The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 442: I Knew You’d Pull It Off (1)
The barbarian warriors struggled to respond effectively to the Rayfold cavalry's flanking assault.
While the enemy forces at the front were holding their ground, the cavalry attacking the sides were far from insignificant, causing their formation to quickly unravel and falter.
A disorganized army inevitably had its strength dispersed.
Boom!
The Rayfold forces, which had seemed to be on the back foot until now, launched an overwhelming counteroffensive against the barbarians.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The shields parted, and spears thrust forward in unison. The barbarian warriors, unable to defend themselves properly, were impaled without mercy.
"Aaaagh!"
"What are you doing?! Push them back!"
"Block the sides first!"
The warriors were in complete disarray, and no one stepped forward to lead them. The command unit was preoccupied with holding off Ghislain, leaving no one to rally the troops.
Though the tribal war chiefs were present, they lacked the ability to manage such a large force.
Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!
The Rayfold army methodically slaughtered the disoriented barbarians as they advanced.
Their movements were eerily precise, like emotionless puppets, creating a chillingly cold and calculating impression on anyone watching.
Thud!
As the heavy infantry of the Rayfold army pressed forward, the barbarians' formation disintegrated further.
Though the barbarians were strong in attack, their lack of armor made them ill-suited to withstand the sudden and relentless assault of the cavalry.
They attempted to turn the tide of battle, but it was too late. Their ranks had collapsed, and their command structure was in complete disarray.
It didn’t matter how many there were; their chaotic fighting style was little different from individuals fighting alone.
In battle, the side whose morale breaks first determines the outcome. Thus, the importance of maintaining resolve is always emphasized.
For the barbarians, who lived as raiders, this was a lesson they had never learned.
"Damn it! Run!"
"Fall back and regroup!"
"Regroup? Are you an idiot?! We’re getting slaughtered!"
The warriors at the rear began fleeing first. Seeing no way to salvage the situation, they instinctively prioritized their own survival.
Barbarians were known for their love of battle but had no sense of honor or loyalty.
Once a retreat began, it quickly became irreversible. Warriors who had no intention of fleeing earlier began following suit.
The real problem lay with those trapped in the middle. They had no clear path of escape.
"Just head for the river!"
"Let’s cross it!"
"Hurry!"
Soon, warriors began throwing themselves into the river, desperate to swim to the other side and escape.
Amelia's Ruthless Command
Amelia, observing the battlefield from afar, extended her hand toward the river.
Creeeak...
The archers positioned at the rear adjusted their aim and drew their bowstrings.
"Fire."
Whoosh!
A rain of arrows descended upon the riverbank.
Countless arrows pierced the fleeing barbarian warriors, their unarmored bodies offering no protection.
"Aaaaagh!"
Amelia turned her gaze away as the barbarians’ screams echoed across the battlefield.
Boom! Boom!
The Rayfold mages, who had been standing by, joined the fray, carefully targeting the barbarians while avoiding their allies.
The Rayfold forces were completely overwhelming the barbarians. Victory seemed assured if they kept pressing forward.
Any remaining warriors in the rear would be dealt with by Ghislain.
Ghislain’s Relentless Assault
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Ghislain, atop his black steed, Black King, continued his rampage.
The barbarian warriors, distracted by Ghislain’s presence, were unable to properly respond to the combined assaults of the Fenris and Rayfold forces. Their ranks were in chaos, and they relied solely on their numbers to hold out.
But it was only a matter of time before they all fell.
Woroca's Desperation
"W-what the hell is this...?"
Woroca was in turmoil. He knew he needed to regain control, but with attacks coming from all directions, he didn’t know where to start.
Flash! Boom!
Fire and lightning surged, scattering the warriors in their wake. The mages had entered the fray.
The remaining priests of the Salvation Order were powerless to stop the onslaught.
"Hold the line! Stop them! Don’t run—stand your ground!"
All Woroca could do was scream at his troops to hold their positions. Despite having superior numbers, they were being utterly crushed.
As he shouted, Woroca turned his head, sensing an ominous presence. He froze momentarily.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Ghislain, shrouded in a dark crimson aura, was carving through warriors as he charged directly toward him.
Ghislain's Deadly Path
The warriors, unable to contain Ghislain, were being swept aside like leaves in a storm.
Monga, a war chief standing next to Woroca, rushed forward, swinging his axe at Ghislain.
Clang!
The axe shattered upon impact with Ghislain’s spear.
Before Monga could react, Ghislain’s spear swung again, beheading him in one swift motion.
"Grrk..."
Ghislain, surrounded by a menacing black and crimson haze, was unstoppable.
Though the toll on his body was heavy from using such immense power, it was a price he was willing to pay to boost his allies’ morale and minimize their losses.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
With every swing of his spear, Ghislain felled the elite warriors guarding Woroca.
"You bastard!"
Woroca roared, swinging his massive axe at the charging Ghislain.
Crash!
For the first time, Ghislain’s spear was blocked.
The Battle’s Turning Point
Woroca, one of the North’s strongest warriors, had no illusions about defeating Ghislain.
‘Kustow couldn’t beat him and died.’
Kustow had been one of the North’s greatest warriors, and even he had fallen to a weaker Ghislain.
Now, with crimson eyes glowing and shrouded in black smoke, Ghislain looked more like a demon than a man.
As if reading his thoughts, Ghislain smirked and spoke.
"Don’t be so scared. I’m not the one who’s going to kill you."
"What?"
Suddenly, someone leapt from behind Ghislain.
Woroca quickly stepped back, raising his axe defensively.
Clang!
It was a young warrior, his eyes blazing with determination.
"Who the hell are you?" Woroca asked, his voice tinged with incredulity.
"Arel."
"What? Who’s that supposed to be?"
"The one who’s going to kill you."
Arel’s presence burned like fire, his killing intent palpable.
Ghislain, watching Woroca’s disbelief, chuckled.
"He’s my disciple. If you beat him, I’ll let you live. I’ll even give you a clear path to escape."
Woroca’s face flushed with humiliation. Yet, behind his anger, he realized the futility of their situation.
"Don’t Forget That Promise."
With a savage grin, Woroca swung his axe toward Arel like a bolt of lightning. If his opponent had been Ghislain, he might have hesitated, but there was no way that the greatest warrior of the North would lose to a mere upstart like this.
Boom!
Woroca’s axe collided with Arel’s sword, the clash sending shockwaves through the battlefield.
Ghislain glanced at the duel briefly before resuming his methodical elimination of the surrounding warriors, ensuring that the duel would remain undisturbed.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
'What’s with this kid?'
Woroca gritted his teeth as he swung his axe repeatedly, but Arel wasn’t an ordinary opponent. Despite his youthful appearance, his skill was undeniable.
More than that, there was an overwhelming fury radiating from him—a determination so fierce it was as though he had already decided that Woroca was going to die by his hand.
Clang!
As their weapons clashed again, Woroca growled a question.
"What, do you have some kind of grudge against me?"
"I will avenge my village and my family."
"You crazy bastard. Who even keeps track of that kind of thing?"
Woroca sneered, a mocking smile spreading across his face. The situation was clear to him now.
He had raided countless villages in his life, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake. This boy must be a survivor from one of those raids.
Seeing the sneer on Woroca’s face, Arel clenched his teeth tightly.
'I will kill him, no matter what.'
To Arel, the barbarians were eternal enemies who had tormented the North endlessly. Now, all of his rage and hatred were focused on their leader, Woroca.
If it were possible, Arel would have slaughtered every last barbarian himself, but such a feat was impossible. However, winning this war would ensure their complete downfall.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The two clashed once more, the ferocity of their strikes escalating.
Under Ghislain’s tutelage, Arel had grown into an exceptional warrior. The fact that he was holding his own against one of the North’s greatest warriors, Woroca, was proof of that.
"What the hell?! How can a brat like this be so skilled?!"
Woroca couldn’t believe it.
He knew Fenris harbored many powerful warriors beyond the crimson demon Ghislain, but he had never imagined an upstart like Arel could fight him to a standstill.
Clash! Clash! Clash!
Arel’s sword cut through the air with sharp, deadly precision, bearing a striking resemblance to Ghislain’s swordsmanship.
The knights of Fenris might have aspired to grow stronger, but their natural dispositions and ingrained habits often made it difficult for them to sustain their drive. This was why Ghislain had to enforce rigorous training upon them.
But Arel was different.
'I’ve been waiting for this moment!'
Arel had lost his family, friends, and entire village to the barbarians. He was determined to never lose anyone else again.
Fueled by his unyielding desire for revenge, Arel had trained tirelessly, pushing himself to his limits without needing anyone to force him.
Recognizing Arel’s potential, Ghislain had taught him advanced mana techniques and his personal swordsmanship, both of which were perilous but immensely powerful.
Through relentless self-discipline, Arel had surpassed the level of the knights within the Fenris domain.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Their weapons sparked with every clash as they continued their relentless exchange.
"This brat...!"
Woroca’s pride took a heavy blow as his eyes twitched with frustration.
Realizing he couldn’t best Arel with skill alone, he changed his approach.
"Stop messing around, kid!"
Whoosh!
Woroca abandoned defense entirely and began to relentlessly drive Arel back with brute force.
Whoosh!
Wounds began to appear all over Woroca’s body.
Yet he didn’t stop his ferocious assault, avoiding only fatal injuries and putting everything into ending the fight with a single decisive blow.
Like a raging bear, Woroca unleashed his raw fury. Though cautious and calculating in thought, in battle he displayed the full spirit of a warrior.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Each time their weapons clashed, Arel’s sword quivered under the immense pressure. Realizing he could retreat no further, Arel planted his feet firmly on the ground.
Believing he had gained the upper hand, Woroca swung his axe with all his might, roaring:
This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.
"Die!"
He poured all his strength into this strike, aiming to cleave Arel in two.
Boom!
Unable to withstand Woroca’s monstrous power, Arel’s sword shattered. The axe that broke his blade continued its trajectory, slicing a long gash across Arel’s chest.
Slash!
Blood erupted from the wound.
Woroca grinned savagely and raised his axe again, ready to finish the job.
The first strike had missed its mark slightly, but he was confident he could correct it with the next one.
Whoosh!
Thunk!
“What?! What just happened?”
As Arel extended his hand, the descending axe veered off course. It was a technique Ghislain had taught him—one that allowed him to expel mana outward to manipulate his surroundings.
Though Arel couldn’t yet use it as fluidly as Ghislain, it was enough to avert disaster in a moment of crisis.
Despite the immense power behind Woroca’s strike, the slight shift in force caused the axe to deviate significantly from its intended path.
Crash!
The axe buried itself deeply into the ground.
Seizing the opportunity, Arel darted forward and swung his broken blade at Woroca.
"You..."
For a brief moment, Woroca saw it—the searing hatred burning in Arel’s eyes.
In any other situation, it would have been nearly impossible for Arel, with his broken sword, to land a fatal blow on Woroca’s massive frame. But with the axe embedded in the ground, Woroca’s upper body was bent low.
The opening was all Arel needed. His shattered blade drove straight into Woroca’s throat.
Thunk!
"Guhh!"
But Woroca didn’t die immediately. Even in this state, he reached for his axe, attempting to fight back.
Gritting his teeth, Arel yanked the blade free and stabbed again.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Each thrust carried the weight of his emotions.
"This is my revenge!"
He poured into every strike the memory of his parents who had died defending their village from the barbarians.
He poured in the memory of his neighbors who had perished fighting alongside him.
He poured in the despair he had felt as he watched his home burn and the grief that had consumed him when he saw the lifeless bodies of his friends.
All the emotions he had bottled up, enduring in silence for so long, now erupted in a flood of rage and anguish.
"Aaaaargh!"
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Tears of blood streamed down Arel’s face as he continued to stab at Woroca’s neck without stopping.
The world around him blurred into nothingness. In his mind, all his pain and fury were directed solely at the barbarian chieftain.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
"Grrrk..."
Blood frothed from Woroca’s mouth as his grip on life slipped away. His axe had long since fallen from his hands.
Though his resilience was remarkable, it was clear that his end had come.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Thud.
Finally, a hand grasped Arel’s arm, stopping him.
"Lord Ghislain..."
Ghislain’s voice broke through Arel’s trance as he looked up at his mentor, his face twisted into something unrecognizable—an expression of pure hatred and anguish.
"It’s over."
Ghislain’s calm voice brought Arel back to his senses.
Looking down at Woroca, Arel saw the light had already left his eyes.
Letting go of the barbarian’s lifeless body, Arel watched it slump to the ground with a heavy thud.
The End of the War
Immediately, cheers erupted from the surrounding soldiers.
"Amazing!"
"That’s our lord’s disciple for you!"
"I knew he was special from the moment I saw him train!"
The knights and soldiers, who had already broken through the enemy lines, gathered around in celebration.
The barbarian forces were in complete disarray, unable to flee or resist any longer. One by one, they fell.
Panting heavily, Arel stood amidst the praise, his mind still reeling.
The reality of having defeated Woroca hadn’t yet sunk in.
Ghislain approached him with a smile.
"How does it feel?"
"I..."
For a moment, Arel struggled to respond as emotions welled up inside him. A mix of relief, exhaustion, and sorrow overwhelmed him.
But most of all...
"It feels as though the fire that’s been burning inside me has finally been extinguished."
No matter how much he meditated or trained, the pain and anger that had gnawed at him refused to fade.
For so long, he had kept those feelings buried deep within, not wanting to burden others or disrupt the estate.
Ghislain had understood this. Seeing Arel pour everything into his training with a hardened expression, Ghislain had seen a reflection of himself.
Now, perhaps, Arel could finally begin to find peace.
"You did well."
Ghislain’s warm words brought a look of gratitude to Arel’s face.
"...Thank you."
Without Ghislain’s guidance, Arel could never have come this far. It was thanks to his mentor’s teachings that he had grown strong enough to defeat the barbarian chieftain.
Looking out over the battlefield, Arel murmured:
"This is enough for me."
He was satisfied. He had avenged the people of his village who had been trampled underfoot by the barbarians.
And now, with Woroca dead, the barbarians’ fate was sealed.
Holding up Woroca’s severed head, Arel shouted with all his might:
"Woroca, Grand Chief of the Taeyangdol Tribe, is dead!"
It was a cry of triumph that released all the pain and sorrow he had carried for so long.
The battle was over, and the war with the barbarians had come to an end.
The North would no longer suffer under their invasions—a victory that meant even more to Arel than his personal vengeance.
