The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations (light Novel)

No one present could comprehend how the rebel superhuman had been cut down.
Julien didn’t even glance back. He showed no interest in the fallen opponent, continuing to drive his horse forward, eyes fixed ahead.
“This… this madman…”

Terror drained the color from Marquis Aldred’s face.
To kill a superhuman in a single stroke! Aldred had never encountered such power in his life.
The rebel soldiers shared his panic. Their sole superhuman, the one they had relied upon, had been effortlessly dispatched, throwing them into chaos.

“S-Stop him! Someone stop him!”
Marquis Aldred, ever decisive, shouted as he retreated further.
The soldiers, still reeling, rushed forward without understanding the situation.

Amidst their disarray, Julien charged into their ranks.
Swish!
He merely rode into their midst, yet every soldier around him suddenly lost their heads.

There had been no explosion, no visible shockwave—just a single, clean sweep of his blade.
“W-What’s happening?”
“Run! Get away!”

“It’s magic! It has to be magic!”
The rebel soldiers scrambled back in fear. Julien, his face impassive, swung his sword again.
Flash! Swish!

The soldiers near him collapsed, their bodies cleaved apart, even if they weren’t within direct range of his blade.
“A-a monster!”
Terrified cries echoed among the ranks. How could one man kill so many without even touching them?
Julien slaughtered his foes like a lion amidst sheep.

He wasn’t using any grand techniques.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Each swing of his sword from atop his horse decapitated the nearest enemies with surgical precision.

It was an impossible sight. The rebels could only stagger backward, too afraid to engage.
“What are you doing? Surround him! He’s just one man! Overwhelm him with your bodies!”
Marquis Aldred bellowed, but his men lacked the courage to obey.

After two days of constant retreat, they were already exhausted. Losing their only superhuman had completely crushed their morale.
Some soldiers mustered the resolve to attack, but they never even got close.
Swish!

Before they could approach, they were struck down.
Even the knights who charged at Julien met the same fate—split apart in mid-air.
Marquis Gideon, equally stunned by the spectacle, shouted, “Charge! Assist Lord Julien!”

There had to be a reason for Julien’s actions. Helping him was undoubtedly the right choice.
The Turian soldiers trusted Julien implicitly. If Ghislain had been present to witness this unwavering faith, it might have left him feeling a pang of bitterness.
“Waaaaaagh!”

The Turian troops roared as they surged forward. With Julien’s earlier assault having already decimated the rebel vanguard, the remaining forces crumbled almost instantly.
BOOM!
The rebel army, led by Marquis Aldred, was routed in moments. Their morale couldn’t compare to the Turians’, especially with Julien’s unparalleled feats inspiring his allies.

Swish! Swish! Swish!
Any rebel who came near Julien was cut down. Not a single drop of blood stained his body, while the Turian soldiers fighting nearby remained unscathed.
Julien’s blade only found the rebels, sparing his allies entirely.

It was a mystery no one could unravel.
To the rebels, Julien was nothing short of a monster.
Marquis Aldred, retreating as fast as he could, was overcome with despair.

“What… what is happening?”
He had narrowly escaped the monstrous Ruthanian army, thinking he would be safe once he crossed the border. Yet here he was, facing another inhuman enemy, doomed to annihilation.
“Stop him! Someone stop him!”

But no amount of shouting could turn the tide.
Realizing the battle was lost, Marquis Aldred turned his horse to flee, hoping to escape while his men held the enemy at bay.
“Hyah!”

As he yanked the reins, a chilling sensation ran down his spine.
Thud!
“Guh… gah…”

Aldred twisted his head to see Julien standing behind him, his sword driven through his heart.
Fear gripped him as he stared into Julien’s cold, expressionless face.
There was no hatred, no anger—just an eerie, mechanical detachment.

How could a human have such an empty gaze? How could someone fight without showing a hint of emotion?
Was this even a man?
Even as he lay dying, Aldred’s mind was consumed with confusion.

“W-Who… what are you…”
Thud.
Marquis Aldred fell from his horse, lifeless.

Julien stood over the body briefly, then withdrew his sword and turned his horse around.
Clop, clop.
He rode away slowly, not bothering to strike down anyone else.

Despite the lack of violence, none of the remaining rebels dared to approach him, paralyzed by his overwhelming presence.
Marquis Gideon shouted, “Throw down your weapons and surrender! You’ll be spared if you do!”
The rebel soldiers immediately dropped their weapons and prostrated themselves. They had no fight left in them.

Even the troops preparing in the rear, unsure of what had just happened, followed suit.
And just like that, the battle ended anticlimactically.
The Turian soldiers erupted in cheers.

“Yeahhhh!”
“We’ve won again!”
“Lord Julien is unstoppable!”

It didn’t matter who the enemy was—if Julien fought, they fought. And they won.
That was enough for them. Fighting alongside Julien gave them all the confidence they needed.
Marquis Gideon hurried to Julien’s side and asked, “W-What just happened? Why did you suddenly attack?”

“Rebels,” Julien replied tersely.
“…”
He offered no further explanation, leaving Marquis Gideon flustered.

Still, upon reflection, Gideon realized there were no other armies fleeing in this direction. These had to be rebels pursued by the Ruthanian forces.
To confirm, he questioned a few of the surrendered soldiers, and they confessed to being rebels.
‘He determined that in mere moments and acted without hesitation…’

Marquis Gideon could only marvel at Julien. Everything Julien did seemed right. How could anyone doubt him?
It was a loyalty that would surely trouble Ghislain if he ever learned of it.
The Turian army moved forward, taking their prisoners with them. Victory after victory under Julien’s command left them fearless.

Flap, flap.
As they marched, a crow descended from the sky.
“Oi! Julien! You caught the rebels, huh? Good work! Our boss is heading your way now!”

“…”
Julien knew of Dark. Over time, they had exchanged messages through the cheeky crow, acting as a link to Ghislain.
Marquis Gideon watched Dark flap arrogantly through the air and couldn’t help but twitch his lips in irritation.

‘That smug crow… If it weren’t Fenris’s spirit, I would have swatted it out of the sky by now.’
As Ghislain’s reputation soared, Dark had only grown more audacious. With his most persistent critics—Amelia and her sharp-tongued cat—gone, Dark had little to fear.
Following Dark’s lead, the Turian army soon encountered the Ruthanian forces led by Ghislain.

The first sight of the Ruthanian army left the Turian soldiers gripping their weapons tightly, almost reflexively.
Whatever pride they had carried until now was shattered in an instant.
Thud!

An army soaked in blood approached, exuding an aura that the Turian troops had never before experienced.
The Turian soldiers realized immediately that these were not ordinary men.
The sheer presence of the Ruthanian army was suffocatingly intense. A few Turian soldiers had to take deep breaths just to steady themselves.

‘S-So this is the infamous Devil’s Army.’
‘How could the Ruthanian forces be this overwhelming?’
‘What kind of monsters are gathered in that army?’

The Turian troops, who had grown fearless under Julien’s leadership, found themselves shaken. With Julien by their side, they had believed no enemy could stand against them and that victory was assured.
But now, they couldn’t even muster the will to imagine fighting back.
They were overwhelmed by a single thought: if we fight, we will die.

Marquis Gideon, leading the Turian forces, was no exception. Intimidated by the Ruthanian army’s presence, he couldn’t even open his mouth to speak.
Only one person remained unaffected.
Julien strode forward casually, as if on a morning stroll, and stopped in front of Ghislain.

“I am Julien of the Turian Kingdom.”
“I am Duke Fenris of Ruthania.”
Ghislain observed Julien’s face and allowed a faint smile to emerge.

‘That cold expression of his… Still the same as ever. It’s been a long time.’
Even in his previous life, Ghislain had found Julien fascinating.
Julien seemed devoid of any emotion, as though all feelings—joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness—had been surgically removed from his being.

In truth, Julien had never been capable of experiencing joy.
‘Right… That guy never enjoyed anything.’
He ate little, never drank, avoided gambling, and showed no interest in women.

Nor did he pursue anything with passion. He wasn’t involved in politics, nor did he seek power.
He simply fought to save others and occasionally read books in solitude.
Julien was, in every sense, a man who lived without attachment or indulgence, an unremarkable existence defined by routine and detachment.

Ironically, it was precisely this simplicity that made him trustworthy. Even the most arrogant of the Continent’s Seven Greats had deferred to Julien’s judgment.
Julien noticed Ghislain’s oddly pleased expression and hesitated for a moment.
‘He seems to recognize me.’

Julien knew about Duke Fenris. He had come across plenty of reports and rumors about him.
But Ghislain’s expression wasn’t one of mere recognition. It was the look of someone reuniting with an old friend.
What puzzled Julien more was that he felt something similar—a sense of familiarity and longing.

When Julien had first heard of Duke Fenris, he had felt an inexplicable yearning. Now that they had met, he couldn’t ignore the strange, warm feeling in his chest.
This realization unsettled Julien. It was unlike him to feel any attachment to anyone.
‘I’ve never seen this man before. So why does it feel like I have? Why does he feel so familiar?’

Julien had spent his entire life confined to the tower. There was no way he could have crossed paths with Duke Fenris.
And yet, he had missed him. Meeting him now filled Julien with an unfamiliar sense of relief.
The emotions were foreign and burdensome. Julien furrowed his brows slightly, frustrated by the inexplicable feelings.

Ghislain, noticing Julien’s rare display of emotion, tilted his head in curiosity.
‘Huh? What’s this?’
It was the first time Ghislain had seen Julien react like this. This was the same man who wouldn’t so much as flinch, no matter how much he was teased.

‘Is it the blood? Maybe he hates the smell.’
Now that he thought about it, Julien was surprisingly meticulous. Look at him—clean as ever, not a drop of blood on him.
He was practically glowing compared to everyone else. How irritating.

Ghislain dismissed his curiosity with a shrug and glanced down at himself, searching for any offending stains.
Julien, however, interrupted his thoughts.
“Shall we find a place to…”

“Hmm? What’s that?”
Before Julien could finish his sentence, Ghislain looked down at his chest. Julien’s gaze followed.
The necklace Ghislain had taken from Berhem—the one the Salvation Order had dubbed a holy artifact—began to glow.

Fwoosh!
A brilliant light erupted from the necklace, illuminating the area.