The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 241: Dedicate Yourself to Me. (1)

Boom!

The leader of the Sunstone Tribe, a prominent clan near the Forest of Beasts, Woroqa, slammed his fist on the table. The table couldn’t withstand the force and shattered instantly.

The news that the Ritania Kingdom’s army was currently conducting a subjugation campaign in the area was utterly shocking.

Woroqa harbored great ambitions. His dream was to unify all the tribes in the region and establish his own kingdom.

To that end, he had been steadily bringing the surrounding tribes under his control. However, with the tribes being wiped out one after another, his plans were at risk of falling apart.

No, it wasn’t just his plans—his own tribe was now in imminent danger.

“The Crimson Demon, you say?”

In response to Woroqa’s question, a warrior standing beside him replied.

“Yes, there are widespread rumors that it’s the very demon from the legends.”

“Is the demon really that strong?”

“They say the eleven tribes that allied with the Windhowl Tribe were completely annihilated without leaving a single warrior alive. Even Great Chieftain Custou didn’t survive.”

“……”

Woroqa couldn’t say a word.

He was well-known as a mighty War Chief in the North himself. However, he had never achieved the feat of taking on over ten tribes at once.

But what was even more astonishing was the detail that followed.

“Custou… is dead?”

“Yes, it’s said that he fell in single combat against the Crimson Demon.”

“That’s… impossible…”

The idea of defeating an allied tribal force without suffering a single casualty was already difficult to believe, but defeating Custou in one-on-one combat? That was even harder to accept.

Custou was a rival in Woroqa’s quest to unify the North. Woroqa knew all too well just how powerful he was.

Custou was known to face dozens of War Chiefs alone and emerge victorious. Even Woroqa wouldn’t confidently claim he could defeat him in a duel.

That was precisely why he had delayed confronting the Windhowl Tribe in battle.

“So it really is the Kingdom’s army. If they’re serious, it’s tough for us few to withstand them. And now they’ve sent a warrior capable of taking down Custou.”

As Woroqa grumbled, a sudden question popped into his head, and he tilted his head in confusion.

“But why are they suddenly moving? I thought the North was left to Ferdium alone. As far as I know, the nobles were too busy keeping each other in check to muster a large army.”

Even the barbarians had heard rumors about the state of the Ritania Kingdom.

No one in the kingdom paid much attention to the northern Ferdium region. The nobles were more focused on managing their own territories than worrying about what happened in the North.

That was why the tribes had been able to fight among themselves and pillage freely. From what they knew, Ferdium’s forces were far too weak to subjugate them.

In response to Woroqa’s comment, the warrior next to him cautiously answered.

“Well… it seems it wasn’t the Kingdom’s army.”

“What? Then who’s leading the assault? Could it be another powerful lord?”

“No… It’s confirmed that only Ferdium’s forces have come. And the Crimson Demon is said to be the son of Count Ferdium.”

“……”

Woroqa was momentarily at a loss for words.

The warriors had always dismissed Ferdium as a joke. Its forces were so weak that they had barely managed to fend off attacks from the tribes.

They had never been the ones to launch an attack first.

Woroqa himself had looked down on Ferdium. Once he unified the tribes, he planned to conquer the Northern Fortress and secure a foothold to invade the kingdom.

But now, those very weaklings were sweeping through the North with overwhelming force. It was a turn of events that would astonish his ancestors.

And what kind of training could have possibly produced such a monster of a son?

“So they’ve been secretly amassing strength all this time. If we fight them head-on, we’ll be defeated.”

Woroqa assessed the situation with a calm head.

He knew it. Even he could never fight against 11 tribes simultaneously and come out victorious—especially not without suffering any losses.

Even the so-called Great Tribes could barely muster a little over a thousand warriors each. No matter how he looked at it, defeating Ferdium with their current forces was an impossibility.

“But I can’t just let us be crushed like this. I won’t be the one to end the tribe.”

No matter how strong the enemy, retreating wasn’t an option for a warrior. Simply surrendering one’s life was a disgraceful act.

He couldn’t die without fulfilling his dream.

After brooding for a long time, Woroqa turned to the warrior beside him and spoke.

“Contact the Black Cloud Tribe and the Mountain Echo Tribe. Tell them to halt their fighting for now and join forces with us.”

“W-Will they agree to that?”

“If they don’t want to die to outsiders, they’ll have no choice. Especially if the rumors about the Crimson Demon are true.”

The two tribes were the most influential in the area, but they had a long-standing grudge against the Sunstone Tribe, having clashed with them for years.

However, Woroqa was confident they’d agree to an alliance. Dying at the hands of outsiders was the greatest dishonor for their kind. They’d choose temporary cooperation over disgrace.

In the same way, Woroqa reached out to all the nearby small and medium-sized tribes. Whether it was out of fear from the rumors or sheer pragmatism, there wasn’t much resistance to the idea of banding together, even temporarily.

Eventually, they gathered a force of 7,000 warriors.

Even with the Crimson Demon’s reputation for strength, it wouldn’t be easy to overcome such numbers.

“I’ve assembled the warriors. But… is it enough to fight them like this?”

Woroqa spent days wrestling with the dilemma.

The enemy had annihilated over 5,000 warriors in a single stroke and had even killed Custou, the Great Chieftain, in one-on-one combat. Even with 7,000 warriors on his side, Woroqa couldn’t see a clear path to victory.

While losing was unacceptable, the alternative—suffering devastating losses in battle—was just as dangerous. Even if they won, the tribes’ future would be bleak.

If they lost too many warriors, dreams of unification would collapse, and mere survival would become the priority.

“We’re already struggling with food shortages. Without warriors, we can’t even enter the Forest of Beasts.”

Their current survival depended on resources extracted from the forest’s outskirts. A large-scale battle would stretch their already limited resources to the breaking point.

The other tribal leaders and warriors were all eager for battle, their fighting spirit ablaze. But Woroqa was different.

Though he was undoubtedly the strongest warrior of his tribe, he was also an ambitious strategist—a rarity among the savages.

“Fools who know nothing but fighting and raiding.”

They lived for the present, oblivious to the future. It was because of their short-sightedness that Woroqa’s dream of tribal unification had even seemed possible. But now, their inability to think strategically in the face of an external threat was a grave problem.

After long deliberation, Woroqa finally proposed a compromise.

“Let’s negotiate a truce.”

The reaction was immediate. The other tribal leaders shouted and pointed their fingers at him.

“A truce with outsiders? How disgraceful!”

“It’s shameful for a warrior to even consider such a thing!”

“The Northern Fortress lacks the forces to sustain their campaign! One victory, and they’ll be finished!”

“Ferdium? I’ll never bow my head to them!”

The tent where the leaders had gathered became a chaotic uproar, everyone shouting about the pride of warriors and insisting on fighting.

Bang!

Woroqa slammed his fist down on the table, and the tent fell silent.

No one here could defeat him in single combat. He was, after all, one of the strongest in the North, a rival to Custou himself.

Fighting Woroqa in front of the others wouldn’t end well for anyone, so the tribal leaders shut their mouths. Woroqa growled, his voice low and menacing.

“These are people who wiped out 5,000 warriors without significant losses. They even killed Great Warrior Custou in a one-on-one duel. Let’s say we managed to win in the end—do you think we’ll come out of it unscathed?”

“…”

“And what happens after that? Do you think we can survive in this harsh North with depleted warriors? Do you want to live in fear of wandering monsters and trembling in their very shadows?”

Someone shouted dismissively, “We are mighty warriors! That kind of thing doesn’t scare us! Losing our warrior pride is worse than death!”

“Think for once, you fools! Dying in battle is less disgraceful than starving to death!”

“…”

In truth, Woroqa had other reasons for wanting to avoid the fight, but he didn’t feel the need to voice them.

These were people who lived solely by their pride. Stimulating that aspect made it easy for Woroqa to steer them in the direction he desired.

For warriors, failing to hunt and dying of starvation with their families was both a sign of weakness and one of the greatest disgrace. In an already worsening food shortage, this reasoning alone was enough to shift the atmosphere quickly.

There were some who resisted and refused to give up, but Woroqa managed to persuade everyone with a mixture of threats and coaxing.

Eventually, the savages who agreed to negotiate sent an envoy to the Northern Fortress.

Zwalter, who was inspecting the knights’ training with Ghislain, made a baffled expression upon hearing the news.

“Well, I’ll be damned. They actually want to negotiate. You were right.”

“Yes. If the negotiations go well, they probably won’t dare approach the Northern Fortress for a few years. Though, of course, a few of them might still attempt small-scale raids.”

“Even that much is a relief. I’d feel much safer with just that.”

It was a perspective befitting a lord who always worried about the well-being of his people.

The nearby tribes had already been annihilated, and even the coalition of 5,000 savages had been destroyed.

Even if the savages tried raiding again, they could be stopped far more easily than before.

Unthinkable developments were happening one after another.

‘Ha! I really did raise a good son. Who could have predicted such events? Even my father wouldn’t have seen this coming.’

Zwalter looked at Ghislain with a contented smile. His calm and composed demeanor, as if the result was only natural, felt especially reassuring.

A few days later, on the wide plain in front of the Northern Fortress, the savage army faced off against the forces of Ferdium and Fenris.

White flags rose in both camps, and the representatives from each side soon sat at a table prepared between the camps to begin the negotiations.

The savages were represented by Woroqa and a few warriors, while the Ferdium side included Zwalter, Ghislain, and several close aides.

“I am Woroqa, chieftain of the Sunstone Tribe. We do not wish for any more fighting.”

Despite his words of peace, his face was terrifyingly contorted.

Though he proposed the ceasefire for political reasons and ambition, his pride as a warrior had taken a blow.

Zwalter, who had his own share of grievances, made no effort to hide his discomfort.

“Fine. Let’s hear the conditions you’re proposing.”

“A five-year truce. We will cease raids on northern Ritania and find other routes. I’ll do my best to control any attempts at raids by smaller tribes.”

“So, after tormenting us all this time, all you have to offer is a promise to stop raiding? That’s it?”

“It’s not a bad deal for you either. Haven’t you been spending a lot on military efforts to stop us? This will give you some peace of mind. Isn’t this enough? Continuing to fight us does neither of us any good.”

In essence, it meant: “We’ve beaten you up until now, but we’ll stop, so let’s call it even.”

Though arrogant, his words weren’t entirely wrong. Ferdium’s perpetual poverty was largely due to the funds spent fending off the Forest of Beasts and the savages.

Five years wasn’t a long time, but for Ferdium, it was enough. With the food and mana cultivation techniques they had gained through Ghislain, they could strengthen their foundation during that period.

Zwalter considered this for a moment before asking, “How can we trust you? What’s to stop you from breaking your promise and attacking us suddenly?”

At this, Woroqa, his expression twisted in fury, shouted, “I am a War Chief! I will never lie!”

Though pride prevented him from admitting it, the truth was that Woroqa had nothing to give Ferdium.

As a nomadic tribe dependent on raids, they had never accumulated significant resources. They were so desperate that they even fought among themselves for spoils.

On top of that, their own fortresses were experiencing even greater food shortages. Even if Ferdium demanded something, they had nothing to offer.

For him, all he could rely on were his warrior’s promise and his pride.

“Hmph… so that’s all you’ve got,” Zwalter said, his expression slightly bitter. Yet, he understood the savages’ plight and the War Chief’s pride. He knew this was their best offer.

Besides, Zwalter wasn’t keen on continuing the fight. It seemed reasonable to conclude matters here.

Even if they couldn’t fully trust the savages, breaking the agreement would only bring about the same familiar circumstances.

It was better than suffering major losses dealing with the savages’ massive coalition.

Making a pragmatic decision in line with his cautious nature, Zwalter nodded.

“Fine, then. Let’s draft the agreement—”

Before he could finish speaking, Ghislain, who had been standing silently beside him, spoke with an emotionless expression.

“Deliver 5,000 horses immediately. Additionally, provide 200 horses annually for the next five years.”

“W-What?” Woroqa looked at Ghislain, stunned. Just when it seemed things were wrapping up amicably, an unexpected figure intervened.

Furious, he scowled and retorted, “Who are you to demand that? What if I refuse?”

Ghislain looked down at Woroqa arrogantly and replied,

“If you refuse, you will all die here today.”

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