The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations (light Novel)

As the conscripts collapsed and surrendered, the faces of the Atrode army's commanders turned pale.
“What… what are they doing?! Get up! Get up and fight, damn it!”
The enforcer squads drew their weapons and advanced to intimidate the conscripts.

But as soon as they moved, the conscripts scrambled on the ground to flee, some even cowering behind the Ruthanian forces.
The Atrode commanders were in disarray. This outcome hadn’t even crossed their minds.
“T-This… how is this happening?”

“This isn’t even like suppressing rebelling peasants…”
“What are we supposed to do now?”
At first, their plan seemed sound. They thought their opponents were playing into their hands.

Even weak conscripts could overwhelm knights when their numbers reached thousands—or tens of thousands.
That was the power of numbers, and they intended to exploit it.
They had planned to force Ruthania into a bloodbath, no matter how many conscripts died.

But instead, the enemy had chosen to spare them. The insurmountable disparity in strength had caused the conscripts to surrender voluntarily.
Ghislain stepped forward with a ferocious grin, now unimpeded by any conscripts.
“What’s wrong? Did you really think I’d slaughter them all like you wanted?”

In war, Ghislain was as ruthless as anyone. If anyone stood in his way, he wouldn’t hesitate to cut them down.
That was the nature of war.
But if killing the enemy’s commanders or forcing a surrender could end the battle, Ghislain would always choose that path.

It minimized his army’s losses and allowed him to gain control over the enemy’s forces.
And right now, if he didn’t need to kill them, then he wouldn’t.
He also refused to play into his enemies’ hands.
“If I started a massacre here, you’d just keep throwing more people in my way, wouldn’t you?”

The Atrode army was running out of soldiers. Even if they lost this battle, the deaths of all these conscripts would provide justification to keep dragging more civilians into the war.
To the Cult of Salvation, human lives were worthless. After all, hadn’t they already used countless sacrifices to create rifts?
“I’m not interested in killing weaklings.”

If that was what his enemies wanted, then he was determined not to give it to them.
He would make it clear that such schemes were pointless.
“All of you, get up and clear the way. You’re obstructing our advance. Run—I will permit it.”

Ghislain’s voice, though quiet, carried a firm resolve that echoed across the battlefield.
The conscripts leapt to their feet and bolted to the sides, scrambling to get out of the way. From afar, it almost looked as if they were Ruthanian citizens fleeing their own army.
The path was now wide open. The Ruthanian army reassembled into formation.

The forces waiting in the rear also began to move forward.
Hiiiiing!
The Black King let out a long, thunderous neigh as it surged forward. Ghislain mounted it in a single motion, drawing the spear hanging from his saddle.

“From this point on, anyone who stands in my way will die.”
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The knights and assault troops discarded their batons and drew their swords. The Mobile Corps reattached their spearheads to their polearms.

The Atrode forces could only watch in stunned silence.
The remaining Atrode soldiers numbered just 20,000. Overwhelmed by the sheer power disparity, they were paralyzed with fear.
The mass surrender of their conscripts had also shattered their morale.

Dudududududu!
Ghislain rode forward on the Black King, followed closely by the superhumans and the Ruthanian forces.
Among the Atrode commanders, gathered from various fortresses, the highest-ranking officer, Marquis Taboc, shouted desperately.

“Hold them back! Fight to the death!”
The moment he finished shouting, however, Marquis Taboc turned his horse around and fled, his personal guards following closely behind.
Seeing this, the other commanders and mages also began to flee. They had realized that there was no hope of victory.

The soldiers preparing to charge were left dumbfounded. Their morale, already at rock bottom, completely collapsed when their commanders fled.
These weren’t elite troops. They were barely better than the conscripts they had forced to the frontlines.
Seeing their confusion and disarray, Ghislain bellowed.

“If you don’t want to fight, get out of my way!”
BOOOOOM!
Ghislain’s spear erupted with a crimson glow. From this point forward, anyone who stood in his way would be cut down without mercy.

The Atrode soldiers scattered to the sides. With their commanders gone, they had no reason to fight.
The Atrode formation split in two, opening a clear path.
Dudududududu!

Ghislain galloped through the gap, his forces trailing behind him.
“Round up the prisoners and stand by!”
At his command, the Ruthanian army halted. They surrounded the Atrode soldiers and forced them to disarm.

Ghislain alone continued his pursuit of the fleeing commanders and mages.
“Come on, Kong. Let’s really stretch our legs this time.”
Fwoooosh!

Though he wasn’t using Amplification, Ghislain’s mana flared brilliantly, enveloping both him and the Black King in a crimson glow.
Tututututututu!
The Black King’s hoofbeats thundered across the ground as the pair became a streak of red light, surging forward.

BOOOOM!
It was as if the blood-soaked demon who had terrorized the northern barbarians had returned.
Marquis Taboc, glancing behind him, froze in terror.

The crimson-cloaked figure was closing in at an impossible speed, a veritable demon shrouded in blood.
Who had ever dared call the Cult of Salvation “demons”?
It was this man—the one who had crushed countless fortresses and sought to destroy their kingdom—he was the real demon.

“S-Stop him! Stop that devil!”
The fleeing mages and knights realized they couldn’t outrun their pursuer.
Thanks to the gathered fortress troops, there were nearly 100 knights and mages combined.

Though the mages were low-circle and incapable of casting high-level spells, there were still 20 of them.
The mages unleashed all their magic at Ghislain in a desperate attempt to slow him down.
Fwooooosh!

Flames erupted from their hands and hurtled toward him. They didn’t expect to kill him; they just hoped to buy time.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Ghislain didn’t even try to dodge. He barreled straight through the spells, completely unscathed, his speed unimpeded.

“H-Heek!”
The mages screamed in panic. Even superhumans would usually flinch when struck by magic.
But this man charged forward as if the flames hadn’t even touched him. And somehow, even his horse remained unscathed.

“He’s catching up!”
The knights turned their horses around, drew their swords, and charged at Ghislain.
They gritted their teeth and steeled themselves. Their only hope lay in their numbers.

Ghislain’s crimson eyes flared as he swung his spear.
BOOOOOOM!
“Aaaaaargh!”

The knights screamed as their bodies were torn apart.
These were fortress troops, not elite warriors. Most were low-level knights, with only their captain barely approaching mid-level.
They couldn’t withstand even a single strike from Ghislain. More than half of them died instantly.

Still, Ghislain didn’t stop.
The surviving knights, now trailing behind, thanked their luck and tried to scatter.
But then Ghislain conjured spears of mana and hurled them in all directions.

Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! Shunk!
“Guh…”
The fleeing knights and mages were skewered by the mana spears and fell lifeless to the ground.

Dudududududu!
Ghislain continued his pursuit, not even sparing them a glance. Despite their head start, the commanders were quickly caught.
“Huff, huff… I-I surrender!”

Slice!
“Please spare me!”
Slice!

“W-Wait—!”
Slice!
Ghislain cut them down one after another, his spear claiming their lives.

In the end, only Marquis Taboc remained.
When Ghislain closed the distance, the marquis leapt off his horse in desperation.
“Waaaah!”

Thud!
Marquis Taboc tumbled to the ground, too terrified to care about his dignity.
“Duke! I am a high-ranking noble of this kingdom! Stop! Let us talk! Let us negotiate!”

Ghislain glared at him with a savage smile.
“Did you really think you could fool me? Did you think throwing those conscripts at me would accomplish anything?”
Ghislain loved war. He relished battles where he risked his life to claim victory.

But that didn’t mean he enjoyed slaughter. On the contrary, he loathed those who dragged the weak into war.
In his previous life, Peridium had slaughtered even the elderly and children who couldn’t fight.
He had seen their bodies with his own eyes. He still remembered that pain and rage.

And now, they dared to force him into the same atrocity.
Marquis Taboc didn’t understand. He groveled for his life.
“I-I only followed orders! I was defending the kingdom! This is how war works! Show me the courtesy owed to a noble!”

Ghislain stared coldly down at him. What did these fools think this war was?
Did they really believe they could hide behind their titles and survive?
“So your war is one where you drive the weak to their deaths?”

Ghislain raised his spear, its crimson glow intensifying.
“My war is about eradicating the Cult of Salvation and anyone who sides with them.”
“W-Wait—!”

WHACK!
The crimson spear split Marquis Taboc’s head in two.
And with that, the battle was over. It was a fitting end for someone foolish enough to underestimate Ghislain.

When he returned, the Atrode soldiers had already been disarmed and taken prisoner.
“Send them to the rear with a few escorts. They’ll be reorganized and put to work rebuilding.”
The soldiers had merely followed orders. Those who survived would eventually serve as laborers for reconstruction.

The Ruthanian army resumed its advance. Nothing stood in their way.
The allied forces were also advancing smoothly. The Atrode army hadn’t stood a chance. They had merely bought time.
Now, only the defenders of the capital remained.

Ghislain turned his gaze toward the direction of the Kingdom of Grimwell.
“Is this relic really more important to you than this war?”
He still couldn’t understand. Why would they prioritize the relics so desperately, even at the cost of sound strategy?

It weighed on him.
He felt like there were still secrets he didn’t know—secrets that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.
Unconsciously, his hand reached up to touch the Saintess’s necklace hanging around his neck.

***
“Khh… Khh… Khhh…”
In the grand hall of Grimwell’s royal castle, Gatros stood drenched in blood, laughing darkly.

The remaining two pillars of the kingdom had indeed been formidable. But against the overwhelming forces of the Cult of Salvation and the Atrode army, even their might had crumbled.
Ultimately, they breached the castle and succeeded in capturing the king.
“If you had spoken willingly, you would’ve had an easier death.”

Gatros muttered to himself, his voice dripping with mockery.
Lying before him was the dead body of Grimwell’s king, a gaping hole torn through his stomach. Yet Gatros didn’t spare the corpse even a glance.
“Yes… Yes, this is it. This is how it should be.”

His feverish, bloodshot eyes were locked on the bracelet in his hand.
It was a plain, unassuming bracelet—almost laughably simple. And that simplicity only deepened his certainty.
He had already seen the necklace in Ruthania.

There was no way something this insignificant could be treated as a royal treasure. And yet, Grimwell had guarded it with the utmost reverence.
“If this really is the Saintess’s bracelet…”
Then they would finally find the true King who once led the Cult of Salvation.

No—if they didn’t find him, the King would come to them.
That was the nature of the relic’s calling.
But he had to confirm whether this was truly a relic. If they still possessed the Chalice, they could verify its authenticity immediately. However, that had already been stolen by Duke Fenris.

Gatros’s bloodshot eyes widened in frustration, his teeth grinding audibly as he screamed.
“Bring me the sacrifices at once! I will awaken the power of the relic with the blood of ten thousand!”
His heart pounded violently, barely contained within his chest.

Ever since his failure in Ruthania, an unbearable anxiety had taken root in him. But now, standing before what he believed to be a Saintess’s relic, he was trembling with manic excitement.
Still, the shadow of doubt haunted him. What if this isn’t the relic?
Inside him, hope and fear warred relentlessly.

“No, don’t leave it to chance! Kill everyone in this capital! Make absolutely certain we have enough blood! Leave no living thing—not a single insect!”
Gatros’s deranged screams echoed through the grand hall, shaking the air with their fury.
Soon, in the center of Grimwell’s capital, the Cult of Salvation’s priests began carving a massive magic circle into the ground.

And then…
A massacre began—a slaughter that spared no one, consuming every life in the capital.