The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 584: Annihilate the Enemy (1)

The first to regain his composure was Marquis Gideon.

"Quick! Catch him! Get Jerome immediately!"

Knights who had been waiting in the rear dashed forward and caught Jerome as he fell.

They laid him on the ground, and Marquis Gideon rushed over, clutching Jerome's hand.

"Jerome! Stay with us! Summon the priests and mages immediately! Hurry!"

Jerome's condition was beyond grim. His once lively, cheerful face was now pale and gaunt, as if death itself loomed over him. Blood flowed continuously from his nose and mouth, and his chest heaved with every shallow breath, a dire sight.

Marquis Gideon shouted in panic, repeating himself multiple times.

"Jerome! Stay with us!"

"A... pa..."

Jerome clutched his chest in agony, a clear indication that something was terribly wrong inside.

Several priests and mages soon arrived, rushing to his side. The priests began by channeling divine power ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) into him.

A gentle white light spread over Jerome’s body, working to heal his wounds. His complexion improved slightly, but his condition remained critical.

One of the mages, a sixth-circle magician stationed to defend the fortress, stepped forward hurriedly.

"It appears to be a mana burn phenomenon. Let me examine him further."

The mage infused Jerome with mana and soon gasped in shock.

"This... this is catastrophic! His circle is on the verge of collapse! How could this happen?"

The mage’s reaction sent ripples of alarm. Circles were not easily damaged, even under extreme strain. Normally, overuse of mana would drain one’s vitality but leave the circle intact.

"What kind of overwhelming magic could cause such a phenomenon?"

The miraculous magic Jerome had unleashed had evidently shaken the very core of his mana source.

Hearing this, Marquis Gideon urgently demanded, "Then, what can be done?"

"We must stabilize the circle by continuously supplying mana until it can regain its integrity."

"Then get to it! Do it now!"

Several other mages joined in, pouring their mana into Jerome.

Stabilizing an eighth-circle mage’s mana source was no small feat. The mages, forgetting that they were still in the midst of battle, focused all their energy on Jerome, driven by genuine reverence for the extraordinary magic they had witnessed.

While Jerome clung precariously to life, Gatros managed to survive as well, narrowly escaping death when Jerome’s magic dissipated.

The massive black form he had conjured was gone, leaving him in his original body, hovering in the sky.

Gasping for air, Gatros clutched his chest and began to laugh, his voice filled with disbelief and relief.

"Hah... hah... I’m alive. But why..."

For reasons unknown to him, the divine relic he carried had saved him.

Why would a sacred power preserve someone like him, an enemy of the goddess and leader of her opposition?

Despite the confusion, Gatros quickly regained his composure, a grin spreading across his face.

"Hah... hahahaha! Of course! It’s not my time to die yet! This must be the will of the gods!"

Though he had lost the vast energy he had accumulated, and his own reserves were now more than half depleted, it no longer mattered. Jerome had fallen. Who could stand against him now?

Grinding his teeth, Gatros bellowed, "Attack! Crush them now!"

The soldiers of the Atrodé army, who had been paralyzed with fear at the sight of Jerome’s devastating magic, snapped back to reality at Gatros’s command.

Count Vipenvelt, who had also been in shock, shouted his own orders.

"Advance! Push forward with everything we’ve got!"

Victory was within their grasp. Now was the time to press the advantage.

The Atrodé army’s mages were the first to act.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

"Their magic works! Keep advancing!"

The elite mages of the allied forces were occupied treating Jerome, leaving only a handful to defend against the Atrodé army’s magic. This imbalance allowed destructive spells to rain down on the fortress.

"Damn it..."

The allied mages were in a bind. Without their support, the fortress's defenders were vulnerable, yet stopping Jerome's treatment would doom him.

As they hesitated, Marquis Gideon made a decisive choice.

"Focus on treating Jerome!"

"But Marquis, the fortress—"

"I will hold the line. You must ensure Jerome survives."

"Marquis... our forces are outmatched. We won’t last against both their soldiers and mages."

Gideon nodded solemnly, his expression resolute.

"Then retreat while you still can, with Jerome in tow."

"Marquis..."

"Do it!"

Jerome was essential to the allied forces. Without him, the coalition would lose a key figure in the war against the Atrodé army.

The loss of the fortress was secondary. Once the Ruthania forces returned, they could reclaim it. However, if the Atrodé army regrouped and joined forces with their remaining divisions, the allies would suffer catastrophic losses.

"This fortress holds strategic importance," Gideon explained. "If the Atrodé army escapes here, they could become a rallying point for their scattered remnants. That cannot happen."

The Atrodé army’s core and the surrounding rebels had converged in Grimwell, but smaller factions were still waging guerrilla warfare in distant kingdoms.

Holding them here was critical to ensuring the coalition's eventual victory.

Thanks to Jerome, the Atrodé army’s supersoldiers were drained of power. It was now possible to hold the line, though at great risk.

"Move quickly!" Gideon ordered. "I will hold them back, no matter the cost!"

"Marquis... you can’t..."

"Hurry!"

Marquis Gideon’s stern command spurred the mages into action. They hoisted Jerome and began retreating, their movements slow as they continued infusing him with mana to stabilize his condition. The task was painstaking, and with every step, explosions echoed from failed attempts to counter enemy spells.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The mages carefully erected defensive barriers as they moved, shielding Jerome from the onslaught.

Meanwhile, the Atrodé army had already begun scaling the fortress walls with ladders.

Thud! Thud!

“Charge! Wipe them out!”

The soldiers of the Atrodé army roared with energy, their morale high and their strength unyielding. Unlike the exhausted allied forces, they carried the momentum of early successes, with their superhumans leading the initial attacks that had worn down the fortress defenses.

Bit by bit, the Atrodé forces pushed the allies back.

Marquis Gideon swung his sword with force and shouted above the chaos.

“We can hold! Fight! We must defend this place!”

The allied soldiers found renewed strength, inspired by Jerome’s earlier miraculous display of magic. Although the Atrodé army remained formidable, the absence of their priests made the battle less overwhelming.

Still, the disparity in numbers and the ongoing magic bombardment wore down the defenders. Without the allied mages to counter the spells, the situation grew increasingly dire.

“Hold the line! We can do this!”

“Every injury we inflict here weakens them for the future!”

“This might be our last stand—fight with everything you have!”

The allied forces fought with desperation, refusing to retreat. They knew any withdrawal would lead to the Atrodé army giving chase, and their forces would be slaughtered before they could regroup.

It was a dire stalemate. Unless the Atrodé army withdrew, the allies had no options left.

Gatros, surveying the battlefield from above, focused his attention on the fortress interior. Victory was certain, yet a more pressing concern occupied his mind.

“I must kill him... That man must die.”

For the first time, Gatros had felt true terror—not of death, but of his very existence being erased. The sensation of being unmade haunted him, a fear that transcended mortal comprehension.

Jerome posed an unprecedented threat. Gatros clenched his teeth and whispered to himself,

“Not even Duke Fenris... or the prince of Turian could unleash such miracles...”

Even his own king might not withstand the magic Jerome had wielded. This was the perfect chance to eliminate the danger.

“I’ve found you.”

Though weakened, Gatros scanned the fortress and spotted the mages carrying Jerome. Concentrating through his exhaustion, he locked onto their position.

His depleted power made direct confrontation risky, but this was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. If anyone could eliminate Jerome, it was Gatros himself.

“I cannot let him escape.”

With a growl, Gatros gathered the remnants of his black aura, preparing to launch himself into the fray like a bolt of darkness.

But just as he was about to move—

Whizz!

A sound cut through the air. Gatros turned his head, his eyes narrowing.

“An arrow?”

A fiery red arrow streaked toward him.

Gatros scowled.

“How dare you... try to stop me with such a trivial thing!”

He prepared to dodge, confident the arrow was insignificant. Yet, an inexplicable chill ran down his spine.

The arrow wasn’t ordinary. It moved as if guided by fate itself, unwavering in its trajectory toward his head.

Time seemed to slow. The arrow cut through the air deliberately, its tip gleaming with deadly intent.

“This is... ridiculous!”

Gatros strained to move, but his body felt like lead, his muscles frozen under an invisible weight.

“Damn it!”

Summoning all his remaining strength, Gatros let out a roar, his black aura bursting around him.

Boom!

The sudden surge of energy shattered the invisible force holding him in place, allowing him to twist his head just enough to avoid a fatal strike.

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Slash!

The arrow grazed his ear, tearing flesh and leaving a trail of blood in the air. Gatros grimaced, clutching his bleeding ear as he glared in the direction the arrow had come from.

“Duke Fenris... you insolent wretch!”

In the distance, a lone figure rode toward the battlefield on a ferocious black steed. It was none other than Ghislain.

Calm and composed, Ghislain nocked another arrow, his lips curling into a sly smile.

“Looks like Jerome pushed himself too hard.”

Having rushed to the battlefield at full speed after receiving information from Dark, Ghislain aimed to divert Gatros’s attention.

Thrum!

This time, Ghislain’s arrow glowed with an intense red light, crackling as it absorbed not only mana but also the full force of his will.

“Stay away from my people,” Ghislain muttered, his tone icy.

Releasing the arrow, he watched as it transformed mid-flight, the fiery glow intensifying until it resembled a living flame.

Boom!

The arrow streaked toward the rear of the Atrodé army, striking with the force of an explosive meteor.

KABOOM!

The fiery arrow erupted with unparalleled power as it struck the rear of the Atrodé army.

KABOOM!