The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 209: I’m Really a Pacifist. (2)

Ascon, sensing that something was amiss, spoke irritably.

“Ha, seriously, my Lord, you’re impossible to talk to. You act all high and mighty, but you won’t kill us because you think it’s a waste of money. So, what? If I become the leader and take charge, what’s the next big plan? We’re the best at just having fun, you know.”

“You all are going to become soldiers.”

“……?”

The elves stared at Ghislain with incredulous expressions. Soldiers? With their worth? It was a ridiculous notion.

Even Ascon, thinking he must have misheard, chuckled and asked again.

“We’re… going to become what?”

“Proud soldiers of the estate.”

“And you know our worth, yet you’re telling us to do that?”

His speech grew shorter, clearly a sign of growing irritation. Ghislain, however, maintained a kind and understanding expression as he replied.

“Exactly. And since a healthy body nurtures a healthy mind, starting today, you’ll quit drinking and smoking for a while and focus on physical training.”

“What physical training! We’re not doing that!”

Ascon shouted, and the other elves nodded in agreement. Having lived their entire lives enjoying leisure and indulgence, the sudden demand for physical training was absurd to them.

Besides, if the plan was to use them as soldiers, why had the Lord spent so much money to purchase elves in the first place? The logic behind it was incomprehensible.

Ascon soon nodded as if he had figured it out.

“Aha! So you’re trying to intimidate us because you think we’re not cooperating, huh?”

“I don’t waste time on such things.”

“Then why talk about training and soldiers? Have you ever seen an elf fight? Huh? We’re a species that’s specialized in just enjoying life. That’s why we’re all so pretty and handsome.”

The idea that their beauty justified their leisurely lives was utterly absurd. Yet, many seemed to find the reasoning strangely convincing.

Of course, Ghislain wasn’t one of them. In an estate with barely any places of entertainment, individuals who used their looks as an excuse to lounge around were entirely unnecessary.

He had already devised a plan to utilize the elves as a special type of military unit.

“Elves can be trained like anyone else. You all can fight very well. So, from now on, you’ll undergo military training. Let’s work towards a fresh start.”

“And I’m supposed to be the leader of this ridiculous soldier game for elves?”

“That’s right. I want your full cooperation.”

“Ha, damn it! My Lord! You’re seriously driving me insane! I said I’m not going to be the leader! Why can’t you understand plain words? Do you think I’m some joke because I’m a slave? Do you think a noble being like me is the same as other human slaves?”

“Oh……”

Ascon’s words finally crossed the line. Ghislain looked genuinely impressed, as if he couldn’t help but admire the audacity.

Despite the elf’s blatant disrespect, Ghislain’s aides didn’t intervene. Instead, they quietly stepped back, pretending not to notice anything as they gazed at the sky.

Unaware of the shift in atmosphere, Ascon continued to shout, his anger reaching a fever pitch.

“Why are humans always like this? What’s this nonsense about elves and military training? We’re terrible at fighting, for crying out loud! Are you insane? And what’s this talk about a fresh start? If I’d succeeded with my first love, I’d have a grandson your age by now!”

“Ha…”

Hearing Ascon’s tirade, Ghislain let out a dry chuckle despite himself.

“You’re laughing? Do you think this is funny? Do you even know how many masters I’ve had? Huh? Seven! Seven masters! Damn it, I’ve got anger management issues, you know! I’m Ascon the Rageaholic, Ascon the Cursing Machine! Nobles everywhere know my name! You, a noble, have never heard of me?”

‘I haven’t, actually. I’ll have to ask Mariel or Rosalyn later. “Do you know this crazy elf? Ascon the Rageaholic? The Cursing Machine? Are those nicknames even real for an elf?”’

Looking at him closely, Ghislain noticed Ascon’s face redden as he yelled, his behavior almost recklessly fearless.

While all elf slaves were said to be like this, letting them laze around as they pleased would be no different from getting scammed by the slaver.

Ghislain hated the idea of being taken for a fool.

‘Ha, people just won’t listen to reason, huh? You’re really pushing it now. I genuinely wanted to treat you well because you’re a different species… Hmm? Different species?’

Ghislain wasn’t a racist, nor was he a violent person. He prided himself on being a pacifist and wanted to live as such for as long as possible.

But just because he lived that way didn’t mean he could erase the widespread racial prejudices of the world. To change the world’s perception, he’d need to shift perspectives entirely.

A sudden realization sent a chill down his spine.

‘An elf corrupted by the human world… isn’t that just a human with long ears and a long lifespan?’

Yes, the solution was simple. Stop thinking of them as elves and treat them as humans. That was true racial equality.

Reflecting on his unconscious prejudice, Ghislain vowed to change. From now on, all species would be human in his eyes.

With a bright smile, he declared, “From today, you’re human. A human with pointy ears.”

“What? I’m a noble elf!”

“No, starting today, you’re human. And I’ll treat every elf here as humans too! That’s true racial equality!”

As Ghislain started rambling nonsense, his aides moved even further away.

Ascon, utterly dumbfounded, stared at him in disbelief.

“What the hell? Are you insane? Why am I suddenly a human?” Ascon shouted, clearly indignant.

“No, you’re definitely human now. And humans have a very different way of communicating compared to elves. A much faster and more efficient method.”

Due to their long lifespans, elves typically had a laid-back and leisurely temperament. They took their time making decisions, and changes happened slowly. It wasn’t inherently wrong—it was simply a trait of their race.

But Ghislain didn’t have the luxury of waiting for them to slowly open up and change. He needed the elves’ full cooperation immediately.

That left him with one clear solution:

Mental reprogramming.

Rolling up his sleeves, Ghislain spoke again, his tone calm but resolute.

“It seems you haven’t heard much about me yet. I’m a renowned doctor in the kingdom. Especially when it comes to treating anger management issues. That’s my specialty.”

“Pfft, hahahaha! You’re joking, right? What? Treatment? And how do you plan to ‘treat’ me, huh? I was born this way! You got some miracle medicine or something?”

“Instead of medication, I’ll be using physical therapy for your case.”

“What?”

“Just so there’s no misunderstanding, I don’t harbor any ill will toward you. I’m not that petty. This is simply… an attempt to heal you. As a fellow human.”

“What kind of nonsense—”

“Clench your teeth. You don’t want to bite your tongue.”

Thwack!

“Gahhh!”

As soon as Ghislain’s fist connected, Ascon let out a sharp cry of pain.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“Guh! You crazy bastard! Do you think I’ll give in after a few punches? Grrr! You think I’ve lived decades without ever getting hit? Damn it! Aaargh!”

Even as he was being struck, Ascon didn’t stop cursing.

In fact, he had plenty of experience being beaten by nobles who had tried to fix his temper. None of their attempts had ever worked.

The reason was simple—they couldn’t kill him or cripple him entirely. That meant their punishments were never severe enough to make a lasting impact.

In the end, frustrated nobles had no choice but to sell Ascon off again, unable to handle him any longer.

“Go ahead! Do your worst, you bastard! Pain that doesn’t kill me only makes me angrier! Do you think I’ve lived this long without learning how to endure this? You little brat! You’re still wet behind the ears! Grrraaargh!”

Ascon wasn’t afraid because he knew Ghislain wouldn’t leave any lasting damage. After all, these kinds of punishments always ended the same way—the master would get tired and sell him off again.

What truly terrified elves were the rare instances when they ended up with a sadistic lunatic with bizarre tastes. Those types would torment them relentlessly until they died, all while lamenting the loss of such “precious merchandise.”

Most of them couldn’t act because of the money. And elves, who had endured a long life of slavery, had become experts at spotting such individuals.

‘Tch! You’re just holding back because you don’t want to waste money, right? Do you think I can’t figure that out after living as a slave for so long? If you were truly a cruel bastard, you would’ve killed a few of us as an example by now.’

Ascon felt certain of his victory. Humans were all the same. Unless the person was utterly insane, they’d beat him up moderately before selling him off again.

But neither Ascon nor the elves realized that there existed a completely different kind of madman from any they had encountered before.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

‘Ugh! What’s this? Why does it hurt more and more? Wait, why isn’t this guy getting tired? How long is he going to keep hitting me? Aaagh!’

Ordinarily, a person would stop beating someone once they got tired or calmed down.

However, the lord in front of him silently continued with his work, as if doing nothing more than fulfilling a duty.

‘After being beaten this much, I should already be crippled or dead. So why am I just in pain without any serious injuries? Aaagh! It hurts so much!’

No one enjoys being beaten. Ascon was no exception.

He had deliberately caused more trouble because he knew that, after a brief show of defiance, life would generally become easier.

But this kind of pain—this was something new. Nothing was broken, and yet he was in unbearable agony.

If only he could lose consciousness, but instead, sharp pain rushed in with every blow, keeping his mind painfully alert.

Ascon groaned in torment and shouted.

“D-damn it! How long are you going to keep hitting me? Guh!”

Ghislain, who had been silently delivering blows, finally responded.

“Until you actively cooperate with my work. You should have agreed when I asked nicely.”

“If you keep this up and I die or get ruined, you’re going to lose money! That’s a huge loss for you!”

“Don’t worry about my money. I can heal you cleanly without letting you die. That’s what I’m best at.”

“Go to hell! I’ll never cooperate! Let’s see whose lifespan lasts longer, damn it! Ugh!”

“You’re a serious case. I enjoy matches like that.”

By the time the sunset began to color the sky, Ascon was still hanging on. Or rather, he was trying to endure.

“Young Master, it’s time for dinner.”

The servants hurried over, carrying trays of simple dishes, and stood by as Belinda passed them to Ghislain one by one.

Thanks to their skill, they managed to hand off and receive items smoothly, even while in motion.

Ghislain, without breaking his rhythm, continued to beat Ascon with one hand while using the other to eat the food handed to him.

When dinner ended, Lowell approached and handed over a few documents.

“Lord, these require your approval.”

Ghislain skimmed through them briefly, signing with one hand while continuing to beat Ascon with the other.

The elves, watching the scene, gaped in astonishment.

‘He’s multitasking while beating him?’

‘And everyone’s just casually watching?’

‘This place… everyone here must be insane!’

A closer look confirmed it—none of them were normal. Even in this bizarre situation, the Chief Overseer was squatting nearby, using a stick to draw pictures on the ground.

Wendy shook Claude’s shoulder and spoke urgently.

“Chief Overseer, it’s time for you to leave. There’s a lot of work piled up.”

“Just a moment! A masterpiece for the ages is taking shape. The title is ‘The End of the Elf Race!’”

The sketch depicted elves being crushed underfoot by a monstrous demon.

Meanwhile, the mages and dwarves were placing bets on how long Ascon could endure.

Behind the lord stood a robust, white-haired man who hadn’t moved an inch since the beginning, resembling nothing more than a wooden statue.

No matter where Ascon looked, he couldn’t find a single person who seemed sane.

Seeing all this, Ascon, who had been determined to hold out, realized something new.

‘T-this guy… He’s an expert of the highest order. I’m doomed. This could ruin me for life. And the others around him aren’t ordinary either.’

He had lost track of how long he’d been beaten. Even the elves watching began to look pale.

Negotiation and mutual give-and-take had always been the elven way.

But now, here was a man who beat others without leaving visible injuries, all while multitasking efficiently. How could anyone deal with someone like this?

This was a dire situation.

After enduring a little more, Ascon finally cracked and screamed.

“Stop! I give up! Stop it! I’ll obey! Isn’t that what you want? Let’s talk! Like civilized people!”

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Still, Ghislain’s fists didn’t stop. He was simultaneously training himself in mana circulation while beating Ascon.

‘Hmm, how about moving like this while striking?’

“Gyaaah!”

In truth, Ghislain’s mind was preoccupied with experimenting on how to best utilize mana. He had already forgotten about Ascon entirely.

“Please, spare me! I was wrong!”

‘Ah, does this method yield better results?’

Thwack!

“Guhhh!”

Ascon felt like he was going insane. With every blow, something foreign seemed to invade his body. Whenever it moved inside him, it tore through his insides, causing unbearable pain.

It was an advanced form of torture—one that left no external damage but wrecked the victim internally.

“Stop, please! Spare me! I’ll do everything you ask! I’ll cooperate actively!”

At last, Ascon surrendered. Faced with overwhelming violence, his defiance was naturally quelled.

For the first time in his life, he began to beg for mercy.

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