The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 271: Has That Guy Already Moved? (1)

At a meeting of the Royalist nobles, the discussion inevitably turned to Ghislain. The new road construction project, aimed at connecting the kingdom, had made him one of the hottest topics in the capital, and his name was on everyone’s lips.

Marquis Maurice Macquarie, Commander of the Royal Army, frowned as he turned to Marquis Branford.

"He’s recruiting a massive army, is he?"

"Yes, to the point where it’s causing quite a stir throughout his territory," Branford replied.

"Hmph, that fledgling duckling must have gotten scared after taking down Count Cabaldi," Maurice sneered. "Well, it’s understandable; he did make an enemy out of a Ducal family."

"But he's gathering forces at an excessive rate."

While the exact numbers hadn’t been confirmed, rumors indicated that Ghislain had armed at least several thousand men. Given Ghislain’s past notoriety, Branford couldn’t ignore the news.

Maurice nodded, "Hmm... He’s unpredictable. Do you think he’s planning to strike somewhere again? We’re barely managing the drought crisis as it is—another incident could be a disaster."

"He’s preparing for any retaliation after his clash with the Ducal faction, especially since Count Desmond is also mobilizing troops."

Maurice chuckled at Branford’s words.

"Desmond is just one lord in the north. As long as the Duke doesn’t initiate a civil war, there’s nothing Desmond can do alone."

The other Royalist nobles nodded in agreement. With the Royal Army stationed close to Desmond's territory, thanks to Branford's foresight, Desmond’s actions were effectively under constant surveillance.

Branford knew Desmond was unlikely to act without orders or assistance from the Ducal House. However, the mere fact that Desmond was mobilizing troops was significant.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

*Damn it,* Branford thought, *Desmond's troop assembly suggests we’re edging closer to civil war.*

The Royalist nobles were always this way—quick to feel emboldened by Ghislain’s successes, yet continually under the thumb of the Ducal House. Thanks to Ghislain, they’d regained a bit of breathing room, but old habits of arrogance resurfaced. After all, if the Ducal House did start a civil war, it would be nothing less than treason.

Branford sighed and continued, "Currently, the Second Legion is helping with the construction of roads in nearby lordships, aren’t they?"

Maurice nodded.

"I thought it best to speed things up, so I ordered it. Is there an issue? The northern lords are too poor to even maintain proper construction crews."

"Recall all of them."

"What?"

"The Second Legion is stationed there to monitor the north and protect Count Fenris."

Maurice’s face twisted in frustration at Branford’s tone.

"Why are you so hung up on that little duckling? Since when did he become so critical to us?"

"If civil war breaks out, Count Fenris will be the first to be attacked in the north. The Second Legion must be at full strength to prevent Desmond and the Ducal forces from overwhelming him."

"What’s with all this talk of civil war?" Maurice snapped, unable to hide his displeasure. "The Ducal House has been lying low since the drought. If they start a war now, it’s mutual destruction. They won’t risk it—it’s all just intimidation tactics."

"Nonetheless, we’re reinforcing the Royalist territories and preparing our forces," Branford replied calmly. "No one knows when the Ducal House might draw their sword, and road construction has only made the Ducal faction more tense."

"Fine, preparing is one thing," Maurice retorted, "but why do you keep bending over backward for that brat? Every time he asks for something, you go along with it, and now he’s getting cocky."

Maurice's voice boomed with pent-up resentment, and the other nobles murmured in agreement. Though Branford commanded considerable authority, his favoring of Ghislain had bred growing discontent. If Ghislain’s gambles backfired or he failed even once, Branford’s influence would waver.

Unmoved by the grumbling around him, Branford replied, "I’ve given my warning. Do as I say."

Maurice pursed his lips in frustration. He still didn’t understand why Branford seemed so fixated on Ghislain. Disliking it or not, he couldn’t disregard Branford’s request. As the head of the Royalist faction, Branford held more sway than him.

"Fine, but remember this: once we’ve dealt with the Ducal House, I’ll see that duckling's head roll. Don’t try to stop me."

"When the time comes, I won’t interfere."

"Hmph."

With a sneer, Maurice left, grumbling. The other nobles, seeing this, followed his lead, all wondering which side to take.

*Branford must be losing his touch as he ages,* thought one noble.

*Even if civil war breaks out, the Royal Army should protect us, not some northern lord.*

*Could Branford truly be considering him a political successor?*

Many Royalist nobles shared Maurice’s resentment, feeling that Ghislain received too many privileges and accommodations. In the event of a civil war, Ghislain should be a sacrificial pawn, not someone to aid.

*If there’s an actual war, the Royal Army should be targeting the Ducal faction's weaker lords instead,* mused another noble.

*So far, Ghislain’s rise has been useful for our influence in the north, but in real war, it’d be wiser to leave him behind.*

*The Royal Army is our final defense. It’d be a waste to expend it on him.*

These thoughts continued to fester among the Royalist nobles. Though Branford’s authority held them in check, their growing discontent seemed ready to erupt.

Once alone, Branford sighed, rubbing his temples. *Exhausting.*

The Ducal House was challenge enough, and now internal unity was fraying. Despite Ghislain’s repeated displays of competence, the younger nobles resented his fame, while the elder ones saw him as a lowborn upstart from the poor north.

*Civil war would be disastrous if this persists,* Branford thought, sighing again.

He was convinced that a civil war was inevitable, but most of his Royalist peers thought they could continue the power struggle against the Ducal House, clinging to the delusion that the kingdom's nobility was strong enough to keep the Ducal House in check. This was the mannered but misguided nobility's idea of political finesse.

*Fools always doom a nation when they’re allowed to thrive,* he thought bitterly.

He couldn't let the kingdom fall into the hands of those wolves. For now, he’d keep enforcing his authority, hoping it would hold long enough.

The thought of Ghislain’s face flickered across Branford’s mind. Always brazen and reckless, yet constantly yielding unexpectedly good results.

*He’s... an intriguing one.*

Perhaps, Branford mused, the unpredictable Ghislain was the kingdom’s last hope. After all, neither Branford nor the Ducal House could fully anticipate his actions.

*If I’m going to support anyone, it should be someone like him,* he decided.

A powerful weapon he’d forged to stand against the Ducal House, the rapidly growing young lord from the north. That was Ghislain Ferdium.

A faint smile appeared on Branford's face.

Meanwhile, Count Desmond’s vassal approached his lord with a report.

"The young lord’s gathering a large army, sir."

Desmond narrowed his eyes.

"So, the madman is openly preparing for war. Intelligence suggests his force could number over 5,000."

Though Fenris had tightened control over outgoing information, rumors still managed to slip through.

Desmond pondered, then nodded slightly.

"He’s not a complete fool. His defiance has made him reckless, but not irrational."

His expression had changed. There was no anger or incomprehension, only a measured, calculating gaze.

After a moment, he spoke again.

"What about our preparations?"

"We’ve amassed as many resources as we can. It would be difficult to gather more."

Desmond gave a dismissive nod.

"The cost has been immense."

To try and assassinate Ghislain, he had burned through a fortune and obliterated an entire merchant guild. Ghislain had proved surprisingly slippery, evading every attempt, and the resources lost could never be recovered.

He was left with only one option: to crush Ghislain with sheer force.

"What’s the status of the Second Legion that’s been watching us?"

"Currently, half of its forces have been deployed to Royalist territories, likely for the road construction project."

Desmond chuckled.

"They underestimate us."

They believed that the Royal Army’s presence would keep him in check. But with only half the force present, they’d be easy to overrun.

"What’s the status of our recruitment?"

"All our vassals have been ordered to gather their forces. Troops are assembling from all over."

"If that lunatic has begun gathering troops, we’ll need even more. We’ll overwhelm him and take his territory."

"Overwhelm, sir?"

"No conscripts. I want 30,000 armed soldiers."

"...30,000?"

"That’s right. Tell the vassals to bring every single soldier. If anyone holds back, I’ll have their heads. Consolidate the garrisons and fortresses as well. This is a total mobilization. Understood?"

The vassal nodded nervously.

Due to poverty, the northern territories typically had forces ranging

from 1,000 to 2,000 soldiers. Even the larger domains rarely exceeded 3,000. But by stripping his lands of all their defenses, Desmond could raise 30,000 soldiers, a testament to his reputation as the strongest lord in the north.

Desmond settled back into his chair, murmuring to himself,

"Amelia’s rebellion succeeded just in time."

If it hadn’t, he’d have been caught between two fronts, unable to focus all his strength on Ghislain. He had underestimated her but was shocked to hear she’d single-handedly overthrown her overlord and taken her territory.

"Impressive," he muttered. "Though she foolishly let one heir slip away."

Recalling Daven Rayfold’s escape, he clicked his tongue. For all her cunning, Amelia was still a scholar at heart. If Ghislain hadn’t been a distraction, he would have dealt with Rayfold’s rebellion personally.

"She’s engaged in a pointless skirmish with Baron Valois, is she not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell her to cease her meddling and join me once I start the war. I’ll handle the Baron."

The vassal nodded, then hesitated, asking cautiously,

"Starting the war yourself, my lord... That would mean sparking a civil war. Killing Count Fenris would certainly provoke the Royalist faction. This wasn’t part of the plan; I’m not sure how the Ducal House will react without a legitimate cause."

Desmond closed his eyes for a moment.

Because of Ghislain, everything had spiraled out of control. Amelia’s success had been undercut by her skirmishes with Valois, and Ghislain had seized advantage after advantage, now building roads that connected all Royalist territories.

*He’s out of control.*

And the Ducal House was furious with him—no, more specifically, Raoul Joseph, the mastermind, was enraged. Until Ghislain’s arrival, everything had gone according to Raoul’s meticulous plans.

Desmond’s rage extended to both Ghislain and Raoul. Ghislain had foiled him at every turn, while Raoul loomed above him, controlling his fate with a mere flick of his hand.

More humiliating still was the rumor that Raoul intended to replace him with another puppet. To the greatest lord in the north, it was an intolerable affront.

*Enough.*

The threads were too tangled. It was time to cut through them. Ghislain had to die.

This wasn’t about orders from the Ducal House anymore. As the dominant lord of the north, he needed to reclaim his honor and pride.

He opened his eyes, his voice laced with fury.

"This war is my own doing."

"Then..."

"This is my plan. This time, I will kill that madman and erase this humiliation once and for all."

Desmond’s gaze was different now—cold and murderous.