The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 167: Let’s Do Our Best! (1)

“You idiot.”

Amelia ground her teeth the moment she received Harold’s letter.

Timing was everything. Caution was valuable, but being able to seize the right moment was a skill in itself.

Harold was undeniably competent, but his characteristic caution was now holding him back.

“Now isn’t the time for him to be hesitating like this. I told him we’d handle Jurgen. Bernarf, what do you think? Bernarf?”

Amelia, glaring at the letter, frowned and looked up when no response came.

Bernarf was gazing at her face in a daze, his expression entranced.

Amelia pressed her fingers to her forehead, closed her eyes, and exhaled deeply.

‘Sigh, this is my fault. It’s all my fault.’

Truthfully, Bernarf hadn’t been this much of an airhead from the start. When they first met, he’d actually been rather sharp.

But lately, he seemed to live without a single thought.

In a way, it was partially Amelia’s doing. She handled all the planning, and Bernarf merely followed her orders.

Since he’d stopped needing to think, Bernarf spent his time staring at Amelia’s face whenever he could.

And since he claimed he did it because he liked her, she found it difficult to scold him.

“Bernarf!”

“Meeow!”

“Yes? Yes, ma’am!”

Startled by Amelia’s sharp tone—and Bastet’s yowl—Bernarf snapped back to attention, wiping the drool from his chin.

Amelia sighed once more and spoke quickly.

“Since Harold is acting foolishly, we’ll need to make the first move.”

“Doesn’t Count Desmond hate it when things deviate from his plans? Even if we succeed, if we act on our own, he won’t let it slide.”

“That’s why we’ll need to get him to approve it.”

“How?”

“I’ll send Harold false information. Once my father has gathered all his troops, it’ll be too late to act. Harold can probably guess the timing of the mobilization, so if I send him misleading information at the last moment, he’ll have no choice but to take the bait.”

“Ah, that way he’ll be too panicked to keep opposing us. Clever idea.”

“Exactly, and…”

Amelia continued, her gaze turning cold.

“Once we succeed, we’ll need to find a way to bypass Harold and deal with the Duchy directly.”

Bernarf gulped.

Harold had never hidden his disdain for Amelia. The animosity between them was palpable.

While they were on the same side and backed by the Duchy, making open war unlikely, sidelining him politically was no simple task.

But Amelia seemed to have some plan in mind.

Bernarf thought about asking what her plan was, but quickly decided against it.

“If I hear it, it’ll just give me a headache and pile up more work, won’t it?”

When he remained silent, pretending not to care, Amelia picked up another report and asked,

“There are no issues with the dealings on Ghislain’s side, right?”

When the Actium Merchant Guild inquired about trading with Ghislain, Amelia gave her approval without much thought.

Right now, disrupting Ghislain wasn’t as important as ensuring the success of the rebellion and expanding the guild.

She was the type who could readily join hands with the enemy if the need arose.

Her question was merely a routine check, but Bernarf hesitated a little before responding.

“Yes, as expected, they’re purchasing food, materials, and daily necessities. But…”

“But?”

“They’re consistently haggling down the price—by exactly 1 gold each time.”

“What? 1 gold? Not hundreds of gold?”

“Yes, just 1 gold.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. They’re just demanding to have 1 gold knocked off every time. No more, no less.”

“…”

For a long moment, Amelia was speechless.

“Is this bastard trying to mess with me?”

In reality, this was something Claude was doing purely for his own amusement, but Amelia had no way of knowing that.

Who could have guessed that a place like that estate would attract so many lunatics?

Massaging her temples to ease the growing headache, she shook her head.

“Leave it be for now. And send someone to the capital to bring back a few of Ghislain’s cosmetics.”

“What? The cosmetics… why?”

“Just want to see for myself. They say they’re effective, so I might as well give them a try.”

Amelia had already gathered intel on Ghislain’s reputation from the Duchy and events in the capital.

It irritated her to think about him, but she couldn’t deny that Ghislain had risen in status to the point of gaining the Marquis of Branford’s backing.

“If I’d known he was that capable, I would’ve offered him 200,000 gold, not just 20,000. Annoying as he is, he’s a lost asset.”

Amelia’s words, carrying a strange nuance, made Bernarf glance at her uneasily.

“So… does that mean you’re thinking of pursuing the engagement again?”

Amelia was someone who would go to any length to acquire what she wanted.

If she truly regretted losing Ghislain, she might consider reintroducing the engagement proposal.

As Bernarf’s voice trembled with unease, Amelia gave a slight chuckle.

It couldn’t have been easy for him to reveal his feelings so openly.

“No, forget it. Capable or not, he’s still insufferable. I don’t have any fondness for men who stand defiant before me. Besides…”

After a brief pause, Amelia spoke softly.

“There’s no need to hurt my people over someone like him, is there?”

At her words, Bernarf’s face lit up. His heart fluttered, and a warm flush crept across his cheeks.

It was something she only said on rare occasions, but the phrase “my people” somehow felt like it was meant especially for him.

Amelia took her seat, holding Bastet in her arms, and poured wine into her glass.

“What are you waiting for? Get moving. Make sure the preparations for the grand operation are flawless.”

“Yes, ma’am! Understood!”

With a brightened expression, Bernarf gave her a salute and withdrew.

Watching him leave, practically brimming with excitement, Amelia shook her head.

“Could it make him that happy? Really… Bastet, what do you think?”

Meow.

Bastet responded with a pleasant purr, rubbing its head against her chest.

With an unreadable smile, Amelia savored her wine.

* * *

Having just finished training the knights-in-training, Ghislain didn’t allow himself a moment’s rest before pressing Claude.

He was in a rush to execute the next stage of his plan.

“Have the slavers made contact yet? What’s the hold-up? Those guys didn’t just run off with my money, did they?”

“You asked the same thing yesterday. They sent word that it would take more time. With the prices as high as they are, it seems they’re moving cautiously.”

Transporting even a single non-human slave was costly.

They were prime targets for bandits and rival lords alike; just capturing one could mean a significant payoff, so their interest was understandable.

Consequently, the slavers had no choice but to take extreme precautions escorting the slaves.

And the non-human slaves Ghislain had requested weren’t just one or two individuals.

With slaves being gathered from numerous branches, delays were inevitable.

“That’s why I specifically told them to gather the dwarves first and send them ahead, even if it meant putting off the other slaves.”

“Well… sigh. These guys live off their reputation. I’m sure they’ll come through. They’ll arrive soon.”

Claude, suppressing the urge to retort, tried to reassure the grumbling Ghislain.

“Send someone to check how far along they are and hurry them up. We don’t have time.”

“Alright, alright, got it.”

After enduring yet another scolding from Ghislain, Claude withdrew, looking drained.

“I guess I’ll just have to ask him again tomorrow.”

With a smirk, Ghislain made his way to the training grounds.

Though he was the busiest man around the estate, he still made time for training whenever he could.

He was all too aware of his enemies’ prowess and couldn’t afford to waste a single moment.

Thud!

“Huff… huff…”

Drenched in sweat and clad in heavy armor, Ghislain let out heavy breaths as he wielded his sword.

This armor had been specially commissioned by him, forged from solid steel hammered to be far thicker than standard armor, and it weighed a hundred kilograms on its own.

Dr-r-r-rkk.

That wasn’t all. Chains were bound around various parts of Ghislain’s body.

At the end of each of those chains hang a heavy weight.

For an ordinary person, simply bearing such a burden would make it nearly impossible to move, let alone breathe under the crushing weight. Yet, he trained in swordsmanship in that very state.

Thud!

With every step, the ground trembled, and a deep, heavy sound echoed all around.

Ghislain slowly swung his sword, feeling the overwhelming weight pressing down on his entire body.

Even a single swing was made with meticulous precision.

Anything less wasn’t training; it would merely be self-inflicted torment.

Ssshhhk.

He focused even on the slightest movements of his fingertips, moving his sword with unwavering precision to its optimal position.

Once one movement was complete, he immediately transitioned to the next, and if there was even the slightest imbalance, he repeated the movement dozens, even hundreds of times.

This was a training method that no ordinary person could replicate, but for Ghislain, it was simply part of his daily regimen.

Through such efforts, he had pushed beyond his natural talents and shattered his own limits.

“Once more.”

Gr-r-rk.

Pain surged through him with every movement. His muscles seemed to scream under the weight, unable to withstand it.

“Endure!”

Ghislain gritted his teeth and forced himself to bear it.

He knew that, through the tearing and healing of his muscles, they would grow tougher and more resilient.

Moreover, thanks to the regenerative powers he had gained since his regression, most wounds healed in an instant.

This meant that even at this very moment, Ghislain’s body was growing at an incredible pace.

Of course, as the injuries increased in size and number, so did the amount of mana required for healing, but Ghislain managed his training alongside his duties, handling matters within the estate during the time it took his fatigued body to recover.

He knew that if he relied solely on his regenerative abilities without rest, his body would eventually break down, so Ghislain always pushed himself only to the very brink.

The accumulation of his experiences instinctively told him when and where to stop for maximum effectiveness.

“Just a little more.”

However, as effective as it was, this was a grueling training method that required resilience and mental fortitude beyond the ordinary.

Whenever he felt like stopping and giving up, Ghislain reminded himself of why he needed to grow stronger, relentlessly pushing himself onward.

In his previous life, he had endured all pain with his teeth clenched, driven solely by the desire for revenge.

And now…

A vow to protect what was precious to him supported him.

Countless enemies lay in wait, targeting him.

The first adversary he had to face: Harold Desmond.

To seize control over the North, a clash with Harold would be unavoidable. Conversely, Harold, too, would aim for Ghislain, driven by his ambition to rule the North.

But for now, Harold was in no position to make any moves just— a limitation which only fueled his resentment.

And then, there was Amelia Raypold, likely forging with her own schemes against Ghislain.
‘Amelia herself was the linchpin in the conquest of the North—a double-edged sword.’

In terms of sheer potential, she could prove even more dangerous than Harold, but eliminating her now would be unwise. Going after Amelia at this point would only prove disadvantageous.

It was far better to draw the enemies’ attention toward her, buying precious time in the process.

If she couldn’t be removed, he’d have to make use of her as much as possible.

In his past life, while crushing Raypold, Ghislain had stumbled upon Amelia’s ambitions and plans by chance.

If he could leverage that knowledge skillfully, it could become a decisive factor in the battles ahead. Eliminating her could wait until after that.

‘Those two aren’t the only enemies I have.’

Even if he managed to defeat them, there were far more dangerous foes lurking behind them.

For now, there was the Delfine Duchy.

As the most powerful faction within the kingdom, the Duke’s faction was also an unavoidable enemy for Ghislain.

Raul and Count Balzac had clearly identified him as a significant threat.

And… Aiden.

In his past life, Aiden had ascended to the ranks of the continent’s top seven, eventually driving the King of Mercenaries, another of the Seven, to his death. Aiden would eventually come after him, bringing along the mysterious powerful individuals that he calls as his allies.

‘I have to reach the heights of my previous life as quickly as possible.’

To face so many enemies, he needed formidable strength.

Claiming Count Cabaldi’s territory and securing iron ore was merely laying the foundation for these inevitable battles.

‘If I grow stronger, I can save even one more person.’

That was why Ghislain couldn’t afford to abandon this painful training.

The mana cultivation technique he practiced boasted explosive power. Though it had a drawback of limited control due to its instability, that issue had been significantly mitigated by his ingestion of the Blood Python’s venom.

Now, it was time to train his body to endure that explosive power.

“Huuuu!”

He swung his sword once more.

He could feel the strain as his muscles, pushed to their limits, began to tear.

‘It’s regrettable, but I’ll have to stop here for today.’

As he set his sword down and took a brief moment to catch his breath, his regenerative power quickly went to work, mending the torn muscles.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, all the while clicking his tongue in mild frustration.

He found himself missing the custom training space he’d created during his days as the King of Mercenaries, where he’d even hired a mage to assist him.

If he could utilize an environment where the very space itself was heavy enough to stimulate every muscle, his training would be vastly more efficient.

‘I’ll have to ask Vanessa to set up a wide-range gravity spell later.’

Thus, he trained Claude relentlessly, tore his muscles, sorted through documents, and then drove Claude even harder—all while waiting.

Finally, the long-awaited news arrived.

“The dwarves have arrived!”