The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 228: It’s Time for Me to Claim Everything (2)

Swish, swish!

Caleb and the gray assassins charged in first.

“Uwaaaaah!”

Behind them, Vulcan and the bandits followed, and the rest of the forces quickly joined the assault.

Boom!

Despite the sudden attack, the captain of the guards drew his sword and shouted loudly.

“Emergency! It’s an attack! Call for reinforcements! Lady Amelia has started a rebellion!”

Piercing whistles echoed from all directions. The guards protecting the castle entrance immediately assumed battle positions to repel the assailants.

“Reinforcements will arrive soon! Hold your ground and stop the enemy!”

The captain roared at his soldiers, urging them to stand firm.

True to its reputation as a major estate, the number of guards defending the lord’s castle numbered in the hundreds. With such numbers, they believed they could fend off the attackers or at least hold them off until reinforcements arrived.

But the attackers were no ordinary foes. Those leading the charge, in particular, outclassed even most elite knights.

Caleb’s speed was unmatched, and every time Vulcan swung his iron club, multiple soldiers were swept away in one stroke.

Boom! Boom!

“Aaaagh!”

“Where are the reinforcements?”

“Stop them! Don’t let them into the castle!”

The guards were slaughtered with alarming ease. The power disparity was simply too great.

The captain, retreating step by step in fear, muttered to himself.

“Wh-what is this? Who are these people? And how did it come to this?”

Reinforcements weren’t coming. Even the patrol units were unresponsive. Summoning the local defense forces was impossible amidst the chaos.

The enemy’s strength was overwhelming, giving the guards no chance to retreat or regroup. What had started as equal numbers quickly tilted into a noticeable disparity.

Overseeing the entire situation from behind was Amelia, calmly directing her forces.

The captain, observing the battlefield, wore an expression of disbelief.

“H-how is the young lady managing to lead like this…?”

Every time she gestured, someone blew a whistle, and the attackers adjusted their positions and formations with uncanny precision.

The guards didn’t even realize how they were being systematically surrounded and killed.

This wasn’t just a raid; it was a full-scale war, and the guards had made the grave mistake of underestimating the enemy’s intentions.

Lost in thought, the captain didn’t even notice Bernarf approach. In a flash, Bernarf’s blade pierced his throat.

With that, the guards were annihilated, not a single one left standing.

It was a flawless victory. However, Amelia’s expression remained unchanged, as if this outcome was only to be expected.

Bernarf casually flicked the blood off his sword and addressed her.

“Shall we proceed inside?”

“Meow.”

Bastet raised her head and tail high, strutting into the castle ahead of Amelia.

Bernarf twitched his lips as he watched the scene unfold.

‘I swear, one day I’ll get rid of that damned cat.’

As the blood-soaked force suddenly appeared within the castle, the staff screamed in terror and scattered in all directions.

Passing through a long, silent hallway, the attackers finally arrived at the banquet hall, its thick doors firmly shut.

Creeeeak…

The doors opened, and every gaze in the hall turned toward the intruders.

“Meow.”

The guests smiled as Bastet elegantly sauntered into the banquet hall. But their expressions stiffened the moment Amelia and her bloodstained subordinates followed behind.

The group wasn’t just armed but fully equipped for killing—and drenched in blood, no less.

It was a blatant declaration: they had broken through the guards by force.

The music stopped, and an oppressive silence fell over the room.

A handsome middle-aged man, glaring at Amelia with a twisted smirk, finally broke the quiet.

“What is the meaning of this, Amelia?”

Amelia responded with a seductive smile.

“I’ve come to claim my title, Father.”

The middle-aged man was Count Raypold, the great lord of the north. At her words, he burst into loud laughter.

“Ha! Hahaha! So you’ve finally gone mad? A woman—not even the heir—dares to claim a title? And by force, no less?”

His sons, seated beside him, joined in, laughing mockingly.

“She must have lost her mind after spending too much time cooped up reading books.”

“That’s why we should’ve married her off sooner. Breaking off the engagement with Baron Fenris—what was she thinking? Tsk, tsk. Her judgment has always been terrible.”

“Brother, do you really think she’d have gone willingly? Didn’t she drag her feet back then too, refusing the engagement until it was forced on her? Now she’s too old for anyone to take her. Hahaha!”

The banquet hall erupted in laughter as the men ridiculed Amelia. Despite the sparse number of guards present, none of them seemed the least bit afraid.

Count Raypold eventually ceased his laughter, casting a disdainful glance over the attackers.

“So, the filthy gray rat that’s been up to no good in this estate. I let you live because you paid your taxes generously, but I should’ve wiped you out sooner.”

Caleb stood with his arms crossed, an icy expression on his face, unfazed by the insult.

“And here’s that notorious bandit who was supposed to be dead.”

“Hahaha! The young lady secretly saved me!” Vulcan laughed heartily, his iron club resting on his shoulder.

“And isn’t this the current head of the thriving Actium Merchant Guild? To think you’d be on her side too.”

Conrad placed a hand over his chest and bowed politely.

Count Raypold smirked and continued speaking.

“All these wretched fools, flocking to the banquet under the orders of my insane daughter. If you wanted scraps to feed on, you should’ve joined my side.”

Amelia chuckled faintly at Count Raypold’s derision.

“Hmm, it seems you’ve prepared something, haven’t you?”

Such composure in this situation could only mean he had a plan. Otherwise, he should have been trembling and begging for his life.

Count Raypold sneered as he raised a hand.

Thud! Thud!

The emergency doors of the banquet hall swung open, and a group of soldiers poured in, surrounding the attackers.

Each soldier carried a powerful loaded crossbow aimed at the intruders.

A simultaneous assault would undoubtedly inflict significant casualties on Amelia’s forces.

Amelia glanced at the soldiers encircling them and nodded.

“You certainly came prepared. How did you know?”

“Haha, do you think holding power is so easy? A ruler must always suspect and scrutinize those around them. This level of readiness is standard. I merely reinforced it recently because of some unsettling rumors about my children.”

Amelia smirked. It was so like her paranoid and self-centered father to take such measures.

He likely felt compelled to bolster his defenses against his sons, who were undoubtedly eyeing his position with equal ambition.

Judging by their smug demeanor, they seemed confident, as though tipped off in advance. Long years in power apparently honed a certain instinct for survival.

As Amelia fell silent for a moment, Count Raypold arrogantly waved his hand.

“Turn them all into pincushions. Even if she’s my daughter, I can’t tolerate her madness to the extent of coveting my position. There are plenty of daughters to marry off—it doesn’t matter.”

But the knight leading the soldiers didn’t move. He stood still, expressionless.

Thinking the knight might not have heard, Raypold barked again.

“What are you waiting for? I said kill them!”

There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation about ordering his daughter’s execution. Seeing this, Amelia smiled and finally spoke.

“Turn your aim.”

Click! Click! Click!

At her command, the knight raised his hand. In an instant, all the crossbows shifted their aim toward Count Raypold.

“W-what! What’s the meaning of this?”

The count and everyone in the banquet hall were thrown into chaos. Should the crossbows fire, they would all be turned into pincushions.

The knight bowed slightly toward Amelia.

“Apologies for the delay. I was summoned suddenly and couldn’t report to you in time.”

“It’s fine. I expected as much. It’s typical of my father, after all.”

“Thank you.”

Amelia had methodically won over or coerced countless individuals across the estate. When persuasion failed, she resorted to taking their families hostage as leverage.

Thus, the majority of the troops guarding the lord’s castle, along with their commanders, had shifted allegiance to Amelia.

Even the estate’s court mage and the other wizards had done the same. They had already been persuaded and had promised to remain neutral, observing the unfolding events.

These mages had made various excuses to excuse themselves from the banquet and were waiting in reserve.

As the situation turned against him, Count Raypold bellowed furiously.

“You traitors! What are you doing? Kill that wretch! Kill her now!”

But his frantic outbursts were meaningless. Every armed soldier present in the hall was under Amelia’s control.

The only forces remaining were the escort knights who had accompanied the noble guests. However, since only a minimal number of them had entered the banquet hall, they were no match for Amelia’s troops.

Amelia smiled again as she watched Count Raypold raging and the young lords trembling in fear.

“Now, these faces are finally worth looking at.”

The upper hand had completely shifted to Amelia. However, there was still one individual in the room who could act as a potential wildcard.

“Hmm, my lady, this prank of yours has gone a bit too far,” said a plump middle-aged man stepping forward. His physique suggested he had likely never undergone any real training.

But those who knew his identity would never dare dismiss him so lightly.

He was Yurgen, known as the “North’s Greatest Swordsman” and the leader of Raypold’s knightly order.

Drawing his sword slowly, Yurgen spoke in a calm yet commanding tone.

“If you withdraw now, I’ll ensure that the lord forgives you and spares your life.”

Hwoooom!

As he finished speaking, an overwhelming aura radiated from him. He was truly worthy of his title as the greatest swordsman in the North.

“Oho! Yurgen! Yes, yes! Get me out of here immediately! I’ll gather the army and slaughter every last one of them!” Count Raypold exclaimed, with hope in his eyes. He didn’t care if everyone else in the room died, as long as he survived. Children? He could always have more.

Yurgen gave a slight nod and spoke to the escort knights nearby.

“Form a combat formation. I will escort the lord out of here.”

The escort knights gathered around Yurgen and took a defensive stance. Their numbers were small, but they were determined to risk their lives to get the count to safety.

Despair painted the faces of everyone else in the room. If a battle erupted, the odds of their survival were grim.

As Yurgen prepared to move, Bernarf, who had been standing next to Amelia, took a step forward and spoke.

“Before you go, why don’t you entertain me for a moment?”

“And you are…?”

“Bernarf,” he replied calmly.

“Ah, yes. I remember now. You’re that pretty boy who got picked as the lady’s escort just for your looks, aren’t you?” Yurgen sneered.

The evaluation of Bernarf in Raypold’s estate was abysmal. Most dismissed him as nothing more than an ornamental guard, chosen solely for his outward appearance.

Bernarf hadn’t even been formally knighted. All he did was hover around Amelia with a cheerful grin, earning him derisive remarks like, “Where did the lady pick up that halfwit?”

And yet, this man was now challenging Yurgen, the North’s Greatest Swordsman and commander of the knights.

For someone like Yurgen, tolerating such provocation was unthinkable. He strode forward, his voice laced with the confidence of a seasoned warrior.

“Very well. I have more than enough time to kill someone like you before I leave. Draw your sword.”

The remark exuded the leisure of a strong man. Bernarf grinned, gripping the hilt of his sword as he lowered his body and twisted slightly.

Bernarf’s left foot shifted a bit further, his posture lowering to what seemed like the final moment before drawing his blade.

Yurgen, with the arrogance of a superior fighter, waited patiently for Bernarf to draw his sword.

“What’s this? Hurry and draw already. What kind of strange stance is that?”

“Here I come,” Bernarf replied.

“What?”

Ssshnk.

A faint scraping sound accompanied the flash of light as Bernarf drew his sword.

“Urgh!”

Yurgen instinctively leapt back, gritting his teeth. Blood gushed from a long slash across his chest.

Had he reacted a fraction of a second slower, his head would have been severed.

Bernarf clicked his tongue as he observed Yurgen.

“Hah, you live up to the name North’s Greatest Swordsman. I went all out with a killing blow from the start.”

Meow!

Bastet, perched nearby, seemed to scold him for failing to finish the job. Bernarf silently vowed to deal with the troublesome creature someday.

Yurgen seethed with anger, grinding his teeth. To suffer such a wound at the hands of a whelp unworthy of even being called a knight was a humiliation.

He noticed Bernarf’s unusual weapon—a single-edged blade with a slight curve, designed to cut cleanly as it was drawn.

“You insolent whelp! Such cheap tricks!”

Clang!

Yurgen lunged like lightning, and Bernarf raised his sword to parry. The two clashed in a storm of ferocious blows.

Boom! Boom!

The force of their strikes created mana-infused shockwaves, shattering the floor and forcing bystanders to stumble back in terror.

Boom! Boom!

The duel appeared evenly matched. Everyone in the banquet hall looked in stunned disbelief.

No one had imagined that Bernarf, infamous as a layabout, had hidden such skill.

However, Bernarf bit his lip, frustration evident on his face.

‘So this is why they call him the North’s Greatest Swordsman. I thought it’d be an easy win, but he’s stronger than I expected. And to think he hardly trains, lazes around all day, and even has a belly!’

It was impressive for someone so young to fight on equal footing with Yurgen, but Bernarf’s thoughts were a storm of conflict. He needed to end this quickly, yet Yurgen was no ordinary opponent. His years of experience as a seasoned master were proving insurmountable.

If this dragged on, it would devolve into a messy battle.

Amelia, who had been watching the fight with a bored expression, finally spoke.

“I think that’s enough. I gave you a chance because you insisted, but this is taking too long.”

She disliked unnecessary delays and preferred to resolve matters as efficiently as possible.

Having given Bernarf ample opportunity, she saw no need to wait any longer.

It was obvious why Bernarf had stubbornly insisted on fighting Yurgen alone—he wanted to impress her.

With a slight motion of her hand, Amelia gestured. Caleb reached into his coat and pulled out a serrated blade known as a Sword Breaker, its jagged teeth cut deep along one side.

Conrad drew the rapier sheathed at his waist, while Vulcan spun the steel mace resting on his shoulder.

Amelia pointed her finger toward Yurgen.

“Take care of him.”

The three men charged at Yurgen.

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