The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 587: Annihilate the Enemy (4)

Ghislain lost his balance and fell from the saddle of the Black King.

"Commander!"

"My lord!"

"Your Grace!"

Knights fighting nearby rushed to his aid, quickly lifting him up.

One of the knights, flustered, asked, "What’s happening? Are you hurt? Do you have an illness?"

It wasn’t the first time Ghislain had collapsed during a battle, but that had always been after the fight was over. Never before had he suddenly coughed up blood and collapsed mid-fight.

Ghislain shook his head and said, "Enough... Finish the rest of them...."

He had once again manipulated the flow of the world despite his body not being in peak condition. The backlash was immense, as expected from using such overwhelming power.

This was not a strength he could wield frequently, not until he achieved greater mastery.

Thankfully, the war was all but over. The remaining tasks could be left to others.

Struggling to climb back onto his horse, Ghislain narrowed his eyes, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

"Divine power... is protecting that man?"

The priests of the Salvation Order were beings that defied divine power. The higher the rank of the priest, the more they clashed with it. Even in his dreams, the Saintess fought against those who opposed the goddess. Yet, the relic left by the Saintess had saved Gatros.

For a brief moment, Ghislain had even felt the will contained within that divine power.

"That man must not die... for now?"

Why?

By now, Ghislain understood the Salvation Order's true goal: finding their king and the relics. They had already found the relics, leaving only this so-called king.

Even if Gatros lost his power and influence, he would never abandon his mission. In fact, he might become even more desperate to find the king.

"The king..."

If the one the Salvation Order sought was the adversary he had seen in his dreams, the title of "king" might indeed be fitting. Ghislain had never encountered someone as powerful as that adversary in his lifetime.

"The relic... does it want Gatros to find the adversary?"

If not, there would be no reason for the relic to save Gatros. This only made Ghislain's thoughts more tangled.

The Saintess and the adversary were enemies.

What exactly did the relic desire?

Ghislain smirked at his own confusion.

He couldn’t be sure of anything yet. The will he had felt from the divine power had vanished so quickly that he might have misunderstood it.

"In any case, the relic aiding Gatros is a fact."

Perhaps there was an intent beyond his comprehension embedded in that relic. Or maybe it was simply a mechanism to protect its wielder.

Curiosity gnawed at him, but irritation followed close behind. Though the Salvation Order had been all but annihilated, pests like Gatros and Ernheart still remained, as persistent as thorns in his side.

"Ernheart... Gatros..."

Both of them needed to be hunted down and killed, even if it meant scouring the entire continent.

Ernheart’s true identity remained unknown, and Gatros was one of the most formidable warriors on the continent. If they decided to go into hiding, finding them would be a tiresome task.

"No choice then. I’ll have to issue a continent-wide watch."

By deploying Ruthania’s administrators to monitor everything, he could ensure nothing slipped past. While some resistance from the kingdoms might arise, they would likely cooperate. No one wanted a repeat of such devastation within their borders.

Having suffered greatly this time, they would be eager to eradicate the Salvation Order's remnants once and for all.

“Waaaaah!”

Ghislain wiped his nose and surveyed the battlefield.

The soldiers' deafening cheers echoed from every direction. The Atrodé Army was nearly annihilated.

Their formations had been shattered by magical assaults before they could even fight properly. Ruthania's forces had encircled them entirely, and there was no escape.

Clatter, clatter.

Ghislain slowly rode the Black King across the battlefield.

No enemies barred his path. Most of them were already corpses sprawled on the ground.

At some point, the fighting had ceased altogether. There was no one left capable of resisting.

The surviving Atrodé soldiers groaned in pain from their wounds or had thrown down their weapons and surrendered.

Only one man remained upright.

Count Vipenvelt sat tall on his horse, his back straight despite the overwhelming defeat.

Clatter, clatter.

As Ghislain approached, the soldiers parted, giving him a clear path.

The only reason Vipenvelt had survived was that his commanding presence marked him as the highest-ranking officer. No one dared to touch him.

The two men locked eyes as the distance between them shrank. A brief silence hung in the air before Vipenvelt spoke first.

"Do you know why I lost?"

His strategy had been designed to entangle the allied forces at every turn. As long as they pursued his troops, they were bound to be drawn into his web. Yet, instead of that, his forces had been defeated one by one.

He couldn’t fathom how his opponent had outmaneuvered him.

Ghislain, however, answered with an indifferent expression.

"Because I’m stronger and faster than you."

Vipenvelt hesitated for a moment before chuckling.

"A straightforward answer."

"And because I know you, but you don’t know me."

Vipenvelt tilted his head in confusion. After all, their knowledge of each other could only come from gathered intelligence.

Yet Ghislain spoke as though he truly knew him.

Ghislain smirked.

"You wouldn’t understand. There’s no need for you to."

"Indeed. What good would knowing do for the defeated? It won’t change the outcome. I only wanted to satisfy my curiosity before I die."

"It’s unfortunate we meet like this."

Ghislain’s words were genuine. In his previous life, Count Vipenvelt had been one of the most reliable allies he had ever known.

With his bold strategic decisions and keen judgment, Vipenvelt had saved countless lives from the Rift's horrors.

But none of that changed the fact that he was one of the forces behind the continent's greatest calamity.

Whether or not Vipenvelt had shared the Salvation Order's ambitions didn’t matter. He had sided with them, and that could not be forgiven.

Ghislain slowly raised his spear.

"Any last words? I’ll hear them as a courtesy to a worthy adversary."

"I have none. I’ve done all I could. The rest is up to those who remain."

"Concise. I like that."

Vipenvelt closed his eyes. There was a tinge of regret.

"If only the war had been my sole focus..."

Had that been the case, the outcome might have been different. Perhaps the continent would now be divided, locked in an eternal struggle.

But prioritizing the Salvation Order’s goals had cost him dearly. It would be a lie to say he didn’t lament that choice.

Still, what could he do? Everything was over now.

Vipenvelt cast aside his final regrets and steadied his heart.

Thwack!

Ghislain’s spear pierced Vipenvelt’s heart.

"I’ll ensure your body is preserved."

"Thank you..."

With those final words, Vipenvelt exhaled his last breath.

An oppressive silence blanketed the battlefield. All eyes turned to Ghislain, and every ear awaited his words.

A faint smile played on Ghislain’s lips as he raised his spear high.

"You’ve all done well. The war is over."

“Waaaaaaah!”

Weapons were raised high, and cheers erupted from the soldiers. The fortress defenders shouted even louder.

This wasn’t merely the end of a single battle. It marked the collapse of the Salvation Order, which had plunged the continent into darkness. It was a historic moment.

Faces lit up with relief, joy, and hope for a new era.

All that remained was mopping up the remnants, a task too small to even call a war.

Of course, the enormous task of post-war recovery awaited, but no challenge could compare to the harrowing war they had endured.

Amid the jubilant soldiers, someone shouted loudly.

"Long live His Grace the Duke!"

The soldiers of Ruthania and the allied forces, filled with passion, began shouting their own cheers.

"Glory to the Fenris Duke!"

"Our commander is the best!"

"Honor to Ruthania on this glorious day!"

"This moment will go down in history!"

"Respect to the courage of the allied forces!"

"I am a transcendent too!"

"I’ve defeated a god..."

The battlefield quickly filled with a chorus of victorious cheers.

As the cries of triumph echoed, the soldiers of Ruthania and the allied forces finally let loose the emotions they had been suppressing.

Longtime comrades embraced one another without concern for the clatter of their armor, tears streaming down their faces as they patted each other on the back.

Some removed their helmets and hurled them into the sky with jubilant shouts, while others knelt, raising prayers of gratitude to the heavens.

Even soldiers from different factions, who had been strangers just days ago, felt like family in this moment of shared victory.

These were men who had traveled far from home, fighting tirelessly without rest. To feel anything less than overwhelming emotion now would have been a lie.

"We did it!"

"It's finally over!"

"A new era begins!"

Their cries of elation reverberated across the field. Soldiers hugged, clapped each other on the shoulders, and exchanged heartfelt congratulations.

In an instant, the battlefield transformed into a scene of celebration. The joy of victory and the camaraderie of shared struggle created a whirlpool of emotions that enveloped everyone present.

For this moment, they were united, basking in the shared glory of their triumph.

Ghislain, leaving the celebrating soldiers behind, went straight to check on Jerome.

“How is he? Is he all right?” he asked.

Jerome was still unconscious, and Vanessa, who had been tending to him, wiped the sweat from her brow as she replied, “The crisis has passed, just barely. Others helped stabilize his circle.”

Ghislain gave a slight bow to the mages who had assisted.

“Thank you. Because of your efforts, my friend is safe.”

“It’s nothing. It’s Jerome who saved us,” one of the mages replied earnestly, their eyes filled with respect.

The first mage who had treated Jerome stepped forward and said, “Jerome risked his life to protect us. His self-sacrificial magic saved everyone here. We didn’t save him; he saved all of us.”

Another mage added, “Jerome’s wisdom and strength are something we will strive to achieve for the rest of our lives. It was an honor to be able to help him.”

The mages all bowed their heads, their expressions showing gratitude, reverence, and even a hint of embarrassment. They were keenly aware of their own shortcomings after witnessing Jerome's extraordinary magic.

Ghislain glanced at Jerome, who was still lying down, and chuckled.

“At this rate, he’s going to end up as the king of mages.”

In his previous life, Jerome had been popular because of his charm and character. Now, it seemed he was even more revered. His selflessness and sense of responsibility had managed to inspire even the most self-centered of mages.

“Still, I told you not to push yourself too hard. Run if it gets dangerous,” Ghislain muttered, shaking his head as though in resignation.

But Ghislain knew Jerome’s personality too well. Running wasn’t in his nature, which was precisely why Ghislain had trusted him with such responsibilities.

Thanks to everyone playing their roles perfectly, the war had finally come to an end.

Though Gatros had escaped, rebuilding his forces as he had before would be impossible.

Ghislain was determined to find and kill him, even if it meant deploying search teams across the entire continent.

“Time to head back.”

Ghislain was preparing to return to the Kingdom of Sardina to discuss post-war matters and plan the next steps.

However, he wasn’t planning to leave immediately. A few days of rest were necessary before anything else.

There were tasks to be completed first, such as ensuring the capture and transfer of those who had acted as spies.

"Julien should handle this quickly enough," Ghislain said, thinking of another old friend who would soon return to join him.

***

Count Kalmund, commander of the 3rd Corps of the Atrodé Army, clutched at the deep wound on his chest, gasping for breath.

“Hah... hah... how can this be...?”

As expected, they had encountered a detachment of the allied forces moving separately. The 3rd Corps maintained its distance, seeking only to slow them down. Their intent was to avoid direct combat while keeping the enemy on edge.

The mere threat of a potential ambush, or a warning strike to their rear, was enough to exhaust the enemy mentally. If a decisive battle seemed imminent, they could retreat to maintain their distance.

Then, a single figure emerged from the enemy lines.

“Damn it... the Prince of Turian...”

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Kalmund groaned as he gazed at the man standing before him.

Cold eyes devoid of any emotion.

This man had come alone.

Believing it to be an opportunity, Count Kalmund sent priests and knights forward immediately. Even Leonard, the revolutionary commander, volunteered to assist in the attack.

The result was catastrophic.

Before they could even exchange proper blows, the priests were decapitated. The knights were slaughtered to the last man.

Leonard, sensing defeat, was the first to flee.

Then came the massacre.

While the Prince of Turian single-handedly annihilated their forces, the enemy army arrived, and the disarrayed 3rd Corps was swiftly overrun.

“Cough!”

Kalmund spat out a mouthful of blood. Despite the efforts of his bodyguards, he had been gravely wounded and collapsed.

The knights who had shielded him were now in pieces, their bodies cleaved in two.

What he had just witnessed was beyond human capability. Against such overwhelming skill, no strategy or tactic mattered.

“We... we were fighting against a monster...”

The strongest of the Atrodé Army were Gatros of the 1st Corps and Aiden of the 2nd Corps. Perhaps only by combining their strengths could they face this opponent.

It was just a thought, but to Kalmund, it seemed true.

The man before him slowly raised his sword. Around him, his comrades were being crushed under the enemy’s advance.

“This war... it seems we are destined to lose.”

A sinking feeling overwhelmed Kalmund. The man before him was an existence beyond comprehension.

With just Fenris Duke already being such a formidable opponent, the Prince of Turian was an equally overwhelming force.

Slice!

His thoughts were abruptly cut short. The man’s sword had already severed his head.

“Hah...”

Julien, the Prince of Turian, exhaled deeply after decapitating Count Kalmund.

The enemy’s movements had irritated him to the point that he charged forward alone, disrupting their formation.

No matter how strong he was, facing this many enemies alone had drained a significant amount of mana and left him exhausted.

Once again, the most dangerous prey had managed ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) to escape.

“The message?” Julien asked curtly.

Dark No. 28, perched on his shoulder, replied, “They said not to worry and just keep chasing. Everything else is under control. Jerome’s likely already ahead of you.”

“I see.”

Julien nodded slowly. Originally, he had planned to strike the 3rd Corps and immediately join the others at the agreed-upon location.

However, with Leonard fleeing, he had reached out to Ghislain to reassess the situation.

Fortunately, it seemed his absence wouldn’t be an issue for now. With Ghislain, Jerome, Parniel, and the allied transcendents handling things, Julien trusted the remaining enemy forces would be dealt with effectively.

“Then let’s move at once.”

At Julien’s words, Dark No. 28 spread its wings wide and took flight.

Julien urged his horse in the direction Dark was headed.

Once again, Leonard, the revolutionary commander, had managed to escape.

He would remain a persistent threat as long as he lived. Julien was determined to eliminate him completely, taking this opportunity to end it once and for all.