The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 491: For the Sake of the Royal Family (4)

Clang, clang, clang.

The sound of clashing armor echoed as Tolreo led the knights into the chamber.

"Your Excellency, it seems it's time to act," he said.

Following closely behind was Baron Connelly, the commander of the capital defense forces, who added,

"Your Excellency, the defense forces are ready as well."

Every soldier in the capital was now mobilized. The Marquis’ vassals, who oversaw the surveillance of the capital, had swiftly detected the anomalies.

Marquis Branford remained silent, seemingly lost in deep thought.

Tolreo pressed urgently,

"Your Excellency, the preparations to apprehend the transcendent are complete. The Captain of the Royal Knights will be unable to act due to His Majesty. We must move now."

"Yes... we must."

Marquis Branford rose from his seat. First, they needed to subdue the Royal Knights and the palace defense forces.

If they failed, every noble supporting him would be slaughtered.

Yet, even now, Marquis Branford hesitated to give the order.

"How are you any different from her?"

Those words echoed incessantly in his mind.

He had served the royal family and kingdom his entire life. Once this war ended, he had planned to retire.

And yet, how had things come to this?

The man who had lived under the banner of protecting the royal family now found himself storming the royal palace.

Taking a deep breath, he finally spoke,

"...Begin."

The capital’s forces began to move immediately.

"Attack!"

The prepared defense forces surged forward with tremendous speed, ambushing the palace guards who were gathering to confront Marquis Branford.

The palace defense forces, caught completely off guard, were unable to respond effectively.

Never had they imagined they would be the ones ambushed first.

"Hold the line!"

The palace guards desperately attempted to halt the advancing troops, but their efforts were in vain.

From the outset, the disparity in numbers between the capital defense forces and the palace guards was overwhelming. The guards were quickly overpowered.

"Uraaaaah!"

Triumphant cheers erupted as the defense forces seized the palace in an instant. Following them, the Marquis’ knights and soldiers poured in.

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And they weren’t alone. Knights serving the nobles loyal to Marquis Branford arrived one after another.

The Royal Knights and Flakus, who had just finished their preparations, were thrown into chaos.

Their plan had been to ambush and capture Marquis Branford. With Branford as their hostage, the other nobles would be unable to act.

But now the tables had turned. Despite their careful planning, their actions had been discovered and preempted.

Count Pallance, the Captain of the Royal Knights, drew his sword and roared,

"What madness is this? This is treason!"

Tolreo, leading the knights, responded,

"Weren’t you planning to strike us first?"

"You insolent fools... Have you forgotten who I am?"

Whoosh!

Count Pallance stepped forward, releasing an aura of overwhelming power.

As a swordmaster, he was capable of cutting down thousands of soldiers on his own.

But Tolreo smirked and replied,

"I am a top-tier knight myself, and we outnumber you significantly. Stalling you won’t be a problem. However... I do worry about what might happen to His Majesty in the meantime."

"You... you wretch!"

Count Pallance gritted his teeth. He couldn’t act recklessly. If he fought here, others would have the opportunity to take the king hostage. His duty was to protect this place.

The priest from the Salvation Order, though a transcendent, had already expended much of his power healing the king and was in no condition to face the overwhelming number of troops gathered here.

The capital’s finest knights had all assembled. A battle would result in mutual destruction, and the king would die.

As the situation reached a stalemate, the doors opened, and King Berhem appeared.

Trembling, the king shouted,

"You insolent wretches... Do you mean to assassinate me?!"

His face was a mix of rage and fear. He had only just begun regaining his health, finally believing he could embody the majesty and authority of a king.

But now, these traitors dared to strike first.

"Bring Marquis Branford before me! Summon that treacherous wretch at once!"

No one answered. Even the rebels hesitated to harm the king directly. The person who needed to make that decision had yet to arrive.

As Berhem raged, Marquis Branford entered the hall.

"Your Majesty."

"You! How dare you attack me?! What treachery is this?"

Looking at the king, Branford asked in a somber tone,

"Why, Your Majesty?"

"Do you even need to ask? You’ve defied my will at every turn! Always acting as though you were the king!"

"I did it all for the royal family and the kingdom."

"Silence! I am the kingdom! I am the royal family! Without me, none of this means anything!"

Branford closed his eyes.

He had known for years that the king was broken, twisted by the privileges and deprivations of royal life. This imbalance had prevented him from embodying the virtues of kingship.

"You are a traitor!" Berhem shouted, pointing a finger at Branford.

"If you were going to do this, why did you bother stopping the Duke’s faction? You claimed to protect the royal family, but now you draw your blade against me! How are you any different from them?"

Branford remained silent.

Though the Duke’s faction had targeted the royal family, they had managed the southern territories with remarkable efficiency, ensuring stability and prosperity.

This country is finished, Branford thought bitterly.

He had come here for one reason alone.

"Your Majesty," Branford said, cutting through the king’s tirade.

Branford smiled faintly and said,

"I intend to relinquish my position."

The room fell silent in shock.

Branford continued with a calm demeanor,

"I have but one request."

"What... what is it?" King Berhem asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

"I came here for one reason only. Pardon today’s events, and forgive the nobles who followed me. If I relinquish my position, they will once again pledge their loyalty to Your Majesty."

"Is that... is that truly the case?"

"It is," Branford replied. "If Your Majesty declares this publicly so that all can hear, I will step down and leave today."

It was for this reason that Marquis Branford had used force to pressure the king.

If he had been captured without resistance, the nobles who followed him would have been forced to fight the king for their own survival.

But with this arrangement, everything could end peacefully—for now, without bloodshed.

King Berhem cast a doubtful gaze at Branford. The army loyal to the marquis was vast, and if Branford later changed his mind and turned that army against the king, there would be no way to stop him.

"Where... where would you go?" Berhem asked cautiously.

Branford's mind wandered to an old memory.

He had once asked the same question out of both curiosity and fear. Back then, the answer he received was:

"Well... anywhere would be fine, as long as it's not the royal court."

The memory brought a faint smile to Branford’s face. Was he now walking the same path as her?

"Anywhere, really... as long as it’s not the royal court," he replied.

Perhaps even the Shadow Knight Commander had always harbored a desire to leave. Now, he thought he finally understood a piece of her heart.

King Berhem hesitated for a moment before speaking, his face flushed with conflicted emotions.

"Stay in the capital. I will place you under house arrest and will not pursue further punishment against you or the nobles who followed you."

Branford turned to look at the king again.

It was fear—fear of Branford slipping out of his sight.

Losing his freedom didn’t matter to Branford. He already knew how this would end.

So, he nodded.

"As Your Majesty commands."

"Include the Grand Chancellor, the Commander-in-Chief Marquis McQuarry, the Chief Justice Count Norton, and the Earl of Aylesbury," Berhem continued, listing the names of the powerful nobles who had sided with Branford.

"They, too, shall be pardoned. Understood?"

"As you wish," Branford replied.

"Good, good. You’ve finally shown a shred of loyalty at the end," Berhem said with a cruel smile.

The king had neatly eliminated the powerful nobles in one stroke. Never had he imagined that things would resolve so easily.

Now, only the nobles loyal to him would remain—what he could truly call the Royalist faction.

Spreading his arms grandly, Berhem declared,

"I promise! Lay down your weapons and return! I will overlook today’s events as agreed with Marquis Branford!"

The commanders who had followed Branford looked to him for guidance.

"Your Excellency..."

"Do as he says. It’s over now. I, too, wish to rest," Branford said.

He bowed slightly to the king and turned to leave. His heart was unbearably heavy.

It’s over. Truly over.

The kingdom he had tried so desperately to protect was finished. No, to be precise, the royal family was finished.

It wouldn’t be the Duke’s faction that destroyed the royal family.

It wouldn’t be the Salvation Order, nor the other kingdoms or the Four Great Churches.

No one fits the role of ending it better than him.

Ghislain Ferdium.

The shackles that once restrained him were now gone.

That man would surely bring the royal family to its end.

As Marquis Branford strode out, the knights and commanders followed him. King Berhem watched them go, grinding his teeth in frustration.

They still followed Branford loyally. No doubt the other nobles would be the same.

But it didn’t matter.

Once I seize full power, I will not leave them be.

Now wasn’t the time to act. Berhem himself had made the declaration, and he needed to uphold it for now.

But when the time came—once the military commanders were replaced and his authority was absolute—he would strike.

Until then, those traitors would simply have to bide their time. When the moment was right, he would find a pretext to eliminate them.

Berhem let out a long sigh and turned to Flakus with a self-satisfied smile.

"Well? Didn’t I resolve everything perfectly?"

"Truly remarkable, Your Majesty. As expected of the ruler of this kingdom," Flakus said, bowing respectfully.

"That man still has some sense left in him, fortunately. Now, can you make me a transcendent yet?"

"If that is Your Majesty’s wish. First, we will require a large number of prisoners. Their life force will be used to strengthen Your Majesty's body."

"Yes, yes, that’s simple enough. Begin tomorrow. If you need more, just say the word. This kingdom is all mine, after all."

"As you command. And regarding the agreement we discussed, I would urge Your Majesty to proceed swiftly. ‘That item’ is necessary to ensure your body’s continued strength."

"Don’t worry about it. Once the army is reorganized and the commanders are replaced, I will hand over the royal artifact as promised."

"Understood, Your Majesty."

Flakus bowed deeply, a sly smile spreading across his face. Everything was proceeding far better than he had anticipated.

***

"Something's off."

Ghislain tilted his head, a look of confusion on his face.

Even accounting for delays in reorganization, the Royal Army was far too late. By now, they should have arrived, yet there had been no word at all.

A portion of the allied forces had already reached the designated positions, waiting for the operation to begin.

But with the Royal Army absent, the Northern Army had been left idle, waiting endlessly.

"Something must’ve happened... Send messengers to find out what’s going on. Dark, you go with them and report back to me immediately."

At Ghislain’s command, messengers departed. Days passed with no news, until finally, an envoy from the royal court arrived.

The envoy brought a message no one had anticipated.

"The Commander of the Northern Army is hereby ordered to step down by royal decree. The Northern Army is to be disbanded, and all soldiers are to return to their respective territories."

"...?"

Ghislain blinked in disbelief, his head tilting further as though he had misheard.

"Say that again. What?"

His tone was sharper than usual, the absurdity of the words pushing his patience to the brink.

The envoy pursed his lips, irritated by the lack of decorum, but repeated himself nonetheless.

"The Northern Army is to be disbanded. Commander, you are to return to your domain."

Ghislain’s expression grew cold and sharp.

"Whose orders?"

"The Marquis Branford made the decision. All the nobles were unanimously in agreement."

"And why?"

"They are negotiating a ceasefire with the Duke's faction."

"A ceasefire? Negotiations?"

"Indeed. The suffering of the kingdom’s people has grown unbearable, so in His Majesty’s infinite wisdom—"

Ghislain crossed his arms, cutting off the envoy’s words.

There was no way Marquis Branford would make such a decision. Even if he had, Maurice would never agree to it.

Signing a ceasefire with the Duke’s faction now would only paint the kingdom as a target for the other nations and the Four Great Churches. Such foolishness was beyond comprehension.

They had to know Ghislain would never approve.

"Tell me the truth. What’s happening in the capital?"

"What... What are you implying?"

Ghislain stood, his posture foreboding. It seemed the envoy wouldn’t talk without some persuasion.

At that moment, Dark’s voice echoed in Ghislain’s mind.

― Master, the Royal Army is retreating. A sudden order came down from the capital.

Hearing this, Ghislain turned his gaze back to the envoy, who remained stiff and oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

"I said, tell me the truth. I’m not the patient type."

"This is an official royal decree bearing the seal of the crown! What more do you want?" the envoy blustered, his tone rising in indignation.

It was true that Marquis Branford had signed the seal, but in the end, royal decrees came from the king himself. The envoy couldn’t understand how Ghislain could act so dismissively.

He had heard rumors that Ghislain was reckless, but he hadn’t realized just how reckless.

What the envoy failed to grasp was that Ghislain was far more dangerous than he had imagined.

"Something really did happen," Ghislain muttered to himself. Without further ado, he drew a hand axe from his belt.

Before the envoy could react, Ghislain swung it down onto his shoulder.

Crunch!

"Aaaaargh!"

"Speak."

"W-what is this...?"

Crunch!

Ghislain struck the envoy’s other shoulder. Blood poured from the wounds as the envoy fell to his knees, screaming.

"Mercy! Please, spare me!"

The envoy wailed, tears and snot running down his face. He had never expected such sudden violence.

Crouching in front of him, Ghislain leaned in and asked,

"Tell me what happened. I told you, I’m not patient."

"I-I’ll talk!" the envoy stammered, trembling.

Ghislain raised the axe again, driving it into the same wound as before.

"Aaaaargh! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything! Marquis Branford has been ousted!"

"What?"

"His Majesty has regained his health! And now the nobles..."

The envoy babbled, recounting the events in the capital. A mysterious mage had healed the king, who had then clashed with Marquis Branford over a ceasefire with the Duke’s faction.

Though Marquis Branford could have removed the king, he chose to step down instead. The nobles loyal to him followed suit, all placed under house arrest.

In other words, only the king and his loyalists remained in the capital now. They had recalled the Royal Army and were preparing to replace its commanders.

Hearing this, Ghislain chuckled darkly.

"So, that’s how it is."

"Y-yes, that’s the situation. So, Commander, you must obey His Majesty’s orders—"

Snap.

"Urk."

Ghislain gripped the envoy’s neck, his expression turning fierce.

It seemed the king had no idea who he was dealing with if he thought this would work.

The fact that this could even be called a "royal decree" was laughable.

With a savage grin, Ghislain said,

"It looks like it’s time for the king to die."