The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 242: Offer It to Me (2)

“You wretch!”

Woroka gripped his axe tightly, swinging it directly at Ghislain.

As a northern warrior, he took pride in his reputation, and despite his more politically driven nature than other barbarians, this insult was intolerable.

Clang!

Ghislain swiftly drew his sword, blocking the axe with a grin.

“Do you want to test me here and now?”

“Are you saying you won’t negotiate?”

“I don’t bother with such trivialities. If you want to fight, then fight; if you want to kill, then kill.”

“You...!”

The atmosphere turned deadly in an instant. The two men locked eyes, weapons drawn, as others around them immediately raised their arms in defense.

The soldiers positioned nearby tensed, prepared for battle. Meanwhile, Claude whispered to Wendy beside him.

“Quick, carry me. We’re getting out of here.”

Wendy shot him a look of disgust.

In the brewing tension, Zwalter raised his voice, feigning anger.

“Enough! Enough! Isn’t this a place for negotiation?”

With that, Ghislain smirked, sheathed his sword, and stepped back. Woroka, though visibly seething, pulled his axe back as well, though he kept his gaze fixed on Ghislain.

Woroka could barely contain his fury. The negotiations had been on the verge of completion, only for this insolent young man to barge in with a demand and a threat.

“You’re asking for five thousand horses? You mean to take nearly every horse from our warriors?”

“Precisely. You need to survive, after all, so I’ll settle for that many. Generous, aren’t I?”

“Arrogant fool...”

Woroka clenched his teeth.

Without their horses, his warriors would lose much of their mobility. For tribes that rely on raiding to gather food, giving up so many horses would make survival even harder.

Woroka growled as he replied, “Do you truly think we would accept such a proposal? Warriors cannot survive here without horses.”

“Then you can choose to die here and lose everything. I’m fine with that outcome too.”

“You...!”

Woroka gripped his axe again, feeling that perhaps killing this impudent man would be the only way to make progress in these talks.

In barbarian negotiations, it was common practice to assert strength first by killing a few opponents to secure better terms. Despite his ambitions, Woroka wasn’t entirely free from that barbaric mindset.

Just as he prepared to swing his axe again, a thought crossed his mind.

“Wait... he blocked my axe that easily?”

He had struck first, and Ghislain should have had difficulty drawing his sword in time to block the blow. Yet, he had done so effortlessly.

Woroka, feeling a sudden chill, forced down his unease and asked, “Are you... the Bloody Demon?”

“That’s what you seem to call me. But I’m no demon. I’m a peace-loving pacifist.”

Of course, nobody believed him, but Ghislain genuinely preferred resolving matters peacefully—if only the circumstances would allow it.

Woroka, now more cautious, balled his fists and glared at Ghislain. Part of him wanted to crush this arrogant youth, while another part feared facing the man who had killed Kustu and decimated thousands of warriors.

Grinding his teeth, Woroka felt conflicted. His pride as a warrior clashed with his ambitions as a leader, leaving him in turmoil.

Claude, observing the tension between them, sighed.

“Well, of course, it wouldn’t end smoothly with his temperament.”

Even if Ghislain had asked for two thousand horses, it might have been manageable. But five thousand? No one would agree to that.

Claude had learned enough about the barbarians to know that they’d likely head back and start preparing for battle after this insult.

‘I just need Wendy to carry me quickly.’

As he prepared himself to flee, Claude kept his eyes on the standoff.

Oddly, though, Woroka remained in place. Though his fists were clenched, he wasn’t rushing to attack, an uncharacteristic reaction for a barbarian.

‘What’s going on? He was about to attack, so why is he holding back?’

Claude glanced back and forth between Woroka and Ghislain.

Ghislain, noticing Woroka’s clenched fists and hesitation, commented with indifference.

“Well? Are we going to fight, or are you going to bring me those horses? Or would you prefer a one-on-one match?”

Technically, Ghislain’s interference was improper, as Zwalter was the designated negotiator.

‘But if I leave this to Father, he’s bound to go too soft on them. He’s compassionate by nature.’

Zwalter would likely yield somewhat, understanding the barbarians’ hardships and aiming for stability.

Ghislain understood his father’s perspective but didn’t share his approach.

His stance was clear: take everything that can be taken now, and eliminate any resistance.

That was all that was necessary when dealing with barbarians.

Woroka turned toward Zwalter, directing his fury at him.

“Wolf of the North! Are you not the representative here? Do you stand by this outrageous demand?”

Zwalter placed a hand on his forehead. His son was ensuring nothing could proceed smoothly.

In the past, Zwalter’s subordinates would have chastised Ghislain for his impertinence, but now, none dared to object. They knew it was thanks to Ghislain that Ferdium had improved so dramatically.

Zwalter felt a pang of loneliness.

‘My dear... if only you were still here...’

With a momentary misting of his eyes, Zwalter sighed and said, “I’ve delegated the authority to him.”

To deny it would only undermine their position. Zwalter formally ceded control of the negotiations to Ghislain, casting his gaze aside as if admiring the weather.

“What a beautiful day.”

“You...!”

Seeing even Zwalter feign ignorance, Woroka slumped back onto his seat.

“I cannot convince them to agree to this...”

The Sunstone Tribe might be compliant, but the other tribes would never go along. Without anything to gain, they’d prefer to fight and die.

But he couldn’t suggest a battle either. He knew Ghislain’s formidable reputation, and he doubted their chances even if they won, as the cost would be devastating.

If he failed here, his ambitions would be shattered, and his tribe could face ruin.

Caught between his pride as a warrior and his responsibilities as chieftain, Woroka felt utterly trapped.

Ghislain looked out at the distant lines of barbarians and said,

“So now you’re in the mood to talk properly. I’ll give you a bit of a boost.”

“What?”

“I’m saying I’ll provide you with something you lack.”

Then, a warrior standing beside Woroka, who had earlier drawn his axe, shouted in defiance.

“Trying to take our most precious horses, and now you’re offering to give us something? What could you possibly offer us?”

“And who are you?”

“I am the great warrior Mongu Bu Jokea of the Sunstone Tribe! We lack nothing, and we offer nothing to you. If you wish to fight, then fight to the death!”

“...Seems like you’re lacking in quite a few areas.”

Woroka clenched his jaw, irritated by Mongu’s bravado.

Mongu’s confidence was admirable, but it wasn’t what Woroka needed now.

If anything, the Sunstone Tribe did have many deficiencies. They were barely managing to sustain themselves.

Seeing Mongu’s silence, Ghislain continued.

“I’ll supply you with food.”

“What...?”

“Enough for your people to survive for a while.”

“You... you’re saying you’ll give us food?”

“Yes. And I’ll also release the captives to you.”

“Hmm...”

Woroka began to consider his options. For the barbarians, food was their most precious resource. Their raids on Rutania were primarily to secure food.

The captives would be a boon, too. Most of them were old or young, but the children among them could grow to be warriors.

However, he’d have to feed those captives until they matured, which was no easy task. Ghislain’s offer of food was tempting, but he worried it wouldn’t last long enough to make a difference.

Sensing Woroka’s hesitation, Ghislain smirked.

“If you agree to tribute two hundred horses annually, I’ll make food an ongoing provision. And... I’ll leave it to you to distribute the rations. You understand what that means, don’t you?”

Woroka’s eyes gleamed.

Initially, he’d distribute the food fairly to keep the other tribes appeased. But later?

Controlling the food supply would solidify his dominance over the other tribes, making unification easier.

‘They may resist, but haven’t I always subdued them with force anyway?’

While the warriors might not respect Woroka just for having control over food, they would struggle to match a well-fed army. Currently, the Sunstone Tribe was already one of the strongest.

With his eyes glinting with ambition, Woroka nodded firmly.

“Very well! I’ll give up the horses and convince the other tribes. But I want full control of the food distribution.”

“Fine. Convince the other tribes, and we’ll proceed.”

“They’ll agree if food is part of the deal.”

Confident in his approach, Woroka departed, knowing that food was the most pressing need for the tribes.

‘Once I unify the tribes with control over the food supply, you won’t get away so easily, Ghislain. With time, I’ll have more warriors than you could ever face.’

Watching Woroka leave, Claude shook his head in amazement.

"Not a demon, huh? Seems pretty demonic to me."

It was obvious what was coming next. Without their horses, the barbarians would lose both mobility and combat power.

But the true issue was the inevitable conflict among tribes over the food supply. They’d now fight endlessly over the rations Ghislain had given them.

One side would hoard the food to maintain dominance, while the others would do everything possible to seize it.

Even if they unified, they’d still face the same problem of scarcity. No matter how many tribes he brought together, feeding everyone would remain an insurmountable task.

Claude could already see the consequences.

"A five-year truce? Within that time, they’ll be groveling for food, offering up tribute just to keep their people alive."

Woroka had, in essence, sold out his tribe’s future for personal ambition.

The barbarians would now be blocked from raiding the northern lands of Rutania. During the five-year truce, Ghislain would make sure they were dependent on the food supply from his own lands.

"Every part of this was orchestrated perfectly. There’s no way he could have planned it this well without experience."

Ghislain watched Woroka leave, a satisfied grin on his face.

"Now that we’ve secured the horses and control over the barbarians’ food, we won’t have to worry about them turning on us anytime soon."

This way, Ferdium could pull back its troops, freeing them up for other battles and objectives.

Rumors had reached Ghislain that Amelia’s forces and Baron Balrois had already started their conflict. For her, defeating Daven took priority.

Even if Amelia managed a quick victory, it would be some time before she could extend her reach into Fenris territory, as her forces would need to regroup.

"Just wait a little longer, Harold Desmond."

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Ghislain’s smile turned wicked.

Slowly but surely, he was putting all the pieces in place to take his revenge.