The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 757: Let’s Try That Too (1)

The Julien Mercenary Corps had become quite a famous group by now.

Especially ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ among the members of the Salvation Order. Several of their operations had already failed because of the mercenary corps.

The voice echoed again.

"I’m aware that the Julien Mercenary Corps possesses considerable skill. But with your power, you should have been able to handle it, no?"

"Yes, I was indeed on the verge of success. I sacrificed four Inquisitors to grievously wound the Elven High Chief. If I had pressed just a bit harder, it would’ve been over."

"Then why did you fail?"

"I’m not sure how to explain it. Something akin to a miracle happened."

"...A miracle?"

"There was a priest in the Julien Mercenary Corps. That man suddenly purged the curse I had planted and restored the High Chief from her critical condition. I had no choice but to retreat."

"Who was that priest?"

"Seemed like a low-ranking priest traveling with them."

"...You’re telling me a mere priest performed a miracle? Is that even possible?"

"I don’t know. Even with overwhelming divine power, it should’ve been impossible..."

The owner of the voice fell silent again. He simply couldn’t believe it.

The Pope himself hadn’t come—yet a single, nameless priest had foiled everything?

Rahmod spoke in a firm tone.

"Prophet Tagmah. I understand my words may be hard to believe. But you must believe them. Otherwise, more failures will follow."

Fwoooosh!

As the shadows coalesced, the one called Tagmah revealed his form.

Like Rahmod, he appeared to be a man of age. The difference was that his face looked much more severe—almost brutish.

Tagmah stared into Rahmod’s eyes for a moment, then nodded.

Rahmod was not the type to lie. Nor the type to be easily deceived.

So his words were surely true.

Tagmah had been living here for a long time. As such, he was even more cut off from outside information than Rahmod.

"If the Julien Mercenary Corps was involved in this incident... then it means their interference in our previous operations wasn’t coincidence either, does it?"

"That I can’t say for certain. But at this point, it seems inevitable that we’ll clash."

"And why is that?"

"Because the Julien Mercenary Corps is coming to aid the dwarves."

"...You’re sure?"

"Highly likely."

"And why do you think that?"

"It seems they’re moving under the Pope’s orders. Right after handing over Ismoken to the Empire, they headed straight for the Elven Forest."

"In that case..."

"If they went to the elves as the Pope’s envoy, the only reason would be the Sacred Stone. After earning the elves’ favor, they surely secured a promise for the stone’s transfer. Naturally, the next target would be the dwarves."

Rahmod didn’t believe they had already received the Sacred Stone. It was far too valuable for that.

More likely, they had only received a verbal promise to hand it over to the Pope.

At the mention of the Sacred Stone, Tagmah’s expression hardened.

"The Sacred Stone...? Don’t tell me—they’ve figured out how to use it?"

"I doubt it. If they had, the various races would’ve already united in cooperation. It’s likely the Pope, unable to give up, entrusted the task to a well-known mercenary corps."

Tagmah let out a small breath of relief. The power of the Sacred Stone could deal catastrophic damage to their ‘Sanctuary.’

Even the leadership of the Human Alliance didn’t know how to wield the Sacred Stones. Nor did they understand what to do with them.

But the high-ranking priests of the Salvation Order knew precisely what the Sacred Stones could be used for.

Just hearing that they were searching for the stones made it impossible for Tagmah to ignore the Julien Mercenary Corps any longer.

"Are they really enough to ruin our great undertaking?"

"They’re a powerful variable. Especially that one named Astion, who has reached the level of a transcendent and is also proficient in dark magic. He’s summoned as many as 100 Death Knights."

"Dark magic? And the humans and elves are letting him live?"

"He claims to be... a dark mage of justice."

"..."

"I don’t know how that works either."

A brief silence passed, awkward and tense. Tagmah simply couldn’t understand it, but Rahmod wasn’t someone who joked.

After a few clearing coughs, Tagmah nodded.

"Hmph... Well, that is certainly troublesome."

"I’ve already instructed the nearby dark mages to stall them if they move. Enforcer Munareff is spreading the word and heading here."

"With Ismoken captured and even you having failed, we can’t stay in hiding any longer."

"Exactly. Time is short. The kingdoms’ wariness is growing quickly. That’s why the dwarven operation must succeed—we must complete it and return to the Sanctuary. That’s why I left the Julien Mercenary Corps alone and came here directly."

Tagmah nodded. Though preparations for attacking the dwarves weren’t finished yet, the urgency left no other choice.

"Understood. We may be underprepared, but with your help, it should be fine."

Tagmah closed his eyes.

They had to kill the Dwarf King and destroy the Eternal Forge. If they succeeded, it would deal a major blow to the Human Alliance.

One of the pillars of the Human Alliance would be broken.

And more importantly...

"They must never awaken the Sacred Stone’s power."

That was their true objective.

***

Scattered across the continent were many dwarves, living in hidden cities built deep in mountains or underground, usually where rich veins of ore lay hidden.

Among them, the most renowned place was Vallscrum, the residence of the Dwarf King.

Vallscrum was a massive fortress city built deep within the mountains, with outer walls and peaks forming a continuous wall-like defense.

Inside the fortress was a complex structure of dwarf villages, workshops, and mines.

In other words, the entire mountain was both city and fortress.

At the foot of the mountain, there was also a human city built for trade with the dwarves. And that city was far larger than most typical human settlements.

Dwarves were different from elves.

They didn’t craft items to put on display. A creation was only complete once it was used.

Because of that, dwarves actively traded with humans who valued and used their craftsmanship.

Since high-quality dwarven products were accessible here, countless merchants from across the continent flocked to the city.

Dwarves, in turn, acquired premium grain liquor, clothing, and magical tools crafted by humans.

With both sides benefiting from the exchange, the city naturally expanded in size.

And now, the Julien Mercenary Corps had arrived at that city.

"Yeeeeees! We’re finally here!"

"I thought I was going to die from exhaustion!"

"Seriously... this road was the worst we’ve ever taken."

As soon as they arrived, the mercenaries collapsed and groaned aloud.

They looked more like refugees than soldiers—filthy and disheveled. Even Ereneth, who always kept herself pristine, now looked like a beggar elf.

Kyle murmured with a weary expression.

"I never knew there were so many dark mages in the world. You never see them usually, but they kept popping up like cockroaches."

It wasn’t just dark mages. Monsters they controlled and roaming bandits had also emerged non-stop.

The enemies weren’t that powerful, but they had to fight without rest—and that took its toll.

Ghislain ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a short laugh.

"We made it. But it was fun, wasn’t it?"

It had been an entertaining journey, in its own way. The enemies weren’t too tough, but constant combat for days had its own value as training.

Everyone stared blankly at Ghislain. Even Ereneth, who longed for intense adventure, was speechless.

Ignoring them, Ghislain took a step forward.

"Alright, let’s find a place to rest. We’re filthy. Luckily, it looks like the invasion hasn’t begun yet."

The dwarven fortress was famed for being impenetrable. It wouldn’t be easy for the Salvation Order to breach, so they were likely still preparing.

The group began exploring the city at a slow pace.

The streets bustled with life, and the clang of hammering metal never stopped echoing from the forges.

The Julien Mercenary Corps had just entered the dwarven trade city.

Paved stone roads stretched neatly across the town like sectioned tiles, lined on either side by shops. Some of them even had designated areas where customers could try on weapons and gear.

There were plenty of human merchants seen haggling and trading with dwarven craftsmen.

This city had been built by humans for the purpose of trading with the dwarves—yet the dwarves blended in so naturally, it was as if the city was theirs all along.

One dwarf was openly chugging a bottle of grain liquor, while another was—shockingly—trying to hawk goods by grabbing passing human men.

"Hey! I made this belt myself, me—a real dwarf! I’ll let you have it for just 1 gold! Still not buying it?!"

"I said no! What kind of belt costs that much?"

"I told you, a dwarf made it!"

"Like there’s anything in this town not made by dwarves! And just look at it—it’s clearly junk you made while drunk!"

"Agh, fine! I’ll give it to you for a bottle of liquor!"

Even then, the man refused. He shook off the dwarf’s grip and fled.

The dwarf spat toward his retreating back.

"F**king bastard! So picky for a damn human! Back in the day, I could pawn off any old crap and they’d be happy to take it. Now their standards are all high and mighty. Ptew!"

Ghislain’s group, seasoned as they were, picked up on the atmosphere immediately.

"They're making things drunk and selling them?"

"Dwarves turn into this when they live too long with humans, huh?"

"Humans are the problem here."

Still, the sight of different races mingling so freely was strangely fascinating and even enjoyable to watch.

As they strolled along, looking for a place to stay, they noticed a crowd gathered off to one side.

A few dwarves were shouting energetically, drawing people in.

"Step right up! Solve this engineering puzzle, and you’ll win ‘Gramdir’—a legendary sword known only among us dwarves! Don’t like swords? Take 100 gold instead!"

The sword hanging beside them looked simple and extremely plain at first glance. No jewels, no decoration whatsoever.

No, even calling it "plain" felt generous. The blade was caked with rust—clearly neglected.

Still, since a dwarf had confidently presented it, some suspected there might be a hidden secret to it. The dark blade, unlike typical swords, might hint at something more.

Traders and knights with a keen eye examined ‘Gramdir’ closely, intrigued by the possibility.

But soon after, their murmurs turned disappointed.

"Ugh, it really is just a rusty old sword."

"Yeah, like a legendary sword would ever be sitting out in the open at a street market."

"These dwarves are getting more full of it by the day."

"Still, looks sturdy enough. You’d get decent value just from the metal."

Any proper workshop in town would have better swords for sale. Taking the 100 gold was clearly the smarter choice.

The engineering puzzle the dwarf presented was a spherical mechanical device.

Around the round machine were seven metal rods.

All over the device were countless holes, each marked with numbers and various symbols.

When the crowd seemed confused, the dwarf began explaining.

"This mechanical device can be gripped top and bottom, and rotated sideways! Every time you rotate it, the numbers and symbols change positions! Each rod is marked with its own set of numbers and symbols!"

"So what the hell are we supposed to do with that?"

Someone shouted impatiently, and the dwarf clicked his tongue.

"The goal is to find the hidden logic behind the symbols and numbers! You must deduce the correct pattern and insert the rods accordingly! If you insert a rod into the wrong hole, it won’t fit!"

"Sounds like a scam to me! What if you rigged it so nothing fits? Didn’t a dwarf get caught recently for pulling a scam like that? Dwarven swindlers are getting bolder these days!"

The dwarf exploded in rage.

"You ignorant human bastards! You dare accuse me?! Watch closely!"

He grabbed the top and bottom of the device and began twisting it.

Click. Clack. Creak.

With every rotation, the positions of the numbers and symbols shifted.

The dwarf then picked up one metal rod, studying its markings carefully, and slowly inserted it into the machine.

Clack.

It clicked neatly into place. Anyone could see it had slotted in perfectly.

The dwarf then grabbed a random rod and tried to insert it. It went in partway before getting stuck—clearly blocked by something.

He puffed out his chest and shouted proudly.

"See? As long as you do the math properly, it’ll fit! If you’re wrong, it won’t!"

"Ooooh..."

Now the crowd was truly interested.

Dwarven engineering was known as the finest on the continent. It wasn’t at all strange for them to invent something like this.

Of course, finding the pattern among all those symbols and numbers was no easy task. Only someone very intelligent had any hope of solving it.

Looking around at the crowd again, the dwarf shouted,

"Entry fee: 1 gold! You get three tries! I’ll let you miss up to three times! But let me warn you: if any of you try to force it with mana, don’t bother! Even if you manage to push it in, if it’s in the wrong hole, the internal mana circuit will blow!"

People hesitated. One gold was a steep fee for a mere game.

But with three chances and the chance to win 100 gold, it was worth a try.

Soon enough, a few self-proclaimed geniuses stepped up to take the challenge.

"Failure!"

"You failed too!"

"Oops! Another failure!"

Every challenger failed. The dwarf grinned broadly as he watched the pile of coins at his feet grow.

Even after seeing others fail, more people lined up to try. The merchants visiting this city had plenty of money—and confidence in their brains.

But no one succeeded. Failure after failure, the money pile next to the dwarf grew larger and larger.

When someone accused him of running a scam, he simply demonstrated the solution again—and they fell silent.

As Ghislain watched the dwarf raking in cash, he finally said,

"Let’s try it too."

His eyes gleamed with excitement.