The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 543: Looks Like You’ve Got Work to Do (1)

Once the battlefield was cleared, Ghislain introduced Jerome to the group.

“This here is Jerome. He’s an 8th-circle mage from the Dawn Tower. The Dawn Tower is right next to Greenhill Village in the Kingdom of Ruthania. And, since Greenhill is next to the Dawn Tower, don’t bother asking which came first. Anyway...”

Jerome nodded enthusiastically, smiling brightly, until a sudden realization struck him. His expression turned to shock.

“Wha—what?! How do you know so much about me? We only met today!”

Ghislain responded with utmost confidence.

“I know everything.”

“......”

Jerome, dumbfounded, looked around at the others, searching for an explanation.

The rest of the group all nodded in agreement.

“Our lord knows everything.”

“The Duke always knows.”

“He’s practically a prophet.”

Their affirmations only deepened Jerome’s confusion.

Our tower is a secret, passed down to one heir per generation! Even the villagers living next door don’t know about it. How does someone from Ruthania know?!

The situation was beyond logic, but everyone else acted like it was perfectly normal. Feeling like the odd one out, Jerome turned to Julien, who seemed like the most sensible person present.

Julien, with arms crossed, simply looked away.

Jerome stared at him, puzzled.

He doesn’t know either, does he? But he won’t admit it.

By the group’s “standards,” however, Jerome was the strange one. As a mage, he didn’t want to accept this inexplicable phenomenon.

“How—how did you know?!”

Once again, Ghislain responded confidently.

“We’re friends.”

“That makes «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» no sense!”

“It’s a secret.”

Everyone nodded along as if this were a perfectly reasonable explanation. Ghislain never gave a proper reason for knowing things, yet his information was always correct, and his plans always worked.

Parniel, who had been visibly irritated, interjected with a more grounded explanation.

“It’s divine revelation.”

“Divine revelation?”

“There’s a rumor from the capital that Duke Fenris and Archbishop Porisco of the Juana Church are saints. They say he predicted and prepared for a drought through divine revelation from the goddess.”

“O-oh...”

Jerome nodded slowly. That explanation at least made some sense.

Parniel’s smug expression grew. She had been waiting for an opportunity to bring this up.

“Clearly, he receives revelations, whether through dreams or other means. That’s how he’s accomplished so much. Otherwise, it wouldn’t make sense. Isn’t that right, Duke Fenris?”

“......”

Ghislain gulped nervously under Parniel’s challenging gaze.

If he denied the “revelation” claim now, he might find himself subjected to a grueling and infamous heresy interrogation—a scenario Parniel seemed all too eager to see unfold.

Perhaps she was still bitter from the recent battle. Not that it had been intentional, of course.

Ghislain let out a resigned chuckle.

“As expected, the saint’s insight is sharp. Yes, it’s dreams—something like a revelation. I think... it’s probably from Lady Juana.”

“Oh, as expected!”

The priests of the Juana Church who had joined the mobile corps fervently crossed themselves and began praying.

Meanwhile, Piote and several others looked visibly unimpressed.

Even without knowing the details, they were certain Ghislain wasn’t the type to receive divine revelations. That much they were sure of.

Elena muttered quietly under her breath.

“Revelation? Him? More like nonsense...”

She stopped short when Arel nudged her, but her frustration was evident as always.

Amid the awkward atmosphere, Ghislain clicked his tongue lightly.

Well... I have been having strange dreams lately.

He still didn’t know what the dreams meant, but they seemed to hold some significance. If they could provide insights, wouldn’t that be akin to a revelation?

Jerome, for his part, accepted the explanation and nodded. Though he was a mage who bent the rules of the world, he wasn’t one to deny the divine outright.

“Alright, everyone, Jerome’s one of us now. Let’s get along!”

With that, Jerome officially joined the mobile corps. Together, they headed back to the Kingdom of Parsali, where the royal army awaited.

The royal army’s commander, Marquis of Suffolk, was moved to tears as he greeted them.

“Th-thank you! Truly, thank you!”

The kingdom had been on the brink of destruction. The army of undead had been an insurmountable foe.

And yet, the mobile corps had eradicated them entirely.

As expected, the Kingdom of Ruthania’s forces lived up to their reputation as the strongest on the continent.

The soldiers and citizens of the kingdom, upon hearing the news, erupted in cheers.

“Wooohooo!”

New n𝙤vel chapters are published on novelbuddy.cσ๓.

“Glory to the Ruthania army!”

“Hail Duke Fenris!”

Praising a foreign duke and his army was not something to be done lightly. Yet no one cared about decorum.

To those who had lost their homes and lived in fear, Duke Fenris had brought hope.

The Marquis of Suffolk wasn’t the only one expressing gratitude. This miracle was thanks in no small part to the efforts of one man who had stalled the undead advance.

The marquis clasped Jerome’s hands tightly, tears welling up.

“Thank you so much. Without you, we wouldn’t have held out this long.”

Jerome had fought alone multiple times, holding back the tide of undead.

Without him, the kingdom would have fallen before reinforcements could even arrive.

It was no simple feat, regardless of his strength. Only someone with unwavering resolve and integrity could have achieved such a thing.

“Haha... It was nothing. I just happened to be here,” Jerome replied with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head. He was glad to have helped.

After all, aiding others was the very purpose of the mage tower and his master’s legacy. Jerome was fulfilling his duty.

Ghislain spoke to the grateful Marquis of Suffolk.

“I understand you’ve been through a lot, but we need to mobilize the army immediately. We must strike the Kingdom of Atrodé.”

“Of course. That’s what we’ve gathered for. We’ll deploy right away.”

Leaving only the minimum personnel necessary for internal security, the royal army joined the Allied Forces.

There was no immediate threat to the kingdom, and contributing to the Allied Forces was the better option.

If the Allied Forces fell, the kingdom would be doomed anyway.

Thus, the armies across the continent were converging on the Kingdom of Atrodé.

Ghislain sent Dark to relay orders to the Ruthania forces following behind.

― Helgenique has been dealt with. Redirect the army to the Kingdom of Atrodé immediately.

Upon receiving the order, Claude adjusted the army’s route.

The Ruthania forces had been trailing the mobile corps in case Helgenique led a rebel army, prepared for a large-scale battle.

Unlike the undead, living humans could strategize. An army of over 200,000 would have been too much for the mobile corps alone to handle.

However, since the majority had been turned into undead, the mobile corps had been able to deal with them easily. Defeating Helgenique had resolved the issue entirely.

“We’ll rest for two days before moving. Half the priests should stay behind to assist with plague control and corpse purification.”

At Ghislain’s command, the mobile corps disarmed and began to rest.

Everyone was exhausted after the forced march and consecutive battles, especially the priests who had struggled to keep up.

Even with the break, the mobile corps would still reach the Kingdom of Atrodé faster than any other force.

That night, Ghislain dreamed again.

***

“Can you do it?”

It was the same voice from the previous dream.

Ghislain opened his eyes slowly, his mind clouded and unfocused.

Unlike before, the sensations in this dream were sharper, more vivid. Perhaps Dark hadn’t intervened this time. Though the boundaries between dream and reality still flickered, the dream felt more coherent.

Letting himself drift with the flow, the surroundings began to take shape.

“Waaahhhhhh!”

Cheers echoed around him.

While the scenery remained hazy and indistinct, it was clearer than the last time. Ghislain could tell what was happening.

A battlefield.

Soldiers, shouting at the top of their lungs, charged forward. Knights led them, their armor glinting even through the dim haze.

Where is this?

The soldiers’ uniforms and weapons were styles he had never seen before. Despite his extensive knowledge, he couldn’t identify which kingdom’s army this was.

Growwwwwwwl...

But he could easily recognize the enemy they were fighting.

After all, they were the creatures he had battled countless times across both his past and present lives.

Kaaaaargh!

An Equidema charged toward the soldiers, its hulking frame accompanied by a swarm of Riftkind and mutants trailing behind.

What is this...?

It was unbelievable. While mutants were one thing, Equidema and Riftkind were operating outside of the blue fog—their usual domain.

Not just one or two, either.

Kaaaargh!

More Equidema appeared, rushing in from all sides, accompanied by hordes of Riftkind, their dark forms swarming like locusts.

Boom!

The battle erupted. The scale of devastation far exceeded anything in the present day.

If the Equidema could truly operate like this, half the continent would have already been destroyed.

“Hold the line! Don’t retreat!”

The human army was formidable in its own right, a massive force standing together as one.

The cataclysmic battle raged on. Countless humans fell to the claws of beasts, and just as many monsters were slain.

Ghislain’s sharp eyes caught sight of a familiar face amidst the chaos.

“Protect the Saintess!”

Ereneth.

She was fighting, summoning spirits and leading the charge against the monsters.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Her power was immense. Though Ghislain couldn’t pinpoint the exact time, it was clear this was from the past. Even then, she displayed the strength she was known for today.

Behind her, countless elves unleashed arrows and summoned spirits, fighting alongside her. It was a sight Ghislain had never seen before.

Humans, elves, dwarves, and other races were united, battling together against the catastrophe that had engulfed the continent.

As time passed, the human forces began to falter.

“Goddess, help us...”

“Kill them! Don’t stop!”

“Just a little more strength...”

Despair, sorrow, and rage filled the battlefield—emotions Ghislain had witnessed countless times.

The beasts, their eyes filled with frenzied madness, pressed forward relentlessly, as if they had a specific target in mind beyond the army standing in their way.

At some point, the soldiers began shouting in unison, their voices filled with desperate determination.

“Protect the Saintess!”

“Protect the Saintess!”

“Protect the Saintess!”

The Saintess.

Ghislain instinctively turned his gaze.

At the center of the battlefield stood a woman, surrounded by layers of protection.

Is that the Saintess?

Judging by the circumstances, it seemed likely. Ghislain watched her carefully.

She wasn’t as beautiful as Piote nor as fierce as Parniel. She appeared plain and unassuming, so much so that a passerby might never guess she was the Saintess.

But the miracles she performed were anything but ordinary.

Standing motionless in a posture of prayer, she suddenly raised her hands to the heavens.

“Deana, I beseech you. Grant these people unwavering resolve and hope that shines even in fear.”

Deana—the goddess symbolizing light, justice, truth, and wisdom.

Hearing her invocation, Ghislain surmised that she was indeed Deana’s Saintess.

But then she continued.

“Morianna, grant them immortal victory, glory, and the courage to never retreat.”

Morianna—the goddess of war, honor, battle, and triumph.

“Juana, grant them tireless vitality and the strength to protect their comrades.”

Juana—the goddess of beauty, love, prosperity, and stability.

“Seranna, grant them respite from the horrors of war and guide them on the righteous path.”

Seranna—the goddess of life, death, oblivion, and fate.

She prayed to all the goddesses. And, impossibly, all the goddesses answered her.

Fwoooooosh!

The dark sky split apart, and light poured down across the battlefield.

“Waaahhhhhh!”

The exhausted soldiers roared as they lifted their weapons once more, newfound strength surging through them.

Kaaaaargh!

The Equidema and Riftkind began to falter. The Saintess’s miraculous power had turned the tide in an instant.

Though the vision was still blurred, the situation was clear enough to Ghislain.

Watching the battle unfold, only one thought dominated his mind.

Unbelievable.

A Saintess was chosen by a single goddess. One goddess, one Saintess—that was the truth of the world.

But this Saintess defied that truth.

A being loved by all the goddesses? Not even legends spoke of such a thing.

And yet, here was this unremarkable-looking woman embodying the impossible.

The Saintess surveyed the battlefield with a worried gaze, her eyes lingering on the soldiers fighting the monstrous horde.

Then, without warning, her expression went blank.

Suddenly, everything froze.

The Equidema and Riftkind, their howls of rage still echoing, stopped mid-motion. The humans, their cries of determination filling the air, also ceased.

As if trapped in a still painting, the battle was suspended in time.

Only the Saintess remained.

She slowly turned her head, her eyes locking with Ghislain’s.

Around her neck hung a simple necklace—the same one Ghislain currently wore.

He tried to speak to her, but no sound escaped his lips. His body refused to move.

The Saintess spoke, her voice soft but unwavering.

“Not yet. You mustn’t come yet.”

Flash!

The dream shattered, and Ghislain’s eyes snapped open.