The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations (light Novel)

Berhem’s madness didn’t stop at consuming the lives of others.
“Why isn’t the war preparation finished yet?”

He needed to kill Count Fenris, the one who had driven him into this corner. Just thinking about him made Berhem’s rage boil over uncontrollably.
He constantly pressured Marquiss Domont, impatient to send his "great army" to crush the North.
Marquiss Domont, drenched in nervous sweat, desperately tried to calm him.

“Your Majesty, we need more time to prepare. Please, be patient.”
Waging war wasn’t something that could be done on a whim, especially against a formidable enemy like the northern army.
The northern forces had already proven their defensive capabilities in the battles against Marquiss Rodrick. They were now even stronger, requiring meticulous preparation to defeat.

The kingdom needed to replenish dwindling food supplies and properly repair siege equipment.
“There are still lords who haven’t responded to the call. We need their forces to join as well.”
“Damn them! How dare they delay? How long has it been since I returned? Why aren’t they rushing to my side?”

The provincial lords and nobles weren’t exactly enthusiastic about following the king’s orders. They were still biding their time, carefully observing the situation.
Count Rayfold in the east was particularly troublesome. She had seized six territories amidst Marquiss Branford’s downfall, carving out her domain with bold ambition.
Gathering all their armies was proving difficult, and the kingdom forces couldn’t entirely commit to the northern campaign. They feared that other lords might seize the opportunity to rebel.

Marquiss Domont continued to placate Berhem, his tone steady.
“Your Majesty, the lords are loyal to you. They are merely afraid.”
“Afraid?”

“Yes. They remember their previous conflicts with the Duke’s house. The truce has left them anxious about potential repercussions.”
“Then what must be done?”
“Your Majesty should extend your mercy, forgiving their perceived offenses and assuring them of your protection.”

“Very well. That is not a difficult task. Will that suffice?”
“Yes, but even if they join their armies, we must tread cautiously.”
Even if they rallied the provincial armies, it would still be insufficient to defeat the northern forces. Their display of power had been overwhelming.
Additionally, the allied forces’ 100,000-strong army remained intact. Facing both them and the northern forces was beyond the current kingdom army’s capabilities.

The one glimmer of hope was that the Duke’s house had committed to supporting this war effort.
Flakus, the priest attending to Berhem’s health, spoke up.
“Your Majesty, please be patient. We’ve received word that the Duke’s house will deploy their forces soon.”

“Hmm…”
Berhem groaned in frustration. It infuriated him that, as the rightful ruler of the kingdom, he had to rely on the Duke’s house for support.
"Once I’ve secured the North and regained my health, I will show them the full extent of my authority."

Berhem swallowed his resentment. To him, the Duke’s house was nothing more than disloyal subjects to be eradicated once their usefulness was exhausted.
He waved his hand dismissively.
“My head aches. Bring me sacrifices immediately. Make sure to include some of the young ones today.”

Absorbing human lifeforce wasn’t an easy process. Without a proper core, Berhem suffered from chronic headaches, often severe enough to make his head feel as though it would split apart.
His nosebleeds had become frequent, a clear sign that the side effects were worsening.
Flakus frowned slightly as he observed Berhem clutching his head.

“At this rate, he’ll die before the core is even completed.”
Berhem’s frail body was struggling to withstand the strain of the ritual procedures.
The Orb of Life wasn’t something that could be created simply by amassing sacrifices. The refinement process required time.

“Well… I suppose it doesn’t matter. He’ll probably last long enough to launch the campaign. The orb can always be used for another priest later.”
Berhem needed to survive only until the kingdom army was fully under control. His vision of a great conquest required their forces.
They had already lost too many soldiers, and the northern campaign would undoubtedly cost them even more.

But soon, the Duke’s house would complete their preparations and take action. Berhem just needed to hold on until then.
Taking control of this broken kingdom had become almost too easy.
But then, the situation took an unexpected turn.

“Marquis Ferdium has sent proclamations across the land and has risen in rebellion!”
“What? What did you say? That bastard has revolted?”
During a council meeting, the shocking news left Berhem stunned. He had intended to use the pretext of rebellion to crush the North, but he hadn’t expected Ferdium to openly rebel first.

To attack despite knowing of his alliance with the Duke’s house—what madness!
Berhem seethed with fury.
“Well, this is perfect! They’ve come crawling out! Deploy the kingdom army immediately and crush those insolent bastards!”

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, swallowing hard.
The king had no understanding of the kingdom’s financial or military state—his officials had siphoned away resources for themselves.
The supply chains were in shambles, the equipment was deteriorating, and morale was nonexistent.

"This is bad… I was counting on the Duke’s house."
"The kingdom army alone can’t stop the northern forces."
"We need to find a way to stall for time…"
When the truce was signed, the Delphine captives had not been returned—Berhem had adamantly refused.
The Duke’s house hadn’t been particularly concerned, believing they could recover them later.

Meanwhile, the kingdom army had been reorganized to include those prisoners. If they could stall Ferdium’s advance, the delay might buy them precious time to escape with their stolen wealth.
Unaware of their true intentions, Berhem barked orders.
“Send summons to all lords immediately! Command them to crush the rebels!”

Under feudal law, while lords held autonomy during peacetime, they were required to follow the king’s orders in times of war.
With Ferdium inciting a civil war, even the hesitant lords would be forced to muster their armies and march on the capital—or so Berhem believed.
But the reports that followed shattered those expectations.

“Your Majesty, the 3rd Corps has surrendered entirely!”
“Other units are also surrendering without even engaging in battle!”
“Our forces are uncontrollable!”
Everywhere the kingdom army encountered Ferdium’s forces, the result was the same—unconditional surrender.
In some cases, junior officers and knights assassinated their commanders before defecting en masse.

“What nonsense is this? Are you telling me there isn’t a single army willing to fight for me?”
“E-even when our forces attempt to engage, Count Fenris’s appearance alone causes the soldiers to flee.”
Even if the troops didn’t immediately surrender, the outcome was no different. Zvalter’s calls for surrender were often met with the immediate execution of their commanders.

Ghislain’s reputation as a war god and hero among the kingdom’s soldiers made any thought of fighting him unthinkable.
After Ghislain disposed of the leadership, the remaining soldiers willingly joined Ferdium’s forces.
The next report was even more astonishing.

“Your Majesty, the common people are arming themselves and joining Ferdium’s army!”
“What?!”
“Everywhere Ferdium’s forces pass, the people rally to their side.”
Berhem’s face twisted in shock. Was the entire kingdom turning against him? Were the commoners, mere peasants, defying their king?

“Those wretched insects… How dare they, born of filthy blood…”
Berhem’s lifelong inferiority complex flared into uncontrollable rage. The idea that the commoners, who existed solely for his benefit, were rebelling against him was unbearable.
But his problems didn’t end there.

“Your Majesty! Lords across the kingdom are declaring their support for Marquis Ferdium!”
“What?!”
Despair clouded Berhem’s face. The lords who had withheld their allegiance had now chosen Ferdium.

The lords, long disillusioned with the king’s behavior, had made their decision after receiving Zvalter’s heartfelt proclamations.
Many of these lords had fought to protect the kingdom and found no solace in the king’s actions.
They issued their own declarations and raised their armies:

“We will depose the tyrant and restore order to the kingdom.”
Berhem trembled as he realized the implications.
“Are you saying all these armies are marching on the capital? What of the Duke’s house? What are they doing?”

“The Duke’s house appears to be mobilizing… but…”
“But what? Once they arrive, this will all be resolved, won’t it?”
“The armies of the central and eastern lords are all moving to the southern front.”

“To the southern front? Not the capital?”
“The Ferdium army seems to be keeping the Duke’s forces occupied. It appears they are mobilizing the allied forces, the Western army, and most of the Northern army to the southern front,” an advisor reported.
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No matter how strong the Duke’s forces were, they couldn’t push through such a massive army without being delayed. By the time the Delphine forces reached the capital, it would already be in ruins.
Everything was unraveling too quickly. Berhem, flustered and panicked, blurted out,
“What about taking Marquiss Branford and the nobles hostage?”

“That won’t work, Your Majesty. Those who have rebelled won’t care about hostages. Besides, attempting to capture them would incur significant losses.”
Marquiss Branford still had skilled knights and soldiers at his disposal, as did many of the nobles who had once led the kingdom.
While their numbers were smaller, they wouldn’t fall easily, and the losses to Berhem’s side would be far too great.

“In a situation like this, depleting our forces would hurt us more than help,” the advisor added.
“Then what should we do? Speak up, all of you!” Berhem demanded, glaring around the throne room.
However, the number of nobles present at the council was noticeably smaller than usual.

“Why… why are so few here in such a critical moment? Summon them all at once! We need solutions!”
The remaining nobles lowered their heads with somber expressions. The more astute had already fled the capital with their wealth upon hearing of the rebellion.
Only then did Berhem begin to realize just how dire the situation was.

“Where are those who swore loyalty to me? Have they truly fled? Does no one intend to defend this kingdom?”
“...Your Majesty…”
“Those traitorous worms… I gave them power and rewards beyond their worth, and they’ve betrayed me?”

As Berhem ranted, Marquiss Domont looked on with a bitter expression. He, too, hadn’t expected things to deteriorate so quickly.
No one had imagined the kingdom’s army would surrender without a fight. It had seemed reasonable to believe that with the Duke’s house supporting them, they could easily handle the Northern forces.
Yet, everything had crumbled in the blink of an eye.

Berhem, now pale with fear, stammered,
“Summon Marquiss Branford. We must ask for his mediation. Quickly, bring him here…”
“...Your Majesty…”

“Marquiss Branford is the only one who can save me. Everyone follows him, do they not? Inform him of the situation immediately…”
The same Marquiss Branford whom Berhem had long wished to eliminate was now his only hope. Desperation had stripped him of all dignity.
“Marquiss Branford was loyal to the royal family, wasn’t he? He must come. He must resolve this…”

Berhem had never experienced a threat like this before. All previous problems had been solved by others.
In the past, the commander of the Shadow Knights had protected the royal family. After that, Marquiss Branford had upheld the kingdom’s strength.
When they stood guard, no one dared defy the royal family—not even the mighty Duke’s house.

But Berhem had only ever seen them as usurpers of his power. His lifelong inferiority complex led him to wish for their downfall.
He had dreamed of eliminating them all and establishing his absolute rule, believing it was the only rightful course of action.
Only now did he realize he had lived comfortably under their protection.

They had shielded the royal family in place of his frail body.
He had foolishly thought that gaining power would solve everything, ignorant of the world beyond his palace walls.
Berhem cried out in desperation,

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“Bring Marquiss Branford here immediately!”
Marquiss Domont replied with a grim expression.

“…Your Majesty, you must flee.”
It was too late to rely on Marquiss Branford. The flames of rebellion had already spread beyond control.
The people siding with Marquis Ferdium proved it.

Had Berhem sought comfort and protection, he should never have ousted Marquiss Branford. But his greed had sealed his fate.
Berhem, dazed, asked,
“Where… where can I flee? This entire land belongs to me…”

“…You must go to the Duke’s house,” Domont replied.
The Duke’s house was now the only place capable of sheltering the king. Having allied with the Salvation Order, Berhem couldn’t seek refuge in another kingdom.
Berhem turned to Flakus, the priest overseeing his health.

“Can you guide me to the Duke’s house?”
Flakus hesitated briefly. With the kingdom army falling apart, Berhem was no longer of much use.
However, it wasn’t Flakus’s place to decide. Berhem still held symbolic importance as the ruler of the kingdom.

Whether to abandon or protect him would be up to the Salvation Order and the Duke’s house.
“Do not worry, Your Majesty. I am a transcendent. Summon the Royal Knights and the Capital Defense Forces. I will escort you to the Duke’s house.”
“Yes… yes, do it. Make the preparations!”

Count Phalantz, commander of the Royal Knights, and Marquiss Domont moved quickly to arrange the king’s escape.
But their enemies moved faster than anticipated.
A junior officer burst into the chamber, his face pale with terror.

“Your Majesty! The capital has been surrounded!”
“What? I heard Ferdium’s army was advancing slowly! How could the capital already be under siege?”
“Count Fenris has led a separate force. It appears to be their famed mobile army!”

Ferdium’s forces, which had absorbed surrendered soldiers and rallied the people, were indeed advancing slowly.
Their momentum was impressive enough to resemble a royal procession, but delays were inevitable as their numbers grew.
Meanwhile, reports had confirmed that the Duke’s house was also mobilizing.

Thus, Ghislain had taken his mobile army and marched ahead to the capital.
Cardenia.
A fortress with no history of being conquered by force, an impregnable stronghold.

Ghislain had come to claim it once more, as he had in his past life.
In that life, he had crushed it with an overwhelmingly powerful army, rendering even its indestructible walls useless.
Though his current forces were smaller, Ghislain had no doubts about taking Cardenia.

This time, however, he saw no reason to exhaust himself by besieging the city.
He stood before the walls and boldly shouted,
“Open the gates!”

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Chaos immediately erupted atop the fortress walls.