The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations (light Novel)

A tense silence lingered. The news was simply unbelievable.

Through their spies, the Atrodé forces had meticulously tracked the movements of the Ruthania alliance. It was clear that the coalition forces had been advancing, with some divisions breaking communication—confirming the deployment of a ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) pursuit force.
The Second Corps was moving toward its final objective accordingly.
But now, news of the Fourth Corps’ annihilation? Who had they even fought?

"The Fourth Corps... why?" Aiden muttered in confusion, his expression clouded.
No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t fathom how the Fourth Corps had been attacked. Based on his understanding, the alliance didn’t have enough forces to spare for such an operation.
If the alliance had divided its troops early on, it would’ve risked losing critical supply lines and key positions. And the First Corps was still advancing on their own front.

Duke Fenris wasn’t the type to act so recklessly.
"Could reinforcements have already arrived? We must go and see for ourselves!" Aiden barked, spurring his Second Corps to accelerate.
Thud, thud, thud, thud!

There was no time to conserve stamina. They galloped at full speed.
When they reached the battlefield, the sight that greeted them left everyone in stunned silence.
"They really... were annihilated..." Aiden whispered, dismounting and surveying the area in disbelief.

Not a single soul had survived. Despite having four superhumans among their ranks, the Fourth Corps had been utterly obliterated.
Whoever had attacked them had been ruthless, thoroughly dismantling the corps. The evidence was clear in the traces left behind.
Aiden knelt and ran his fingers through the dirt—an action he wouldn’t normally consider, but the gravity of the situation left him no choice.

After a moment, he stood and scanned the area once more.
"There was magic here—cast not from the front lines, but from the rear... It seems they pierced the mana barrier to cut off any retreat."
The Fourth Corps had fewer and slightly weaker mages compared to the Second Corps, but they were still capable of fending off most magical attacks.

For their mana barrier to be breached indicated the presence of an exceptionally powerful mage.
"At least a 7th-circle mage. And likely supported by several others," Aiden concluded.
Even a 7th-circle mage would struggle to take on an entire corps alone, so there must have been additional high-level mages assisting.
Aiden’s sharp eyes scanned the corpses. All of them bore multiple wounds, their lifeless faces frozen in expressions of terror.

The realization made Aiden frown.
"They were utterly overwhelmed. They couldn’t even put up a proper resistance. And this wasn’t even terrain conducive to an ambush..."
The sheer strength of their attackers was clear.

As Aiden continued his examination, he found the bodies of the Fourth Corps’ priests.
Kneeling beside the disturbed ground, he studied the overlapping footprints and hoofprints.
"One individual. They faced all the priests alone—and fought on horseback."

The skill level required to face superhumans while staying mounted was staggering.
While Aiden himself could potentially fight in such a manner, it would require immense mana to shield his mount while fighting. Coordinating a horse’s movements with the speed and reflexes of superhuman combat was no easy feat.
For someone to have achieved this...

"Their technique is peerless. Such a fighter exists among the alliance?" Aiden murmured.
It wasn’t the Saintess. Those struck by her divine power left behind little more than ashes. Other alliance superhumans were skilled, but not to this level.
That left only two possibilities.

"Duke Fenris... or the Turian prince."
Aiden closed his eyes, replaying the battle in his mind.
"A mage."

A 7th-circle mage who had outclassed the Fourth Corps’ mages—Vanessa. She had repeatedly turned the tide of battle in favor of Fenris, delivering critical victories.
"Unbelievable offensive power."
The evidence of cavalry charges shredding the Fourth Corps’ lines was unmistakable. No force other than Fenris’s elite mounted units could have achieved such devastation.

"And the priests... all of them faced a single combatant."
The traces indicated a battle fought with a spear—one wielded with overwhelming destruction and impeccable skill.
The Turian prince wielded only a sword and didn’t fight with such ferocity.

There was only one figure in the alliance known for wielding any weapon, sowing fear across battlefields with unmatched destruction.
Aiden’s eyes snapped open, his lips curling into a cruel smile.
"Duke Fenris. So it was you."

The initial shock gave way to anger, and then to exhilaration.
This was the man he had longed to face—the one whose death would solidify Aiden’s greatness. And now, as if ordained by destiny, the stage had been set for their encounter.
Aiden threw his head back and laughed as he mounted his white steed.

To him, the Fourth Corps had merely been a pawn meant to weaken the enemy. Their loss was insignificant.
Now, he only needed to pour everything into this fight, cut down Duke Fenris, and bring the war to a close.
If he could claim Fenris’s life, he would cement himself as the true hero of this war.

"History only remembers the victors," Aiden muttered.
He didn’t care if he achieved his goals through the support of the Salvation Order. In the new world they envisioned, his name would be revered.
"Let’s go. Fenris is waiting for us," Aiden declared confidently.

To him, it was fate.
The Second Corps followed their commander as he led them toward their anticipated confrontation.
They advanced at a steady pace, conserving their energy. As night fell, they even stopped to rest, ensuring they were fully prepared for the coming battle.

Aiden saw no need to rush. He knew they would meet soon enough.
By the following day, after hours of marching, they came upon a vast plain where an enemy force had set up camp.
"So, they’re here," Aiden said with a smirk. He was a man chosen by fate, and this battlefield had been prepared just for him.

He rode forward, his steed’s pure white coat gleaming in the sunlight. Across the field, a single figure mirrored his movements, also advancing on horseback.
They met in the middle of the plain, face to face at last.
"Duke Fenris," Aiden said, recognizing the face he had seen countless times in portraits. His assumption had been correct.

Fenris—Ghislain—greeted him with a cold smile.
"Aiden. It’s been a long time."
"Oh? You know me?" Aiden said with a sly grin. "You must’ve seen my portraits."

Though Aiden had earned a fair share of fame recently, it paled in comparison to Fenris’s renown. The thought that Fenris knew him personally pleased him—until he noticed something odd.
"Wait... ‘It’s been a long time’? Have we met before? I don’t recall," Aiden asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Oh, we’ve met. Many times," Ghislain replied, his smile turning sinister.

In their previous lives, they had both been among the Continent’s Seven Strongest, fighting side by side as part of humanity’s united front against their enemies.
Their relationship had been tense but cooperative, marked by rivalry and mutual distrust.
However, their final battle had shattered that fragile bond.

Aiden had been one of the hidden forces orchestrating chaos across the continent—and the one who had thwarted Ghislain’s vengeance.
"I haven’t forgotten you," Ghislain said, his voice calm but laced with an unmistakable edge.
The sensation of his neck being severed—the sight of blood filling his vision—remained vivid in his memory.

The regret, the bitterness, the unbearable frustration of dying without achieving his revenge.
He would never forget that day. He would never forget Aiden.
As his crimson eyes glowed with deadly intent, Ghislain murmured, "I swore to tear you apart, piece by piece."

A heavy, oppressive aura radiated from him, filled with unrelenting hatred and bloodlust.
Aiden’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the man before him. Though he didn’t fully understand the depth of Ghislain’s animosity, he could feel its weight.
"Looks like there’s some history here I’m not aware of... but it doesn’t matter," Aiden said with a shrug.

This was war, and Fenris was his enemy. Whether it was personal or not was irrelevant.
"Carrying a grudge isn’t a bad thing," Aiden quipped as he urged his steed forward. Thud.
Aiden steered his horse with a measured pace, mirroring Ghislain’s deliberate movements.

The contrast between them was striking—Aiden's immaculate white steed exuded grace and poise, while Ghislain’s fierce black mount radiated raw, untamed power.
The two circled each other, silently appraising their opponent, tension thick in the air. Finally, Ghislain broke the silence.
“How about it? Shall we settle this between the two of us, here and now?”

Aiden hesitated, his mind weighing the risks. He didn’t doubt his own abilities, but the reputation of Duke Fenris had proven formidable. A duel victory would undoubtedly elevate his fame. The proposition was enticing.
But then he reminded himself of Ghislain’s cunning.
‘No, that’s too simple. He’s a sly one, despite his brutish demeanor. Who knows what tricks he’s hiding?’

The very fact that Fenris had shown up here, against all odds, was proof of his intelligence. Something about the current situation felt off, as if Count Vipenvelt’s carefully laid strategies had somehow unraveled.
If Fenris was here, then what of the other fronts? Aiden had no way of knowing.
‘There’s no reason for me to take such a risk. He’s only proposing this because he has something up his sleeve.’

Aiden, ever cautious and calculating, rarely took the lead in battle unless he was certain of victory.
“I refuse,” he finally said, his voice calm but firm. “This is war, not a personal duel. Save your swordplay for another time—if you survive.”
With that, Aiden turned his horse and began issuing orders to prepare his troops for an all-out assault, intent on wearing Fenris down.

Ghislain smirked, watching Aiden retreat.
“Very well, have it your way.”
In his past life, their battles had always been disrupted by outside forces. Too many distractions, too many interferences. This time, Ghislain wanted to settle it personally.

Of course, he had expected Aiden to refuse. The man was as shrewd and calculating as ever, always seeking to use others to weaken his enemies before stepping in for the final blow.
As Ghislain turned his horse, he murmured to himself, “I’m looking forward to seeing how your expression changes.”
Aiden had no idea what Ghislain had prepared for him.

Back at his camp, Aiden swiftly issued commands.
“Our numbers give us a slight advantage, but their strength cannot be underestimated. Every soldier must be ready to fight to the death.”
Both sides were composed entirely of cavalry, limiting their tactical options. Aiden’s forces numbered 30,000 to Fenris’s 20,000—a numerical advantage, but one undermined by the superior equipment of the Fenris cavalry.

“Spread out as widely as possible. We’ll surround them as we charge.”
The terrain was an open plain, ideal for cavalry maneuvers. Fenris had chosen this battlefield deliberately, knowing it would play to their mobility.
Aiden continued, “They have a 7th-circle mage among them. Focus solely on neutralizing their magic. If necessary, burn through your lifeforce to disrupt their spells. If we allow them to cast, it’s over.”

Though his own mages were highly skilled, they would need to push their abilities to the limit just to hold the line against such powerful magic.
“Judges, stay back. Only intervene if Duke Fenris himself enters the fray.”
He detailed his plans down to the smallest contingencies, ensuring no piece of the puzzle was left unaccounted for.

However, neither Aiden nor his elite Silver Knights were assigned any specific tasks. They would remain in reserve, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The two armies began their slow, deliberate march toward each other.
Aiden’s knights took their positions at the rear, while the Atrodé cavalry filled the front lines, ready for the charge.

At last, Aiden raised his hand.
“All units, charge! Spare no one—crush them completely.”
Thud, thud, thud, thud!

The Atrodé cavalry surged forward, accelerating as they closed the gap. The Fenris cavalry responded in kind, their lines stretching to match the Atrodé formation.
Aiden’s eyes gleamed as he observed Fenris’s deployment.
“They’re trying to avoid being encircled. But it won’t work. We have the numbers on our side.”

If the front lines collided evenly, the remaining forces could sweep around to flank the enemy. Fenris would be forced to stretch his lines thinner, weakening their impact at the center.
‘Once we break through, their superior equipment won’t matter.’
Even if it cost him his entire force, Aiden was determined to annihilate the Fenris cavalry. He would deal the final blow himself, emerging as the hero of the battlefield.

“Leave none alive. Reduce their numbers to nothing,” Aiden commanded.
The ground quaked as tens of thousands of cavalry charged toward each other. The air grew heavy with the sound of pounding hooves, and the distance between the two forces dwindled rapidly.
The Atrodé soldiers tightened their grips on their lances. They knew the destructive power of the Fenris cavalry’s charge. Surviving the initial impact was their first objective—after that, they would push through and break the enemy lines.

The wide-open formation of the Fenris cavalry offered opportunities for infiltration. The Atrodé soldiers were no strangers to battle; they were veterans, the elite among the elite.
Thud, thud, thud, thud!
The deafening roar of hooves drew nearer. The soldiers could hear nothing but their own ragged breaths, their hearts pounding as if about to burst. Spears glinted in the sunlight, aimed squarely at the oncoming enemy.

And then, just as the two armies were about to collide—
Ziiing—!
A crimson glow streaked along the spears of the Fenris cavalry, traveling rapidly from the shaft to the blade.

Thunk!
A dull sound echoed as the glowing spearheads unleashed a torrent of energy.
Aiden’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open.

Fwoooosh!
More than ten thousand flaming projectiles erupted from the Fenris cavalry’s spears, raining down upon the charging Atrodé forces.