The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 493: There’s Something I Need You to Do (2)

There isn’t a single person without ambition. Big or small, every human being wants to achieve something.

Zvalter was no exception. He, too, had a dream.

To stabilize the North, to see the people of his territory live in happiness, and to live a simple life surrounded by loved ones without major hardships.

That, he thought, would be enough.

“My dream was already coming true.”

Thanks to his son, the territory was flourishing, and the troublesome Northern regions that plagued his family for generations had been pacified. The remaining barbarians had integrated with the people of Ferdium, forming growing villages.

For Zvalter, who had lived his life driven by responsibility, his dream was being realized.

The only thing missing was the presence of his departed wife, leaving him feeling slightly lonely. Beyond that, there was nothing he lacked.

“I thought this was enough.”

And it was true. Once this war was over, he had planned to pass everything down to his son and spend the rest of his days in peace.

A life spent worrying was finally about to give way to the peace he had earned.

But now? He was being told to become king? As if such a thing were as simple as deciding to do it.

Zvalter tried to calm his whirlwind of thoughts, but his voice trembled as he spoke.

"I am a noble sworn to serve the kingdom."

"You know that no longer holds any meaning," Ghislain replied bluntly.

“...”

The king had allied with a cult responsible for countless deaths. If they did nothing, it would be their deaths next.

Meaningless, indeed.

"But... I have no desire to be king."

Zvalter truly had no ambitions that grand. Becoming the great lord of a prosperous territory was already more than enough for him.

The idea of becoming a king? He had never even considered it. Truthfully, he just wanted to retire and rest.

Ghislain, seeing his father still stunned, said firmly,

"The kingdom’s people and nobles need a rallying point."

"Does it have to be me? Couldn’t it be you instead?"

If someone were to rise as king, they would first have to overthrow the current order by force. And the only one with the strength to do so was Ghislain, leading the Northern Army.

By that logic, Ghislain himself was the most fitting candidate for the throne.

But Ghislain didn’t see it that way.

"No. ‘For now,’ you’re better suited than I am."

"Why?"

"Because I will continue to fight on the front lines with my retainers. I will also need to assist our allied nations. Managing the affairs of an entire kingdom, not just one territory, is beyond my capacity right now."

"Mm..."

"And the nobles will find you more agreeable than they do me."

Ghislain’s reputation was overwhelmingly greater than Zvalter’s, but among nobles, he was viewed as someone to be feared.

If the kingdom were overthrown, they might follow him out of fear, but they would never like or trust a young, brash warlord.

Zvalter, on the other hand, was different.

He was a high-ranking noble, older, and widely respected for his years of defending the North. He was not mocked for his character, only dismissed for his territory’s past poverty.

To the nobles, Zvalter represented someone they could grudgingly respect while preserving their dignity.

Zvalter understood this reasoning.

"...I see."

This was no small matter, but no one could oppose it. If they didn’t act, they would be the ones to perish.

In the heavy silence, Chancellor Homern hesitantly spoke up.

"If we succeed... does this mean I’ll become Prime Minister?"

The room collectively shot him a sharp glare. Was that really the priority right now?

Even Ghislain, caught off guard by the question, blinked a few times before replying,

"Well... yes, for now."

After all, until the kingdom stabilized, key positions would need to be filled with people from Ferdium. The retainers of Fenris would remain engaged in the ongoing war effort.

Encouraged, Homern awkwardly grinned at Zvalter.

"My lord... well, I suppose we don’t have much choice, do we?"

Next, Albert, the treasurer, cautiously asked,

"And me? Would I become the kingdom’s treasurer?"

"Yes... for now..."

Albert, usually stoic, allowed a small, restrained smile to cross his face.

"My lord, it seems the young master has a point. There’s no other way forward."

Randolph chimed in enthusiastically,

"So, does this mean I’ll be the Commander-in-Chief of the kingdom’s army?"

"No," Ghislain replied flatly. "That position will remain mine. But you can be the Captain of the Royal Knights."

Randolph grinned widely. That position was nearly as prestigious as Commander-in-Chief.

"Brother! It’s clear the king and Duke Delphine won’t leave us alone! Let’s just topple everything!" Randolph exclaimed.

The retainers around Ghislain exchanged incredulous looks. He was casually distributing the kingdom’s key positions as if they were his to give.

But... if they succeeded, they too might claim a seat of power.

As absurd as it seemed, the retainers had already come to a shared conclusion.

“If the young master says we’re doing this, we’re doing it.”

“If we fail, we’ll die anyway.”

“He doesn’t listen to objections, so what’s the point?”

If they succeeded, a new dynasty would rise. If they failed, they would be branded traitors. Either way, there was no alternative.

All eyes turned to Zvalter.

"My lord, you must make a decision. The king and the Duke’s faction will come for us regardless."

"The young master is right. If we are to fight, we must prepare thoroughly from this moment on."

"We can’t just sit still and let them destroy us!"

"A king who has allied with a cult cannot be followed!"

The atmosphere was charged, and the fervor spread like wildfire.

In the past, they would have been paralyzed by fear, but now they felt emboldened.

“If we stand with the young master, we’ll win.”

“The Northern Army is the strongest in the kingdom.”

“When have we ever lost?”

This newfound confidence was thanks to Ghislain. He had given them a reason to believe in victory.

They all looked to Zvalter with eager, expectant eyes.

Zvalter let out a deep, hearty laugh.

The retainers, once impoverished and timid, were now brimming with ambition, inspired by his son.

Despite his pride in Ghislain, Zvalter wrestled with inner turmoil.

“Must I really do this?”

He had always taken pride in being a loyal servant of the kingdom. His life was built on honor, loyalty, and responsibility.

If this were merely a power struggle, Zvalter would have refused without hesitation.

But the king had allied with the Salvation Order—a cult that created Rifts, waged war, and slaughtered innocents.

If the cult prevailed, the people of the kingdom would become nothing more than sacrificial offerings.

Zvalter’s loyalty was to the kingdom’s people, not to its self-destructive ruler.

Even if he wanted to shield the king from his mistakes, both the king and the Duke would seek to destroy the Northern Army regardless.

There was no choice.

“My love, who would have thought we’d see a day like this?”

What Zvalter didn’t know was that his late wife, Annette, had once served to protect the royal family.

And Annette could never have imagined that her husband and son would one day seek to bring that same royal family to its knees.

History’s tides often flowed in directions no one could predict.

After a long silence, Zvalter nodded.

"I’ll do as you say."

With Zvalter’s decision made, the retainers’ faces lit up with resolve. Though they were nervous, excitement over writing a new chapter in history prevailed.

Belinda clenched her fists tightly.

“Our young master will truly become the ‘Grand Duke of the North!’”

What had once been a reluctant title could now be claimed with pride.

Zvalter turned to Ghislain.

"When do we move?"

"Soon. We’re currently gathering intelligence on the capital’s situation."

Spies were already in motion, and Ghislain expected the information he needed to arrive soon.

Zvalter stood, addressing his retainers with calm authority.

"Inspect all supplies and summon the troops. When Count Fenris gives the signal, we will march on the capital together."

"Yes, my lord!"

The retainers bowed deeply, their expressions determined.

The Duke’s faction and the king had joined forces to destroy them. In the past, they would have cowered.

But Ferdium was no longer the weak, impoverished land of old.

Their oppressors would now have to pay a price for their aggression.

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Zvalter’s voice rang out, steady and resolute.

"We will save this kingdom."

***

The atmosphere in the capital was oppressively dark.

It had been this way ever since the king reclaimed his power.

Even within the royalist faction, nobles who had previously been suppressed by Marquis Branford quickly swore loyalty to the king.

“Ha ha ha! I never imagined there were still so many loyal subjects left in this kingdom,” the king said gleefully as he redistributed authority, taking it from other nobles and granting it to his new supporters.

For the king, dispersing power among many was preferable to concentrating it in the hands of one person. He could not risk another Branford-like figure rising again.

The nobles, pleased to gain a share of the previously consolidated power, accepted this redistribution without complaint.

It was only natural for power to be reorganized in this way. If only it had stopped there.

If only Berhem hadn’t gone mad.

“Not enough prisoners?” Berhem asked incredulously.

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” said Marquis Domont, now elevated in rank and status as one of the king’s new confidants. “There simply aren’t enough death row inmates in the capital.”

Thanks to Marquis Branford’s diligent governance, the capital’s crime rate had been remarkably low. Consequently, there were few prisoners to execute.

However, maintaining Berhem’s "treatment" required a constant supply of death row inmates—many of them.

“Didn’t I issue orders to the provinces? Surely there must be plenty of bandits and criminals to send!”

“Prisoners are being transported to the capital, but it will take time,” Domont replied, his expression uneasy.

“Bah! Time is what I don’t have! How long am I supposed to wait?” Berhem snapped impatiently.

Domont could only bow his head, unable to answer. After all, one cannot conjure prisoners out of thin air.

At that moment, Flakus, standing by the king’s side, offered a suggestion.

“Strengthen the laws, Your Majesty. Arrest even those who commit minor offenses.”

“Hm, do you think that would suffice?”

“It would not only suffice, but it would also be a blessing to the people. With stricter laws, there will be fewer criminals over time. A kingdom without sin is a true utopia.”

“Yes... a sinless kingdom! That is indeed the ideal.”

“Precisely, Your Majesty. Our church shares that dream. And, of course, preserving Your Majesty’s sacred body is paramount. After all, Your Majesty is the kingdom, and everything within it belongs to you.”

“Hah! Well said. From today onward, the laws shall be strengthened. Steward!”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“From this day forward, no sin shall go unpunished. There is no such thing as a minor crime. The penalty shall be the same for all.”

A wicked grin spread across Berhem’s face.

“All sinners shall be executed.”

Seeing the madness in the king’s eyes, Marquis Domont swallowed nervously.

Having served the king closely, Domont was well aware of the man’s deteriorated mental state. His time on the throne had only unleashed the twisted nature that had long been repressed.

“Was this truly the right choice?” Domont wondered.

Thanks to his success in helping the king reclaim power, his family had risen to prominence, gaining immense wealth and a higher title.

Yet the victory felt fragile, as if it could shatter at any moment. The king was, after all, half-mad.

“There’s no turning back now.”

Steeling himself, Domont bowed deeply.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will see it done.”

In the capital, Berhem’s authority was absolute. His decrees were carried out without question.

The notion of a “sinless kingdom” might have sounded appealing on the surface. Some even welcomed it, at least initially.

But the real consequences quickly became apparent.

“Please, spare me! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Just come along. If you’re innocent, we’ll release you after the investigation.”

Even the innocent were arrested if they seemed even slightly suspicious. Many of them never returned home.

To inflate their "results," soldiers dredged up minor offenses from years past, hauling in people indiscriminately.

Those who were arrested became sacrifices for Berhem.

Deep within the royal palace, in a vast, hidden chamber of stone, Berhem sat at the center of a massive, blood-soaked magic circle.

The bodies of countless prisoners were strewn about, their blood fueling the intricate sigils carved into the floor.

The magic circle glowed crimson, pulsating with power as Berhem cackled maniacally.

“Ohhh... the strength! I can feel it surging through me!”

His laughter echoed off the stone walls. The corpses of those sacrificed to maintain the spell lay in heaps around him.

“Bring me more prisoners! Quickly!” Berhem shouted, his voice tinged with desperation.

“Is this not enough? Then fabricate crimes if you must! Drag them here, guilty or not!”

Berhem’s insatiable thirst for power consumed him.

And to quench it, he required ever more sacrifices—more and more blood to fuel his unholy rituals.