The Regressed Mercenary’s Machinations

Chapter 219: How Many Tasks Have You Handled? (1)

Those who followed the Archbishop stood up without hesitation, pointing their fingers at Porisco and shouting.

“A man cannot receive revelations! The Holy Scripture clearly states that only the Holy Maiden can do so! How can you, a bishop, not know that?”

“Besides, you’ve never once dedicated yourself to spreading the goddess’s will or sharing the gospel with the world! All you’ve done is take bribes!”

“Honestly, considering how you’ve lived so far, it doesn’t even make sense for you to have become a bishop in the first place! Have some conscience! There’s no need for any verification!”

To be recognized as a saint, there were certain conditions one had to meet. Among those, Porisco fulfilled none.

Of all the priests gathered in the hall, Porisco had undoubtedly taken the most bribes and committed the most wrongdoing.

The only reason he got away with it was that others had engaged in their fair share of misdeeds and looked the other way for one another.

However, no matter how corrupt they were, priests were still priests. A man like him being recognized as a saint was absolutely intolerable. For someone like Porisco to become a saint would be tantamount to declaring the end of the world.

Of course, the bishops who supported Porisco caused an uproar, insisting he should be recognized as a saint.

“Hah! If someone who received a revelation isn’t a saint, then who is?”

“This is what everyone desires!”

“You blasphemers, defying the will of the divine! Don’t act like you didn’t take bribes yourselves!”

The priests quarreled with one another like aristocrats embroiled in political games, exchanging insults and bickering for days. If the conflict grew any worse, it seemed the church might split in two.

In the end, Porisco smacked his lips and took a step back. Even a man as greedy as him knew when to retreat.

‘Hmm, it seems this is still a bit too much for now. I’ll need a bit more time. If I gain the church’s recognition, the royal family will lend their support as well.’

This was a matter requiring acknowledgment from both the church and the kingdom. Only with overwhelming influence—enough to achieve unanimous agreement—would it be possible.

Receiving the title of saint was no easy task. That was why it often took a long time, with most saints being canonized posthumously.

‘Tsk, if only I could display overwhelming divine power like the Holy Maiden, this would be much easier…’

Though he felt a pang of regret, he wasn’t too bothered.

The believers in the capital already revered and followed him. The Archbishop would no longer dare touch him. His popularity had grown far too large.

‘Phew, it really feels like the goddess saved me in my final moments. Or was it that brat who suddenly appeared and saved me? Damn it! In any case, I won’t rest easy until I get my hands on that contract.’

I narrowly escaped death thanks to that brat, but I lost all my wealth to Baron Fenris, and he’s even holding my weakness over me. I’ve been forced into a life of “integrity.”

Still, if I keep living virtuously like this, I might eventually earn the title of a saint.

Porisco suddenly felt a strange sense of unease.

“Living virtuously? Me? Have I gone mad?”

Ever since meeting that brat, he felt like something had gone wrong with him.

* * *

“Well, I figured becoming a saint would be a tough sell.”

Ghislain chuckled lightly after hearing the news.

If becoming a saint were that easy, then every dog and cow would be walking around with the title.

People’s envy and jealousy are more frightening than one might think. Priests, in particular, held honor but lacked the absolute power of nobles to wield authority at their discretion. That made them even more susceptible.

There was no way they’d readily agree to Porisco being appointed a saint. Priests from other orders even went out of their way to slander him.

After all, they didn’t want to see a saint emerge either.

“Well, it shouldn’t be too hard for him to rise to archbishop in a few years.”

The current archbishop had rapidly lost his influence, whereas Porisco’s sway had grown immensely—far beyond comparison to the past.

Unless he made a major blunder, Porisco’s faction would hold significant control over the church’s administration.

“If he becomes the archbishop… I’ll have to make him allocate some dioceses and send over more priests and temple knights.”

It would probably make Porisco furious if he heard, but Ghislain fully intended to scrape the bottom of the barrel and milk every last benefit out of the situation.

“Well, I’ll wrap this up for now…”

There was someone he needed to meet while in the capital.

He had been planning to visit eventually after the war ended, but now that he was here for the matter with Piote, it would save him time to handle it now.

“Guess I’ll go pay the Marquis a visit. He must have heard plenty about me by now.”
The commotion wasn’t confined to the church. The nobles residing in the capital were equally abuzz, endlessly gossiping about Ghislain’s antics.
“A divine revelation? Predicting the drought with that? Is it just another baseless rumor tied to that guy? I’m telling you, that duck is a black magician!”

Kingdom Army Supreme Commander, Marquis Maurice McQuarrie, exclaimed in shock upon hearing the news. Even though he was someone prone to superstition, he couldn’t believe such a tale.

This wasn’t the first time ridiculous rumors had caused an uproar in the capital. The prior frenzy had concerned how Count Fenris won his war.

“Flying balloons? Knights dropping out of them? That duck being a Sword Master? Does any of this make sense, you fools? Why are all the rumors about him so absurd? There’s not a single believable one!”

The vivid testimonies from the Cabaldi forces who had fought against Fenris were available, but nobles from other regions, who had only heard the rumors secondhand, refused to believe them.

This was because each rumor completely defied common sense.

Naturally, the intelligence agents gathering these rumors were being reprimanded nonstop.

“That bastard is manipulating information! He’s spreading ridiculous rumors on purpose to confuse us even further! Recruit the officials on their side immediately and get us accurate intel!”

The truth about the war rumors hadn’t even been properly verified yet, and now tales of divine revelations and sainthood were spreading. Maurice, overwhelmed, could only lash out at his hapless subordinates.

He wasn’t the only one. The nobles in the capital were equally embroiled in meaningless debates amidst the chaos.

“How could Baron Fenris, who isn’t even a priest or a holy maiden, receive a divine revelation? It’s obviously another baseless rumor like before!”

“Ha! Then how do you explain the preparations for the drought? It makes perfect sense if you accept that he received a revelation.”

“So now you’re saying flying through the air and being a Sword Master are also thanks to the goddess? Be reasonable! Use common sense for once!”

“And why is that unreasonable? The goddess can give him the ability to fly, strength, or anything else! She could have told him to stockpile food too!”

“The intelligence agents already analyzed everything, didn’t they? It’s just luck that the migration plans coincided with the timing. It’s all nonsense, I tell you!”

“Climate crisis is a fact!”

And so, the unverified rumors spread like wildfire. Every noble gathering in the capital seemed to include talk of Ghislain.

At the “Investors’ Club” banquet, Mariel asked Rosalyn about the latest stories.

“First, there were rumors about him flying and being a master, and now it’s about a divine revelation? Surely it’s all lies, right?”

“Yes, it’s just him pulling more insane stunts, as always.”

“I swear, you can never figure out what that man is up to. ‘Saint Fenris, the Baron’? Isn’t that just too funny?”

“A saint obsessed with money? There’s no such thing in the world!”

Rosalyn pouted slightly, remembering her past encounters. She knew that distributing such an enormous amount of food must have cost an unimaginable fortune.

But as someone who prided herself on understanding Ghislain’s character, she was confident he hadn’t taken a loss.

“He must have been aiming for something. Whatever he spent, I bet he recovered it all and then some. Probably squeezed it out of Bishop Porisco, right?”

Regardless, one thing was certain—Ghislain’s popularity had skyrocketed compared to the past.

With everyone in the capital endlessly gossiping about Porisco and Ghislain, Marquis Branford was at his wit’s end from the headache it all caused him.

“Ghislain, Ghislain. Because of that guy, even intelligence officers are wasting their energy on pointless tasks. First, he stirs up strange rumors about the war, and now he’s propping up someone as greedy as Porisco? What on earth is this guy doing all this for?”

As intelligence agents moved tirelessly to verify the truth behind the rumors and update information, unnecessary documents piled up day after day.

Naturally, both those reporting and those reviewing the documents found themselves at a loss.

Amidst this, the subject of all the rumors suddenly decided to visit Marquis Branford.

Without even stopping by to greet him upon arriving in the capital, Ghislain leisurely showed up only after handling all his personal errands. As ever, he was an audacious man.

“How have you been, Marquis! I’m here!”

His cheerful greeting, as though visiting a friend’s house, was met with a sour expression from Marquis Branford.

“You seem quite popular these days. What exactly are you trying to accomplish with all this? You’re not the type to act without reason.”

“Oh, I was just doing a bit of charity work. Everyone’s struggling these days, you know?”

“Charity work? You? Without expecting anything in return? And with Porisco, no less? Does that even make sense?”

“They call me a saint these days, Marquis. Haven’t you heard the nickname?”

“…”

Marquis Branford unconsciously pressed his temples. Dealing with Ghislain was already a headache, and now the man had managed to gain popularity as well.

He seems harder to rein in by the day.

Then again, was he ever controllable in the first place?

Sighing, Marquis Branford put on a feigned stern expression and spoke.

“Fine, let’s say charity is what it is. But I told you not to stir up trouble, and yet you’ve gone and caused a massive incident. The Ducal Families will never let this slide.”

“You must have anticipated as much, which is why you sent the Second Legion, right? Be honest, weren’t you pleased with the outcome?”

He had a point. To be honest, hearing news of the victory had been satisfying. It had completely reversed the downtrodden atmosphere among the Royal Faction, which had been overshadowed by the Ducal Families.

Marquis Branford chuckled faintly at Ghislain’s bold remark.

“Fine, it wasn’t bad. That said, all the intelligence officers in the capital are struggling because of you.”

“For what reason?”

“The whole thing about the revelation, not to mention the matters related to the war. I may as well ask you directly. How exactly did you capture that fortress so quickly?”

At Marquis Branford’s question, Ghislain answered with unflinching honesty.

“Since it’s you, Marquis, I’ll tell you plainly. I built a flying contraption and infiltrated the enemy fortress with 100 knights. We ambushed the soldiers guarding the gate, eliminated them, and then I personally broke down the gate, allowing our forces to pour in and wipe out the enemy.”

“…”

It was exactly as the informants had reported—the same absurd rumors.

When the Marquis of Branford remained silent, Ghislain cautiously spoke up.

“Well… Is there anything else you’re curious about?”

“…You flew in? With knights? A hundred knights, you say?”

“Yes!”

“And how did you break through the castle gate?”

“I destroyed it myself.”

“By yourself… you destroyed it?”

“That’s correct!”

“…”

It was already a well-known fact that Fenris had no knights. But what? A hundred knights? A mere baron claiming numbers only a grand lord could command?

As for flying in, that was so ludicrous it wasn’t even worth discussing.

And most unbelievable of all, breaking through a thick castle gate alone in an instant? In the entire kingdom, only two individuals were capable of such a feat: Count Balzac, a Sword Master, and the commander of the Royal Knights.

‘And even that isn’t confirmed information—no one’s actually seen it happen.’

Regardless, they had only achieved such feats after reaching middle age.

No matter how talented someone might be, it was utterly impossible for someone of Ghislain’s age.

“Pfft!!”

Standing nearby, Knight Commander Toleo of the Marquisate couldn’t help but burst into laughter at what he’d overheard.

When the Marquis of Branford shot him a sharp glare, Toleo quickly straightened up and apologized.

“…My apologies.”

The Marquis of Branford could count on one hand the number of times he had been truly flustered in his life. Yet ever since meeting Ghislain, such moments had become far more frequent.

Pressing his temples with his fingers a few times, the marquis shook his head and spoke.

“Fine. I’ll take it as military secrecy. You don’t want to explain it in detail, and I understand that the ducal families might use it to find a countermeasure. I’ll ensure no one investigates further into this matter.”

‘…I didn’t realize I was so untrustworthy.’

Ghislain clicked his tongue without realizing it.

In any case, the hot air balloons would soon be used for transport and reconnaissance within his territory. As for the knights, the more they performed, the more rumors would inevitably spread.

Since it was all bound to come to light eventually, he hadn’t intended to keep it hidden from the start.

However, with the current state of common sense, even when he told the truth, no one believed him.

‘Once they see it for themselves, they’ll understand sooner or later. About my abilities as well… No, they might keep doubting even then.’

After all, he was only a half-step Master at best. The techniques he used weren’t ones he could wield easily. Not that he had any intention of publicly proving himself just to gain recognition.

What did it matter whether others believed him or not? He wasn’t doing this to impress anyone.

Unaware of Ghislain’s thoughts, the Marquis of Branford clicked his tongue and shifted to the main topic.

“You didn’t come here just for a simple greeting. Tell me, what do you need?”

“As expected, you’re always quick to the point. It’s a relief speaking with you. I’d like you to grant me an official position.”

The Marquis of Branford tilted his head at that.

A man who avoided being tied down suddenly asking for an official position? And nominally, Ghislain already held the title—the Northern Military Supply Officer.

“What position are you asking for?”

“Appoint me as the Commander of the Northern Army.”

“…”

The Marquis of Branford was momentarily at a loss for words.

As always, Ghislain had come asking for something massive.