The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 483: I Have Questions (1)

Once the battlefield was cleared, the Fenris Mobile Corps began their march again, now escorting the prisoners.

The next step was to join forces with the Kingdom's army and decide on the future course of action.

Ereneth turned to Ghislain and asked,

“Was it necessary to kill them on the spot? We could have spared them temporarily to extract information.”

“They wouldn’t know much about the Salvation Order. Most of the vassals under the Ducal Faction simply follow orders from above.”

“You seem to know them quite well.”

“Well, I do know them fairly well,” Ghislain replied.

In truth, it was his knowledge from a previous life, but Ereneth assumed that Ghislain, as a noble of the kingdom, was naturally well-informed.

Having spent so long confined to the Enchanted Forest, Ereneth relied on Ghislain for such insights.

As they conversed, Ereneth glanced sideways, sensing an intense gaze on her.

It was Parniel, smiling as she stared directly at her.

Ereneth met Parniel’s eyes, sighed, and looked away, not out of fear but because she knew exactly what that fiery gaze meant.

“A saintess this aggressive...”

Parniel, who had declared herself a saintess, seemed restless, as if itching for a fight. It was obvious that she wanted to spar with Ereneth.

It was no wonder, given that she was the saintess chosen by the Goddess of War.

Sigh...

Ereneth sighed as she glanced at Parniel again.

The saintess she had met long ago had been different—noble, self-sacrificing, someone who despised violence and loved all things for the sake of the world.

“Enough.”

Ereneth bit her lip and rubbed her temples. She didn’t want to dwell on the past; nothing would change no matter how much she missed it.

When Ereneth chose to ignore her, Parniel clicked her tongue in disappointment.

As much as she wanted to propose a duel, her status as a saintess made it difficult to openly challenge anyone.

Still, Ereneth’s aura was impressive.

“The world is truly full of extraordinary people.”

The high priests of the Salvation Order had been strong, no doubt, but not strong enough by Parniel’s standards.

However, since joining the Northern Army under Ghislain’s command, she had encountered several remarkable individuals.

Like a predator searching for prey, Parniel scanned her surroundings.

“That woman Belinda isn’t to be underestimated.”

Although Belinda’s aura was weaker than her own, her skills, even from a brief observation, were almost transcendent. If Belinda were to launch a sudden attack, Parniel knew she would sustain severe injuries before she could fight back.

When Parniel subtly suggested a duel, Belinda responded with a nonchalant wave and a sly smile.

“I’m not really into that sort of thing. Besides, I have too much to do. Hohoho.”

Despite her casual demeanor, Belinda seemed like the type who would laugh while stabbing someone if provoked.

And Belinda wasn’t the only one.

Gillian also seemed formidable.

The aura emanating from his body was overwhelming. After observing him a few times, Parniel noticed that his combat style bore similarities to her own.

Facing an attack fueled by such aura would chill anyone to the bone. Not only was his spiritual force remarkable, but his technique was equally exceptional.

While a fight with Belinda might give her a headache, a duel with Gillian seemed like it would be exhilarating.

Still, when Parniel floated the idea to him, he politely declined.

“Saintess, you are stronger than I am. There’s no need for us to fight.”

Even if one was stronger, a fight’s outcome was never certain until it happened.

But what could she do if he wasn’t interested? Parniel could only swallow her disappointment.

There was one person who seemed likely to accept her challenge, though...

“Wasn’t his name Kaor?”

His skills appeared exceptional, and his provocative gaze suggested he was always ready for a fight.

However, there was one issue.

“He’s good, but he hasn’t surpassed the wall yet.”

If Kaor could break through that barrier, he would undoubtedly become an outstanding opponent. His raw, primal energy was palpable.

“Ah, damn it! This is so frustrating! Why am I the only one like this?!”

Even his gruff complaints and rough mannerisms made him seem like a wild beast.

For now, Parniel decided to suppress her desires. She could challenge them to duels after the war. Until then, all she could do was hope for strong enemies to appear while fighting the Salvation Order.

Such was the life of the Saintess of War—someone who spread the will of the Goddess through battle and found joy in combat.

Amid this tense atmosphere, the Fenris Army finally encountered the Kingdom’s forces.

“Ahhhhh! Nephewwww!”

Maurice, who had arrived late with the Kingdom’s army, was overcome with emotion and nearly in tears.

The Delphine forces had been completely annihilated, and countless prisoners had been captured and incorporated into the Kingdom’s army.

It was a miraculous turn of events that replenished their war-depleted ranks.

With nothing to fear anymore, Maurice boldly declared,

“With this, haven’t we wiped out everything except for the forces guarding the South? Let’s march on them now! We’ll cut off that damned Duke’s head immediately!”

Ghislain shook his head at Maurice’s enthusiasm.

“Now is the time to regroup and rest. Everyone is too exhausted.”

The Kingdom’s army and allied forces had been fighting without respite, suffering significant losses along the way.

The Northern Army had been busier than any other force, especially the Fenris Mobile Corps.

After moving so relentlessly, a break was necessary. Pushing soldiers to their limits wasn’t always the answer; they needed rest to keep fighting.

Maurice understood this but was reluctant to let the opportunity slip away.

“I know, but you’re aware the South is densely populated and prosperous. If we give them time, they’ll gather more forces. We need to strike now while their armies are decimated!”

In ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t have been wrong. Anyone could see that this was the perfect time for a counterattack.

But Ghislain remained firm.

“The Ducal Faction’s power isn’t exhausted yet. The Salvation Order’s priests will be gathering as well. We need to regroup and prepare for the next war.”

“The next... war?”

“Yes. The priests we’ve encountered so far aren’t all of them, and the same goes for the Ducal Faction’s forces.”

Ghislain’s unyielding stance finally forced Maurice to relent. He sighed deeply.

“Fine, we’ll rest and reorganize for now. But don’t take too long! We can’t afford to miss this chance.”

With that settled, the Fenris forces and Kingdom’s army began their march toward the capital.

The Fenris Army and the Kingdom's forces moved toward the capital. As they drew closer, the soldiers' morale lifted, bolstered by the knowledge of their recent victory.

News of the Delphine forces' annihilation had already spread throughout the capital, and the streets of Cardenia were packed with people eager to witness the triumphant return of the army.

“Wooooah! It’s the Northern Army!”

“Count Fenris is here!”

“We won!”

The crowd’s cheers were deafening, their joy spilling into the streets.

“Blessings of the Goddess upon the Ruthania Kingdom!”

“Count Fenris, please look this way!”

“The Protector of the Kingdom!”

The praise wasn’t just for Ghislain. The citizens knew that many had fought together to defend the kingdom, and they honored all the forces involved.

“You’ve all fought valiantly!”

“Long live the Kingdom’s Army! Long live the Northern Army!”

“The allied forces helped us too!”

The sheer number of troops made it impossible for all of them to enter the capital, so most waited outside while a select few were allowed into the city. These lucky soldiers basked in the citizens’ cheers and the glory of their victory.

Although it was true that the Northern Army had done the lion’s share of the work, the Kingdom’s army had still contributed.

Every soldier, from the lowest ranks to the knights, held their heads high, their weariness replaced with pride. Their backs straightened, and their steps grew confident.

It had been a grueling battle. The southern front was in ruins, and countless lives had been lost.

Yet they had never given up. They had fought relentlessly, constructing defensive lines and holding their ground until Ghislain and the Northern Army could act.

The recognition they now received was overwhelming.

“Sniff...”

“Don’t cry, you idiot.”

“Stand tall.”

One by one, soldiers began to tear up, feeling the weight of their efforts and sacrifices finally being acknowledged.

Ghislain, riding his legendary warhorse, Noir, smiled faintly.

He had experienced similar triumphs in his previous life, but those moments had always felt hollow.

“This is different.”

This time, it was different.

Though it didn’t compare to the elation he’d felt when he had first protected Ferdium, his heart swelled with pride.

This victory wasn’t just about defeating the Ducal Faction—it was about holding back the Salvation Order and their sinister plans.

Though the war wasn’t over, Ghislain decided it was okay to savor this moment, just for a little while.

“Hmm, hmph.”

Maurice, watching the cheers directed overwhelmingly at Ghislain, felt a twinge of jealousy.

He couldn’t deny it, though—Ghislain had been the driving force behind their victory.

“What a remarkable kid.”

Maurice had disliked him at first, seeing him as an arrogant upstart favored by Marquis Branford.

But now?

Ghislain was practically a treasure of the kingdom. Without him, the Royalist nobles would have been wiped out entirely.

Maurice, abandoning his momentary jealousy, smiled broadly.

“I’ve supported him plenty, too, haven’t I? That’s why he’s here now. So, in a way, it’s also thanks to me.”

With that comforting thought, Maurice planned to boast about his role in supporting Ghislain for years to come.

At the gates of the royal palace, Marquis Branford and a host of high-ranking nobles awaited the army’s arrival.

Marquis Branford, observing Ghislain’s approach, smiled warmly.

“The heavens have truly blessed us.”

When Ghislain had first approached him, it had been clear that the young man intended to use him as a stepping stone to achieve his own goals.

But that had turned out to be a stroke of fortune. Despite widespread opposition, Branford had trusted and supported Ghislain—and that trust had paid off spectacularly.

“The greatest investment of my life.”

Though the war wasn’t over, Branford felt confident in their eventual victory.

The Ducal Faction had already lost over 200,000 troops. How much longer could they possibly hold out?

Branford’s confidence stemmed from his lack of knowledge about the true power of the Ducal Faction and the Salvation Order.

“Welcome back. You’ve worked hard,” Branford greeted Ghislain as he dismounted.

“It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been well.”

“Thanks to you, I have. I was quite worried at first, but I never imagined the Northern Army could accomplish so much.”

Branford allowed his emotions to show, his normally stoic demeanor softened by genuine joy.

“Come, let’s head inside. A victory banquet has been prepared, and there’s much I want to hear from you.”

Before any of the other nobles could approach, Branford ushered Ghislain into the palace.

However, Ghislain had other priorities.

“May I request a moment alone with you first?”

“...What is it this time?” Branford’s expression grew wary, as if bracing himself for yet another request.

Ghislain narrowed his eyes, clearly aware of what Branford was thinking.

“Not to ask for anything... I just have a few questions.”

“Hmm. Very well.”

Delaying his discussions with the other nobles, Branford followed Ghislain to a private office within the royal palace.

“So, what is it you wish to know?” Branford asked once they were seated.

Ghislain paused to organize his thoughts. Then, deciding to be direct, he asked,

“I want to know about the Shadow Knights.”

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The mention of the Shadow Knights froze Branford in place. His expression hardened instantly.