The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations (light Novel)

The sudden burst of light from the necklace threw everyone into confusion.
Ghislain himself had no idea what was happening. The divine energy contained within the necklace was only supposed to activate when placed in the chalice he had seized earlier.

Why it was activating now, or what effect it might have, was beyond his understanding. Up until now, the necklace had only been used to verify sacred artifacts.
And yet, here it was, emitting the same radiant glow as before, even though no one had touched it.
‘Why?’

There was only one plausible explanation.
‘Julien?’
It had to be reacting to Julien. No other explanation made sense in this situation.

Julien narrowed his eyes, focusing on the necklace.
The blinding light radiated brilliantly, yet oddly, it didn’t impair his vision at all.
‘This is strange.’

His chest hurt.
A mysterious longing gripped his heart, constricting it painfully. The feeling only deepened his confusion.
What was this light?

Why did this necklace, an object he had never seen before, and Duke Fenris, a man he had never met, evoke such emotions within him?
However, it was clear that Ghislain was just as perplexed as he was.
The light gradually dimmed and eventually vanished. No further anomalies followed.

Julien calmly asked, “What is that item?”
“Uh… how should I explain this?”
Ghislain scratched his chin, then decided to be honest. It wasn’t a secret, after all—it was a well-known tale in Ruthania.

“This is something I seized from the Salvation Order…”
The more Ghislain explained, the more Julien felt an unsettling sense of confusion. The necklace seemed unrelated to Duke Fenris entirely.
After a moment of contemplation, Julien closed his eyes briefly.
‘Things have been strange lately.’

His senses had become sharper, honed to a razor’s edge. While this heightened perception was invaluable in combat, it also caused moments of disorientation like this.
It made him acutely aware of things he couldn’t comprehend.
Still, no matter how much he searched his memories, he found no connection to the necklace. Wasting time pondering such thoughts would only drain his focus and emotions.

So, Julien let go of the matter entirely.
While Julien quickly regained his composure, Ghislain’s mind churned with suspicion.
‘There’s definitely something here.’

Ghislain had long been curious about the Salvation Order’s goals and the Duke of Delphine’s involvement with them. After hearing about Ernheart’s dreams, he was certain they had their own hidden agenda.
But no matter how hard he tried, he hadn’t been able to uncover their true intentions.
‘Ereneth seems to know something… but she keeps it to herself.’

It was clear Ereneth was hiding something, but forcing her to talk was easier said than done.
Now, the necklace had reacted to Julien. The mystery only deepened.
‘Wait… come to think of it…’

In his past life, Ereneth had left the coalition and moved independently. One of the reasons for her departure was…
‘Julien.’
Ereneth had been visibly uncomfortable around Julien, to the point of fighting him upon their first meeting. It had been eerily similar to her initial confrontation with Ghislain.

Ghislain had been part of the coalition before Ereneth joined, so he had witnessed her clashes with Julien firsthand.
Back then, he had found it amusing and had laughed at their bickering from the sidelines.
‘She was utterly unsettled by him.’

It seemed like some misunderstanding had caused their fight, but neither of them ever explained it. Julien, as expected, hadn’t been curious enough to press the matter, and Ereneth eventually left after watching him from a distance for several days.
‘This is frustrating.’
Ghislain had planned to uncover the Salvation Order’s goals and Ereneth’s involvement while dismantling their operations.

He had believed it wouldn’t matter even if he didn’t fully understand their motives—he intended to wipe them all out regardless.
But the growing number of inexplicable occurrences was beginning to gnaw at him. The uncertainty filled him with restless frustration.
‘I’ll just have to ask Ereneth directly next time.’

When Ereneth returned from her self-imposed “vacation,” Ghislain resolved to confront her with pointed questions.
‘She’s bound to pick a fight with Julien when she sees him. That’ll be my chance.’
For now, there was no point dwelling on it further. Julien clearly knew nothing about the necklace or its strange reaction either.

With a casual expression, Ghislain remarked, “We’ll figure out the truth about this necklace once we crush the Salvation Order. By the way, we might be meeting for the first time, but we’re about the same age. Why don’t we drop the formalities?”
“Fine by me.”
Julien’s quick agreement was a relief. This straightforwardness was one of his better traits. He didn’t waste time fussing over traditions or formalities.

The two began discussing their respective armies and future plans as they made their way toward Sardina’s capital.
While Marquis Gideon was the nominal leader of the Turian forces, he wisely refrained from asserting himself. Everyone knew Julien was the de facto commander.
This left Gideon to handle logistical duties, which brought him into the company of Claude, who had joined them belatedly.

“So, I flung the gates open just as Rodrick’s forces were about to breach the walls… Oh, by the way, there’s this lunatic named Alfoy. Don’t talk to him—he even fought a goddess once. Do you like gambling?”
“Uh… yeah, sure…”
‘What is with this guy?’

Marquis Gideon felt as though his ears were about to bleed. Claude talked incessantly, jumping from one topic to another with no regard for coherence.
If it had been anyone else, Gideon would have yelled at them to shut up. But Claude was, as he loudly proclaimed, the second-in-command of the Ruthanian forces.
Gritting his teeth, Gideon endured the ordeal.

Thus, the armies of two kingdoms came together, laying the foundation for a true allied force.
***
“Wait, what? This isn’t Ruthania?”

Jerome blinked, bewildered.
The caravan leader nodded emphatically.
“Yes! This isn’t Ruthania!”

“Aren’t we heading to Ruthania?”
“Well, we’re headed in that direction, but Ruthania isn’t the destination.”
“…”

Jerome crossed his arms, deep in thought. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely remembered hearing something like that.
The problem was he hadn’t paid much attention, brushing off the details when he had climbed aboard.
The caravan leader bowed deeply, expressing his gratitude.

“Regardless, we’re so thankful for your help, mage. Thanks to you, we made it here safely.”
This caravan had been attacked by bandits during their journey, narrowly escaping danger thanks to Jerome. He had pelted the bandits with stones and single-handedly saved the group.
To the members of the caravan, Jerome was nothing short of a hero(?).

Jerome sighed as he glanced at the caravan leader bowing before him.
“Ugh, but I still need to get to Ruthania.”
The mercenary captain hired to guard the caravan let out a booming laugh.

“Wait, you got on without even knowing where we were going? You’re not going to find many caravans heading toward Ruthania nearby.”
Jerome and the mercenary captain had grown friendly during their travels, largely thanks to Jerome’s easygoing nature.
“Ugh, so how much farther is it? I’m terrible with directions.”

“What kind of mage are you? If you’re heading there, you’ll need to cross at least a few kingdoms.”
“Hmm, should I just hitch another ride with another caravan?”
“Can’t you use magic to get there faster?”

“Too much effort. Plus, using magic all the time is exhausting. And I wouldn’t get to see the sights.”
The captain shook his head in disbelief.
To be honest, he was still skeptical of Jerome’s magical prowess. All he had seen so far was Jerome’s so-called “Magic Missile”, which looked suspiciously like throwing rocks.

The mercenary captain gave Jerome a pitying look.
“These days, it’s tough to find caravans, especially near Ruthania. Mercenaries are hard to come by, too.”
“Why’s that?”

“I heard recently that your Ruthanian Count—or rather, Duke Fenris—has been recruiting mercenaries on a massive scale.”
“For what?”
“For what else? There’s a civil war. They’re probably gearing up for battle.”

“Hmm, makes sense.”
“Well, we’ve got to head out now. Be careful not to run into the Salvation Order or any rebels. Thanks for your help. Maybe we’ll run into each other again someday.”
“Sure thing. It was fun.”

And with that, Jerome parted ways with the caravan, now left to figure out his next steps. He chewed on his lip, running his hands through his hair in frustration.
“Ugh, this is so annoying!”
Jerome hailed from a mage tower unknown to the wider continent—a secretive institution dedicated to passing its teachings down through a single successor.

When the Salvation Order began to rise and the continent was thrown into chaos, Jerome had emerged into the world.
The mage tower’s purpose—and the last wish of Jerome’s mentor, who had taught him everything—was to step into the fray during times of turmoil and offer aid.
The problem was that Jerome had little knowledge of the outside world, having grown up entirely within the confines of the mage tower.

“Hah, I should’ve traveled more before all this happened.”
Jerome had been a shut-in, rarely leaving the vicinity of the mage tower. Calling it a “tower” was generous—it was more like a modest countryside home.
But he had a duty to fulfill. He decided to align himself with a faction fighting against the Salvation Order, after collecting rumors and choosing Fenris as his ally.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t even made it to Ruthania before getting completely lost.
It seemed like he still had a long way to go, and to make matters worse, he had no idea how to get there.
“Maybe I’ll take a few days to rest and think this over.”

Having camped out recently, Jerome felt mentally exhausted. He decided to find an inn, where he promptly fell into bed and slept.
Wrapping himself in a blanket, he thought, “Mmm, this is nice. I could stay like this forever. I’ve done nothing, but I really want to rest even harder.”
For days, Jerome lazed around, but he couldn’t shake the nagging guilt.

“Ugh, I’ve had enough of slacking off. Not like there’s anything fun to do anyway.”
The ongoing conflict had made leisure activities scarce. Fine dining and sightseeing were out of the question in these turbulent times.
Jerome clicked his tongue as he wandered through the city. The economic turmoil and struggles of daily life had drained the people’s energy.

Even so, news traveled fast. Everyone was desperate for information to navigate the chaos. Jerome, too, picked up on the latest rumors.
“What? Ruthania ended its civil war? And Fenris became a Duke?”
Jerome smiled to himself. “See, I knew I chose the right guy. Would’ve been fun if I’d gotten there earlier, though.”

“Hm, so he’s formed an allied force and is heading to assist other kingdoms? Guess I don’t need to go all the way to Ruthania, then.”
It was a relief—he hadn’t wanted to make the journey anyway. Now, he could just join the allied forces directly.
“Maybe I’ll help out here for a bit before moving on. Can’t just sit around doing nothing forever.”

Jerome set off leisurely toward a frontline fortress engaged in fighting rebels.
Given that this kingdom seemed to be holding its own against the Salvation Order and the rebels, he wasn’t too concerned. A few days of assistance should be enough to make a difference.
It wasn’t hard for Jerome to join the fortress.

“You’re a mage, you say?”
“Yes!”
The knight at the checkpoint eyed Jerome suspiciously. His attire seemed appropriate, but he lacked the typical aura of a seasoned mage.

Instead, he exuded the air of an upbeat troublemaker.
“Can you show me some magic?”
“Of course.”

With a flick of his hand, a small flame hovered above Jerome’s palm.
“Hmm…”
The knight wasn’t impressed. Jerome was clearly a mage, but he didn’t seem particularly powerful.

Still, any mage was better than none. As long as he wasn’t a spy, the knight was inclined to let him through.
“Where’s your mage tower?”
“The Dawn Tower!”

“And where is that?”
“Oh, in a small village near Greenhill in the Kingdom of Foled.”
“Where’s that?”

“It’s, uh… next to the Dawn Tower.”
“…”
“…”

‘Is this guy a spy?’
The knight narrowed his eyes. Jerome sighed. Explaining geography wasn’t his strong suit, having rarely ventured beyond his home.
“It’s far away. Not many people know about it.”

The knight eventually relented. Not knowing every mage tower on the continent was understandable, especially smaller ones. Jerome didn’t seem competent enough to be a spy.
“What’s your Circle, by the way?”
“8th Circle. Can’t seem to make it to the 9th just yet,” Jerome replied with a cheerful grin.

The knight suppressed a laugh.
Even 6th-Circle mages were renowned. Yet, Jerome’s name was entirely unfamiliar.
‘What a ridiculous claim.’

But Jerome’s words were true.
He was none other than the “Eternal Archmage,” third among the Seven Strongest of the Continent in Ghislain’s past life, known as a One-Man Army.