The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 522

Claude spoke again, addressing Ereneth, whose mind seemed to have momentarily broken.

“No, I don’t think you understand… What I’m saying is that the High Chief has to work with us for thirty years.”

“Why? W-why?”

Ereneth stammered, thrown off by the unexpected situation. As the noble High Chief of the Elves, such absurd experiences were unheard of for her.

Claude snapped back, raising his voice.
“What do you mean, why? Because that’s what the contract says!”

“……”

“Can’t you just look at the contract?”

Rumble!
Roots wove themselves together, rising from the ground. A moment later, they spread out, producing a scroll.

Whoosh!

With a panicked expression, Ereneth unrolled the contract. And that’s when she finally saw it.

In very fine print, the words thirty years were written.

“What… what is this…?”

Ereneth’s head snapped around as she glared at Ghislain. He shrugged, widening his eyes in a faux-innocent expression as if he had no idea what was going on.

‘Now that I think about it…’

Ghislain had only skimmed through the contract before signing it at the time. He clearly didn’t know anything either.

‘When I read the first contract, there was no mention of this. Don’t tell me…’

That damn Claude had been yammering next to her, distracting her completely. Claiming there was a mistake, he had offered to draft a second version.

She remembered it now. Her headache had been so bad that she hadn’t even bothered to read the revised version before signing it.

It was at that moment she realized what had happened. That had been when the trick was played.

Ereneth turned to Claude and shouted, “Did you deceive me?!”

Claude, looking genuinely offended, shouted back, “What do you mean, deceive? You read the contract yourself! Did I hold a sword to your throat and force you to sign?”

He wasn’t wrong. In the end, it was her signature. But she simply couldn’t accept it.

“You… you little…!”

For the noble High Chief of the Elves to be tricked by a mere human—this was unprecedented in her long life.

Unable to suppress her rage, Ereneth began to draw upon her energy.

RUMBLE, RUMBLE, RUMBLE!

The immense power shook the entire palace. Alarmed, the knights standing outside burst into the room.

“Are you alright, Your Grace?!”

These northern bumpkins, thrilled to be serving the Grand Duke in the capital, were brimming with enthusiasm.

Ghislain sighed, rubbing his forehead, and waved them off.
“Ugh, stop acting so jumpy. Ereneth, calm down for a moment. If you keep this up, the whole palace will collapse.”

“Ugh… Ughhhh…”

Ereneth suppressed her power, glaring daggers at Claude.

The truth was, if she wanted to, she could simply ignore the contract. She had the power and authority to do so.

And honestly, wasn’t this technically fraud?

She could easily ask Ghislain to annul the contract. In fact, she had planned to do just that.

But the problem lay with that pesky little man muttering in the corner—Claude.

“I knew this would happen. Talk about nature’s sacred promise or whatever, but she’s not even willing to honor a contract she signed herself? They say you can’t trust anyone in this world… not even elves… mumble, mumble…”

“Ugh… Ughhhhh…”

Her head throbbed. That damn man talked way too much. He was driving her insane.

But the fact remained that she had signed the contract. Ignoring it outright would be akin to breaking a sacred promise made under the blessing of nature itself.

She couldn’t afford for rumors to spread among humans that the High Chief of the Elves had signed a contract and failed to honor it.

Especially not when that man’s overly chatty mouth would undoubtedly spread even more exaggerated rumors.

“Ughhh…”

Ereneth clutched her head.

Thirty years!

To her, it wasn’t a long time, but with everything she had going on, she couldn’t afford to be tied down for thirty years.

Humans really were… a vile species. Especially this Claude.

From the first moment she met him, she had sensed the oppressive, swampy energy of a death trap clinging to him.

As cold sweat dripped down her face, Ereneth finally opened her mouth with great difficulty.

“Huff… huff… huff…”

Sensing the diminished energy, Claude quickly approached.

“What’s with the huffing?”

Ereneth closed her eyes tightly and spoke.
“Give me… give me a leave of absence.”

“Of course! That much can be arranged. After all, you’re a benefactor of this kingdom.”

Ereneth opened her eyes, staring at Claude in disbelief at his magnanimous response.

This bastard…

Suddenly, Claude seemed much larger, towering over her with a wicked, victorious grin.

Living among humans would inevitably corrupt one’s nature. Ereneth finally understood why her ancestors had warned against interacting with them.

Fixing her gaze on Claude, she declared, “You will face my wrath in thirty years.”

Claude responded with a calm smile and a nod.
“I’m simply following the rules. If the High Chief has an issue with me, feel free to act as you see fit. I’m always prepared to accept it.”

‘Yeah, sure. I’ll just make sure to die in year twenty-nine. No way I’m sticking around as a slave for over three centuries.’

That was Claude’s true intention.

Ereneth bit her lip in frustration before spinning on her heel. She needed to go draft her leave request.

And the person who would have to approve it? The administrator in charge: Claude.

***

Ereneth, having received permission for her leave, departed the castle to attend to her business. A number of people came out to see her off, but among them, Parniel followed her quite a distance.

“What’s this about? You didn’t have to come all this way to see me off,” Ereneth remarked.

Parniel responded with an unexpected statement.
“They say the heart of the Saintess is the will of the Goddess.”

“I know.”

It was, in truth, a phrase coined to justify the often unpredictable actions of the Saintess, granting her decisions a sense of divine authority and lending credibility to the church.

But Parniel seemed to genuinely believe it. With a sly smile, she said,
“Ever since I first saw you, I’ve had this strange urge to fight you.”

“I have no intention of fighting you. Such meaningless things are of no interest to me.”

“I know. But… I can’t shake the feeling that someday, we’re destined to fight. My heart keeps telling me so. I just wanted to say that.”

“……”

Ereneth glanced briefly at Parniel. For a moment, the two locked eyes, gazing at each other intently.

After a brief silence, Ereneth shook her head a few times, turned away, and spoke.
“I hope that day never comes. I wouldn’t want to kill someone called a Saintess.”

Her tone emphasized the title, almost as if mocking it.

Parniel smiled and replied,
“I, on the other hand, would really like to fight you.”

Ereneth didn’t respond. Without another word or a backward glance, she walked away.

Parniel stood there, watching Ereneth’s figure grow smaller and smaller in the distance. Once she was completely out of sight, Parniel muttered quietly to herself.

“If you’re that ‘elf’ mentioned in the secret transmissions of the church, that would explain everything.”

***

The Kingdom of Turian

The Kingdom of Turian, a land constantly besieged by monsters pouring endlessly from the Shadow Mountain Range, knew no peace.

After Ghislain's remarkable efforts at the Turian fortress of Ironcliff, Kaor and the hunters sent vast quantities of monster hides to Ruthania. Kaor had become so prolific in this trade that he earned the nickname "King of Hides" at Ironcliff.

Before Ruthania's civil war erupted, Ironcliff had stood as a strong bulwark against the monsters. But now, it, like many other fortresses, lay abandoned.

“Kaaargh!”
“Grrraaaah!”

Mad monsters screeched as they surged past the empty fortress, racing toward the kingdom’s heart.

Yet, they couldn’t reach their destination. They were blocked by areas shrouded in blue mist, a new phenomenon that had emerged on the path to the capital.

Amusingly, the monsters from the Shadow Mountain Range found themselves clashing with beings from the Rifts.

While this unintended conflict relieved some of the pressure on certain regions, not all Rifts could be ignored.

“Hold the line!”
“Just endure it, no matter what!”
“Damn it! Why are there so many of them?”

Soldiers fought valiantly to stem the expansion of the Rift’s influence.

The Kingdom of Turian had assembled an elite army, selecting only the strongest to combat the Rifts. Until their arrival, the ordinary soldiers were left to hold the line as best they could.

Despite their efforts, the commanders couldn’t hide their grim expressions.

“This is bad. Supplies and reinforcements are running low.”
“The forces around the royal capital are barely managing to hold back the enemy as it is.”

The Rifts weren’t the only problem. Nobles who had allied with the Salvation Order had been plotting rebellion for years.

As these nobles raised armies and revolted in various regions, the kingdom’s military was forced to divide its attention, spreading its resources thin.

Though the constant threat of monsters gave Turian a slight advantage over other kingdoms, it was still embroiled in chaos.

“Turian’s fall seems inevitable,” thought every commander.

Turian had never been a prosperous kingdom. It was so weak that it even recruited criminals fleeing from other nations to serve as hunters.

Fighting monsters alone had already pushed them to their limits.

The kingdom was too impoverished to even join the Allied Forces. It had no resources to spare for external support.

The soldiers were growing increasingly weary, their morale crumbling as they battled both the Rifts and the rebels without rest.

If they could at least eat well, it might have been bearable. But the kingdom’s coffers had long since run dry.

“This is too much…”
“I think I’d rather just die…”
“Why was I even born into this world…”

Initially, they had clung to hope, waiting for a hero to appear and save them.

But in a world like this, even dreaming of salvation had become a luxury. Survival had become nothing more than a burden.

Despair spread like a plague.

Across the kingdom, suicides rose, and more and more people surrendered to the rebel nobles.

Turian was slowly but surely falling into ruin.

It was then that a man appeared.

He had jet-black hair and eyes as dark as the abyss. His skin was as pale as snow, as though it had never once seen sunlight.

His face, as beautiful as if sculpted by the gods, bore no trace of a smile. His expression was so cold and devoid of emotion that few dared to approach him.

Schlink.

The man drew his sword. A dazzling blue light shimmered around the blade.

The elderly man accompanying him bowed his head slightly.

“Your Highness, are you truly leaving the tower?”

“I am not a prince. Do not call me that.”

“…Understood.”

The man was the hidden heir of the kingdom, a prince who had long been secluded.

From a young age, he had shown extraordinary talent in swordsmanship. His body was so strong that it was said to be blessed by mana itself.

Even without formal training, mana naturally accumulated in his body. As he grew older, he adapted the royal family’s mana cultivation techniques to suit himself—a testament to his genius.

But despite his brilliance, he had been cast out by the royal family.

The king loathed him with a passion so fierce it bordered on madness. Rumors speculated that it was because the queen had died giving birth to him.

To avoid incurring the king’s wrath, everyone in the palace shunned him and kept their mouths shut. Over time, ominous rumors about him spread, and the number of people who feared or hated him for no reason grew.

Even assassination attempts, sanctioned by his own father, became a frequent occurrence.

Though he survived every attempt thanks to his extraordinary talent, each attack further closed off his heart.

He even relinquished his claim to the throne to his half-sibling, choosing to isolate himself in the royal tower.

He saw no one, formed no attachments, and spent his days quietly reading books and practicing swordsmanship within the tower.

It was the only way he could live in peace.

But now, this silent man had finally decided to step back into the world.

The old man who cared for him looked worried.

“His Majesty will not stay silent about this.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The world outside was said to be overrun by monsters. Even though he had severed all ties with it, he couldn’t ignore such news.

He simply wanted to save people.

With nothing but his sword, he emerged from the tower.

The man entered the domain of the Rifts alone and began to fight.

Kaaaaargh!

The Rift creatures couldn’t stop him. Anything that touched his blade turned to dust.

But even he couldn’t eliminate all the Rift creatures in one fell swoop. He sustained injuries, retreated to recover, and returned to fight again.

The soldiers who had built defensive lines watched him in astonishment.

“He’s insane.”
“Why is he doing something so reckless?”
“I know he’s skilled, but he’ll be dead before long.”

No army came to his aid, even after learning of his identity. Most people found him unsettling and kept their distance.

Some even wished for his death, thinking it would be better if he just disappeared. After all, he was the abandoned prince of the royal family.

The man fought alone, but he didn’t care.

He had always been alone, so nothing had changed.

He simply continued to battle the Rifts.

He fought and fought and fought again, his body battered and drenched in blood.

Even as days turned into nights and exhaustion set in, he kept fighting.

Moved by his persistence, a few soldiers began to gather around him. They treated his wounds and shared their food with him.

Kaaaargh!

Finally, after a half-day-long battle, he managed to sever Equidema’s neck.

Before the blue mist had even cleared, he dragged the creature’s corpse out of the Rift.

He did it to give people hope.

It was a truly monumental achievement. No one on the continent had ever closed a Rift alone.

Awestruck, the soldiers knelt before him.

In Ghislain’s past life, this man was known as:

The Savior.

And the first of the Seven Strongest on the Continent.

The Greatest Sword on the Continent.