The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 489: For the Sake of the Royal Family (2)

Raul let out a chuckle, unconcerned about whether this might be an enemy ploy.

All it required was sending a single high-ranking priest. If things went awry, they would lose only that one individual.

Losing a transcendent was a significant setback, but no one would orchestrate such an elaborate plan for such a minimal gain.

“Viscount Domont... what a sly creature.”

If the king regained his vitality, Marquis Branford would face serious trouble.

While the pinnacle of royalist power wouldn’t easily crumble, the nobles under Branford’s influence might fracture.

At the center of the emerging power shift, Viscount Domont—who orchestrated this plan—would undoubtedly rise as a pivotal figure.

Domont had always seemed a quiet, steadfast man, which had earned him the position of royal chamberlain.

Yet Raul had underestimated him, never imagining such ambition lay beneath his composed exterior.

“This is truly an excellent opportunity for us.”

If the king started meddling in state affairs again, the chain of command would be thrown into disarray.

For his own authority, the king would inevitably oppose Branford, undermining the very foundation of Branford’s legitimacy as the protector of the royal family.

Success in this endeavor was essential to foment internal discord. With that in mind, Gatros carefully selected the ideal priest for the task.

“Flakus, you must ensure this mission’s success. Do you understand?”

“Yes, rest assured.”

Flakus, a middle-aged man with a kind and gentle appearance, seemed the embodiment of a priest devoted to serving his deity.

Accompanied by Kolhen, Flakus promptly set out for the capital. They needed to act swiftly, before the Kingdom’s army fully regrouped and advanced to the southern frontlines.

The journey posed no significant challenges. As a transcendent, Flakus effortlessly dispatched any bandits they encountered.

“A-amazing,” Kolhen exclaimed in awe.

Flakus responded with a soft smile.

“It’s nothing. If you truly believe in our faith, you too can attain such power. Once this mission succeeds, I shall personally recommend you for a high-ranking position within our Order.”

Kolhen, his face flushed with excitement, nodded fervently. Having already crossed the point of no return, he began to consider joining the Salvation Order if it meant gaining such strength.

I’ve been living like a frog in a well all this time!

Kolhen’s prior assumptions about the Order had been based on the Kingdom’s hostility. Spending time with Flakus had shattered those misconceptions.

The man exuded professionalism and grace, proving that preconceived notions were often unfounded. Determined, Kolhen resolved to see the mission through and claim the power he now desired.

The duo arrived in the capital without incident, facing no opposition.

Viscount Domont warmly welcomed Flakus, overjoyed at his son’s successful completion of the mission.

Now, the real challenge begins.

Domont knew Marquis Branford would already be aware of Flakus’ arrival. The goal now was to bring Flakus before the king before Branford could fully grasp the situation.

Late at night, Domont and Flakus entered the royal palace. Thanks to Domont’s position as chamberlain, they passed unchallenged—until they reached the king’s chambers.

At the entrance, they were intercepted by guards.

“Please wait here for a moment.”

“How dare you. I am here at His Majesty’s summons.”

“You cannot proceed with a companion, sir.”

“...”

Domont had anticipated this. All they could do now was wait for Branford to arrive.

It wasn’t long before Marquis Branford appeared, his expression questioning.

“Chamberlain, who is this person you’ve brought to see His Majesty at such an hour? I understand he was brought here by your son, who returned in a pitiful state. What exactly happened outside the capital?”

As expected, Branford was fully informed. Nothing within the capital escaped his network of spies.

Domont steadied himself before replying.

“His Majesty wishes to meet this man.”

“For what purpose?”

“My son encountered bandits during his journey and narrowly escaped thanks to this man’s assistance. His Majesty expressed a desire to meet him personally to offer his gratitude.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

“Yes. Furthermore, this man is a skilled mage and healer. His Majesty hopes to consult him about his ailment.”

“Very well.”

Branford nodded indifferently, his expression betraying nothing.

“Leave him here, then.”

“His Majesty specifically requested his presence.”

“I cannot permit an unknown individual to meet His Majesty unvetted. He will be thoroughly investigated first. Take him away.”

The guards stepped forward, seizing Flakus by the arms. Flakus tensed, glancing around nervously.

He had been warned this might happen. Domont had instructed him to stay calm and avoid rash actions.

If all else fails, I’ll kill Branford.

While a drastic option, it wasn’t without merit. Eliminating Branford would cost Flakus his life, but he was prepared to sacrifice himself for the Order.

Yet, Flakus hesitated.

The knight beside Branford is no ordinary opponent.

Tolreo, Branford’s captain of the guard, was a top-tier knight. His presence guaranteed Branford enough time to escape if attacked.

Flakus knew this, forcing him to weigh his options carefully. As a priest of the Salvation Order, his combat skills lagged behind, making any attack a one-shot gamble.

Damn it... he’s watching me closely.

Tolreo’s hand hovered near his sword, his keen eyes fixed on Flakus. His vigilance was a testament to his skill as a knight.

What should I do?

The best course was still to meet the king and secure his support. Only then could the Kingdom’s forces be divided or withdrawn.

Flakus resolved to trust Domont a little longer and remained still.

Domont, however, refused to back down.

“How dare you hinder us? His Majesty summoned this man himself!”

“Investigation first. That’s all there is to it.”

“His Majesty’s condition worsens daily! What harm could come from letting this man see him briefly?”

“No mage or priest in the Kingdom has cured His Majesty in over a decade. His condition is one of severe old age. Do you honestly believe this vagabond can succeed where they failed?”

“He is an extraordinary mage. I have verified his abilities personally. Even if he fails, it changes nothing. Why crush even a small glimmer of hope?”

Branford’s gaze turned icy.

“If this man claims he can heal what others could not, then his methods cannot be ordinary. What kind of sorcery is he using on our king?”

“W-what are you implying—?”

“Take them both. We’ll investigate thoroughly,” Branford ordered coldly.

Guards surrounded Domont and Flakus, shackling them.

Flakus swallowed hard.

Is this a failure?

The opportunity for a surprise attack had passed. While he could defeat the guards, assassinating Branford now was impossible.

Domont gritted his teeth, refusing to yield. Raising his voice, he stalled for time, knowing reinforcements were his only hope.

And reinforcements came.

“Stop!”

Branford turned, his face darkening as he recognized the newcomers.

It was the Royal Knights, led by Count Palance, the Kingdom’s Swordmaster and Captain of the Royal Guard.

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“What is the meaning of this, Count Palance?” Branford demanded.

“It is His Majesty’s order. Stand down.”

“What?”

“His Majesty has arrived.”

The Royal Knights parted, revealing the frail figure of King Berhem, carried on the back of a knight.

Berhem’s bloodshot eyes locked onto Branford.

“I... summoned him. Did I not say so?”

“Your Majesty, this man’s identity is unclear.”

“Did I not... summon him!”

“...”

“How dare you... defy me so openly!”

“For the sake of the royal family.”

“I am the royal family! Without me... this Kingdom means nothing! How are you any different from that woman!”

Berhem’s shout turned into a coughing fit, blood foaming at his lips. His eyes rolled back as panic spread among the onlookers.

“Your Majesty!”

A royal mage rushed forward, channeling magic to stabilize the king’s condition.

Count Palance turned to Branford.

“Let it go, just for today. His Majesty is in a precarious state.”

Branford clenched his teeth, glaring at Domont. The chamberlain had clearly orchestrated this.

Dragging everyone away now would mean clashing with the Royal Knights—an option Branford wasn’t willing to take.

After a moment of hesitation, Branford gave a slight bow to the king.

“I will take my leave for now.”

As he departed, his mind echoed with Berhem’s words:

How are you any different from that woman?

He knew the truth. He had become the very thing he despised in his youth: a shadowy manipulator.

Yet, what choice did he have? The Kingdom teetered on collapse.

Nobles’ corruption reached the skies, the Ducal faction waged war on the royal family, heretics roamed free, and monsters threatened the land.

Branford bore the weight of holding it all together. Without him, the Kingdom would crumble.

Please, Your Majesty... don’t do anything reckless.

This wasn’t about his own survival—it was for the royal family, and for the Kingdom itself.

But another thought haunted him.

Ghislain Fenris.

Ghislain had risen rapidly with Branford’s backing, amassing the Kingdom’s strongest army.

Their relationship had been one of mutual benefit, but Fenris’s pragmatic ruthlessness made him a dangerous ally.

If I fall...

Without Branford’s moderating influence, Fenris might turn his blade toward the royal family.

Branford prayed his instincts were wrong. If the royal family were to collapse, so too would the Kingdom.

***

Berhem lay on his bed, his breathing shallow and labored.

His eyes fluttered, heavy with exhaustion. A mix of frustration and despair churned within him.

He cast a pleading glance toward Flakus, the priest of the Salvation Order, and spoke with a strained voice.

“I can feel... my life slipping away...”

“I will examine you,” Flakus replied, his voice calm and reassuring.

Berhem’s eyes glistened with a faint hope as he pleaded.

“Yes... heal me... make me like one of your own... If you do... I will grant you the Royal Family’s Treasure... and everything else you desire...”

Flakus clasped Berhem’s frail hand, offering a gentle smile.

“Do not worry, Your Majesty.”

“I have been a king... yet I have never truly lived as one... My entire life, I have been but a puppet... I cannot die like this. If you heal me... I will reclaim my throne and make the Salvation Order the kingdom’s state religion...”

“Your words are both humbling and inspiring, Your Majesty. I will ensure you are healed.”

Flakus raised his hand, and dark energy began to swirl around it.

The sight made Viscount Domont and Count Palance swallow nervously.

For Palance, a transcendent warrior, the ominous aura emanating from Flakus felt tangibly threatening. Though he had only heard rumors of such power, its sinister nature was unmistakable.

Yet, for the sake of the king, Palance resolved to endure this unease. He had sworn to serve Berhem to the end.

I will protect him.

If the Salvation Order attempted any treachery, Palance vowed to intervene. Though his reputation might not surpass that of Count Balzac, the kingdom’s foremost blade, he had unshakable faith in his own abilities.

Combat was unpredictable, but Palance had walked a path of excellence, bolstered by unwavering royal support. He was confident in his ability to shield the king.

I won’t let them succeed.

The dark energy around Flakus’s hand intensified, swirling like a living entity.

Flakus brought his hand closer to Berhem’s chest, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

“Soon, Your Majesty... you shall even begin the hunt for lions.”

As he spoke, his ever-gentle smile contorted grotesquely into something monstrous.