight!"

Earl Glasgow’s voice was hoarse from shouting insults at his troops.

The soldiers of the western territories had long been infamous for their complacency, a fact Glasgow had heard but dismissed. Without wars or challenges, he thought such rumors were just jealous fabrications by rival nobles.

"How wrong I was…"

Now, he realized the truth. From the nobility to the lowest soldier, everyone had grown soft, lulled by years of peace. None had the grit to face the hell-forged warriors of Fenris, who endured relentless training and countless battles.

Even their resolve to protect their homeland was lacking.

All around the battlefield, Fenris soldiers shouted commands:

"Drop your weapons and surrender!"

The Fenris cavalry’s momentum began to slow as the sheer number of prone Rodrick soldiers cluttered their path. Some soldiers were trampled underfoot; others were mercilessly cut down if they dared block the advance.

As Rodrick’s lines crumbled entirely, Earl Glasgow’s advisors and knights shouted desperately:

"We must retreat!"

"Inform the Marquis immediately!"

"This is a massacre! We’re finished!"

The Fenris cavalry had already breached over half the battlefield. If not for the sheer number of soldiers, they would have reached the command post much earlier.

Earl Glasgow swallowed his humiliation and issued his orders.

"Guards, hold them back! Advisors and knights, retreat and inform the Marquis of our defeat. Do it now!"

With that, Glasgow turned his horse and fled. His bodyguards quickly flanked him, forming a protective formation.

The remaining advisors, officers, and knights scattered, fleeing for their lives.

The sight enraged the bodyguards.

"The commander and knights are abandoning us!"

"Those bastards!"

"What the hell are we supposed to do now?!"

Even the elite guards, known for their discipline, hesitated. Seeing their leaders flee to save themselves, they no longer felt bound to fight with loyalty.

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!

Their rage was interrupted by the sound of hooves closing in. Looking back, they saw the Fenris cavalry bearing down on them, led by none other than Count Ghislain himself. His crimson-tinged gaze burned with intensity, a twisted grin etched on his face.

"We surrender!"

One of the guards screamed, and the rest immediately followed, dropping to the ground in submission.

Ghislain swept past them, his voice cutting through the air:

"You seem useful. Stay where you are. Run, and you’ll die."

Though spoken in passing, his words lingered as if whispered directly into their ears, leaving the guards trembling as they lay flat on the ground.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

Earl Glasgow stole a glance over his shoulder as he fled, his face turning pale.

"Urk!"

He gasped in terror. Count Ghislain was pursuing him alone, drawing closer despite the distance Glasgow had managed to cover.

"Stop him! Someone stop him!"

It was now clear to Glasgow that he would have to abandon even his remaining guards to survive. He barked his final command, his voice laced with desperation:

"Knights! Block him! Do it now!"

But his ten remaining knights exchanged hesitant glances. Once over a hundred strong, most had already fled or fallen. Now, just ten of them were left—and they were expected to stop a Master-class warrior?

It was a death sentence.

After a brief exchange of looks, the knights made their decision. Without a word, they veered off, abandoning Glasgow.

"You cowards! How dare you! Stop him! I order you to stop him!"

Glasgow’s panicked screams echoed, but none of the knights heeded his command. They were too busy saving their own skins.

Ghislain smirked as he watched the scene unfold. Reaching out, he extended a single hand.

Whoosh!

Fwoosh!

Dozens of crimson mana spears materialized in the air, hurtling toward the fleeing knights. The spears found their marks, piercing the backs of the knights who had turned to flee.

"Arghhh!"

Caught completely defenseless, the knights fell one after another, their lives extinguished.

Now, only Earl Glasgow remained.

Ghislain’s body began to emanate a dark crimson mana, which enveloped the Black King, radiating a menacing glow.

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!

The Black King’s eyes flared a vivid red, and its pace quickened to an almost unnatural speed. Earl Glasgow, glancing back repeatedly, caught sight of this terrifying transformation and let out a panicked scream.

"N-no! Stay away!"

Ghislain had already closed the gap, almost within striking distance. Glasgow knew that even a thrown spear would spell his end.

"Don’t come closer! Stay away!" he cried out in desperation, yanking on his horse’s reins as if it would make any difference. But there was no escaping the Black King’s relentless pursuit.

In an instant, Ghislain rode up alongside him and reached out, gripping the Earl by the neck.

"Urk!"

Glasgow felt a crushing pain in his throat, as though his neck might snap, yet Ghislain didn’t finish him off. Instead, the Earl’s horse continued to gallop forward, dragging him along.

Dangling helplessly from Ghislain’s grasp atop the Black King, Glasgow gasped, "S-spare me! I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll reward you handsomely!"

"You won’t die so easily," Ghislain replied coldly.

"W-what?!" Glasgow stammered, his voice trembling.

Ghislain discarded the spear he held and unsheathed his sword. Without hesitation, he drove the blade into Glasgow’s stomach.

Schlik!

"Urghhh!"

Glasgow let out a guttural scream, writhing in pain. The blade had pierced his abdomen, but Ghislain had deliberately avoided any vital organs.

Fixing the Earl with a steely gaze, Ghislain said, "Tell me everything. The structure of your main forces, the number of knights and soldiers, the types of weapons you have, and your current supply routes—every detail."

Though Ghislain already had a general understanding of the situation, he wanted precise information to account for any unforeseen developments.

Glasgow, trembling and drenched in sweat, stammered, "If I tell you, you’ll kill me anyway."

"You’ll die whether you talk or not. The only choice you have is how: painfully or quickly."

Schlik!

Ghislain drove the blade into him again, this time infusing it with mana. The Earl’s body convulsed violently from the searing pain.

"Aaargh! I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything!" Glasgow shrieked. The agony was beyond anything he had ever experienced, confirming his worst fear: this man excelled in torture. Death, no matter how swift, seemed preferable.

Without leaving any room for deception, Ghislain extracted every ounce of information Glasgow possessed. Whenever the Earl hesitated, Ghislain inflicted more pain, leaving no opportunity for him to concoct lies.

Once Glasgow had spilled everything he knew, Ghislain, wearing a dispassionate expression, muttered, "Nothing special. Goodbye."

With a swift motion, Ghislain beheaded the Earl, his blade cutting cleanly through flesh and bone. The body slumped lifelessly, falling from the horse.

As Ghislain wiped the blood from his sword, he assessed the situation. As expected, Rodrick’s forces were relying on brute strength alone, attempting to overwhelm Fenris with sheer numbers.

"Well, that should be manageable," he mused.

Back in Fenris, most of Ghislain’s trusted aides had remained behind, with the exception of Kaor and the assault troops, who were ill-suited for defensive warfare. The main enemy force of 60,000 soldiers was advancing on Fenris, their quality and quantity far surpassing the pursuers Ghislain had just faced.

But Ghislain had no intention of retreating just yet. Trusting his allies to hold the line back home, he focused on wrapping up matters here as quickly as possible.

When Ghislain returned to the battlefield, the fighting was over. The Rodrick Army had completely surrendered, their soldiers kneeling with their hands clasped behind their heads. The Fenris forces stood guard, watching the captives as they awaited Ghislain’s return.

"Who among you holds the highest rank?" Ghislain’s voice boomed across the field.

The Rodrick soldiers exchanged glances, each looking toward someone higher-ranked than themselves. Slowly, attention gravitated toward one man.

A soldier, attempting to avoid their gaze, reluctantly rose to his feet under the weight of their collective stares.

"I… I’m Walter, formerly of the 2nd Corps, 3rd Infantry Company. I was in charge of the escort unit this time," he stammered nervously, fearing for his life.

Ghislain regarded him for a moment before speaking.

"Good. I’m giving you temporary command. For now, you’ll lead the remaining soldiers. Understood?"

"Y-yes! Yes, sir!" Walter replied, his voice shaking. Though he couldn’t fathom why he had been chosen, he dared not question it, fearing for his neck.

"Organize the remaining soldiers into units. If there’s no commander, assign the most senior soldier to take charge."

"Understood, sir!"

Walter hurried to carry out his orders, rallying the demoralized troops. Normally, allowing an enemy force to regroup like this would be a strategic risk, but the Fenris Army wasn’t concerned. The Rodrick soldiers were too thoroughly broken to consider mounting any resistance.

Walter, after hastily regrouping the troops into rough formations, returned to Ghislain and reported.

"Th-there are about 15,000 of us left, sir. I’ve organized them into groups of a thousand for now, as the numbers vary greatly between units."

"Good. Proper reorganization can wait," Ghislain replied.

The large number of surviving soldiers came as no surprise; their swift surrender had been part of Ghislain’s strategy.

Ghislain surveyed the defeated soldiers before addressing them.

"Linderstein now belongs to Fenris. From this moment forward, you are proud soldiers of Fenris. You will fight for Fenris. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" the soldiers responded loudly, their voices unsteady. Though their true feelings were uncertain, none dared to contradict him. The overwhelming disparity in power had crushed any notion of rebellion.

Furthermore, Fenris was known even in the west for treating its soldiers well. Some of the captives couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

With his new troops in tow, Ghislain confidently marched into Linderstein.

"Now then, let’s see what’s next," he said to himself.

Ghislain knew he had to return to Fenris as soon as possible, but abandoning the freshly conquered western territory was not an option. He intended to make full use of the troops and supplies acquired here.