The Regression Of A Grand Mercenary - 77 - Fulfilling Promises.

Sometimes, it isn’t strength or ambition that keeps a man standing—it’s the quiet voice of the woman who cares for him more than her own life. A single “I love you” could turn his entire world. A single word of grace could be enough to carry him through the worst storm.

For Astin, Theresa was that voice. That anchor. Every moment with her carved itself into memory.

Inside her home, he found himself watching her more than the fire on the stove. The way she stirred with her left hand, the swift rhythm of her knife slicing through meat and vegetables, the effortless way she managed three tasks at once—it all drew him in. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was capable, reliable, alive in ways that made his chest ache.

“…I-I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. You’re busy enough already, preparing dinner for your family.”

She glanced at him briefly, then back at the pot. “It’s fine. You’re troubled, I can see that. And sometimes it helps to talk to someone outside your family or your brothers-in-arms.”

Astin lowered his gaze. “Everything feels… tangled. I keep telling myself the choice should be obvious—I should stay, right?”

Her spoon scraped the edge of the pot as steam curled into the air. “Maybe. But think about it this way—my brother’s strong, yes, but he’s still just one man. He can’t carry everything alone.”

Astin blinked at her words, a quiet realization dawning on him. Even Thill, untouchable in his eyes, had limits.

“And you,” Theresa continued, her voice calm but certain, “you’re one of the few who could actually lead if he isn’t there. Don’t underestimate that kind of position…I’ve seen my brother take on the role of a leader each day when he trains you all, and every time, I see this glimpse of worry in his eyes. I don’t know what it is…but for some reason, it feels heavy.”

“…if that was the case, then maybe I shouldn’t take on the role of a leader.”

“And why is that?” she asked.

“I mean, look at me. Don’t you know my past? I’m pretty well known in the village for being a douchebag. I even start fights at the tavern, and sometimes I have a drinking problem…and my pride can sometimes get in the way of things. These are not the qualities fit for a leader.” he said outright.

“True…that may be the case in the past, but when I looked at you and everyone else now, this so called pride of yours is somehow pushing you forward. I don’t think you’re the same person as you were from before. After all, I’m pretty sure you’re life has changed ever since you met my brother.” she said.

…That wasn’t a lie. Truly, Astin has changed…but doubt continues to cloud his thoughts.

Her eyes lowered, her tone softening. “Sometimes, late at night, I find him in the workshop—still working when everyone else is asleep. By the time dawn comes, he hasn’t even closed his eyes. Then in the middle of the day, he dozes off from exhaustion, and it frustrates me. He deserves the same rest as the rest of us, but he keeps pushing himself ahead. I worry that one day, all that weight will finally break him.”

Astin frowned. “He doesn’t seem like that to us—”

“Well, I can tell,” she cut in gently. A small smile touched her lips. “Thankfully, he’s not alone anymore. He finally has someone else to lean on besides us.”

Astin blinked. “Who is it?”

“Miss Evelyn, of course.” Her smile softened further. “Most nights now, he spends his time with her. And I’m glad for it. On those nights, when he rests by her side, he’s different the next morning—he’s lighter, freer, as if all that weight he carries finally lets him breathe. I think… he really did find someone he can rely on…and I hope that I can give that same kind of strength she can give my brother. I don’t want him to feel worried about his family…I want him to live his life. I want him to make his dream come true, whatever that dream may be.”

“…”

“If you want my honest opinion, I think you should stay.” she said outright with a straight face.

“…Why?”

“Because out of everyone in the company, you’re the one who can lead the boys if my brother isn’t there.” she repeated again.

“…”

“And despite how strong he is, he can’t carry everything alone. If you stayed, I’d know that when me or Miss Evelyn can’t be there for him, someone else can. You and the boys can act as his strength…”

“…”

Astin sat in silence, her words weighing heavily on him. His gaze lingered on his hands, fingers tightening as he thought.

After long moments of contemplation, he finally raised his head and asked quietly, almost hesitantly.

“W-what do you think his plans are for the future?”

Theresa exhaled, her eyes soft with both uncertainty and faith.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but I’m sure it’ll be full of adventures. My brother… he has a way of pulling people forward. I can feel it—he has something planned for you, for the others… maybe even for this entire village. And who knows? One day, it might grow into something far greater than what it is now.”

“…”

“If you stay, I guarantee you that he can show you a greater adventure than any experience that those adventurers can give you.”

When her words settled in, Astin let out a quiet sigh.

‘…I see.’ he thought.

Slowly, he rose from his seat, his steps carrying him toward the door. But before leaving, he turned back to Theresa.

“…Thank you. I’ll be going now. I think I’ve made my decision.”

“!? W-wait, already?” she blurted out, surprised.

“Yeah… you convinced me,” Astin said with a faint smile, though his tone carried more weight than relief. “I don’t know why, but maybe I finally found a reason good enough to stay.”

Theresa tilted her head slightly. “And what reason is that?”

Astin paused, his eyes distant yet firm.

“…It’s something bigger than me.”

“Hm?”

He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he gave her one last nod.

“Goodbye, Theresa. And… thank you for listening to my troubles.”

“O-oh… sure. You’re welcome.” she said softly, watching him go, a quiet hope lingering in her chest.

When he stepped outside, he noticed snow drifting down from the gray sky. The cold air stung his face, yet he smiled, as if welcoming the season’s final gift.

What he didn’t know was that this snowfall would be the last of the season—one fleeting moment before the world turned again.

He walked slowly, each step sinking into the fresh white layer, until he reached the training grounds. At the center stood his captain, silent and unmoving, a lone figure in the snow.

“…”

“…”

Astin said nothing at first. He simply walked forward, stopped before Thill, and bowed deeply. In that moment, his heart had chosen—if he was going to place his future on something, it would be on someone strong, someone unshakable.

Thill’s eyes softened. “…So, you made your decision?”

“I have,” Astin replied plainly. “I’ve decided to stay.”

“…Good.” Thill’s lips curved into a faint smile as he placed a firm hand on Astin’s shoulder—a gesture of both respect and acceptance.

With that, the decision was sealed.

And to everyone’s surprise, not a single man left the company.

Even those who once dreamed of becoming adventurers stayed. Some stayed for the brotherhood they had forged in sweat and trial. Some stayed because they had glimpsed the harshness of the world and knew how easily a man could be swallowed if he stood alone. And others stayed simply because they wanted to follow someone strong.

In the end, Thill stood at the head of fifty loyal men—fifty who would one day grow into warriors of renown.

***

A few days passed, and finally—a promise was fulfilled.

The armor requested by Oxy was complete.

For two long months, Thill had poured every ounce of craft, will, and secrecy into forging it. Now, the day had come. And as promised, Oxy returned.

But oddly enough, he came alone.

The path that led him was no ordinary one. It was a narrow trail through the deep forest, with branches clawing at his cloak, and the winter air thick with silence. Not even the animals dared to move that day, as if some primal instinct warned them to keep away.

At the heart of a clearing, Oxy finally saw him—Thill, standing tall, his gaze sharp, waiting as though this moment had been inevitable all along.

Beside him, two great chests rested on the ground. Their presence was unnerving—etched with runes that pulsed faintly, blackened iron edges that seemed to drink the sunlight. They did not look like mere containers, but like coffins for something ancient and restless.

Oxy’s steps slowed. A twinge of unease made his jaw tighten, but curiosity drove him forward.

“Hmm,” Oxy muttered, his voice carrying into the stillness, “I don’t get why your sisters pointed me here. We could’ve met at your home like last time.”

Thill shook his head. “No. The armor I forged for you is too strong-willed. If it resists, I can’t risk the village being destroyed. This place is the only safe ground for what comes next.”

“Strong-willed?” Oxy raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll understand once you put it on.”

And with that, Thill bent down and opened the first chest.

The lid creaked, and at once a surge of power burst outward—an aura so dense and suffocating it sent waves through the forest. The ground shuddered. Trees swayed. The air thickened with molten heat and the metallic taste of blood.

Oxy froze mid-step. His breath caught in his throat.

That presence… it was familiar.

His lips curled into a half-smile, half-grimace. “W-wait… it couldn’t be…?!”

The aura pressed down on him like an ocean. He knew it. He had felt it before.

“This is… the presence of an Armed Hydragon.” His voice trembled with awe. “It’s almost alive.”

“And it is,” Thill said calmly, as if this truth were inevitable.

“H-how?”

“The core,” Thill replied. “You brought me the entire body of the Hydragon. Its heart, its flesh, its will… all still intact. That gave me the chance to craft this—an armor with the essence and will of the beast itself.”

Oxy’s eyes widened. “Amazing…”

But Thill’s voice sharpened. “Do you know how to wear armor of this caliber?”

“N-no,” Oxy admitted, grinning despite the unease.

“Then listen. For the first time, you must wear it directly. The armor has not yet recognized its master. To bind it, you must force your core into it.”

Thill helped him lift each piece, securing it over Oxy’s body. At first, it was awkward—too loose, as if the armor mocked the shape of its wearer. The plates hung heavy, oversized, the gauntlets rattling against his wrists.

“Huh,” Oxy frowned. “It’s looser than I thought. Did you take my measurements wrong?”

Thill did not answer immediately. His lips only curved into a knowing smile.

“The armor itself fits only when it acknowledges its wielder. To start, feed it with your core.”

With a sharp breath, Oxy closed his eyes and drew on his essence. His core burned in his chest like a furnace as he guided his energy into the armor.

At once, the plates shuddered. A hiss like searing iron filled the clearing. The armor tightened, reshaping, adjusting around his limbs. In seconds, it sealed perfectly against his body, as though it had always been meant for him.

“!” Oxy’s eyes shot open.

But then—it struck.

The weight came crashing down, sudden and merciless. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, gasping. It wasn’t mere heaviness. It was as if the world itself had fallen on his back, crushing every bone, every thought.

“W-what’s going on?!” His voice broke, frantic.

Thill’s answer was grim. “It’s the Hydragon. It’s rejecting you. To wear this armor, you must conquer it. Overcome its will—or be consumed.”

Oxy’s lips pulled into a dangerous grin. “Heh… an armor with a will of its own…? Interesting!”

For most men, the sensation would’ve been terror, the certainty of death. But for Oxy, it was fuel. His heart pounded wildly, his veins sang with exhilaration. He lived for this—resistance, challenge, the thrill of crushing something greater than himself.

He slammed his hands to the ground and forced his trembling legs to stand.

The armor answered.

Its soul flared into existence, bursting from the plates like molten flame. Shadows twisted into shape, growing taller, sharper—until before them stood the Hydragon itself, reborn from memory and hate.

The main draconic head loomed, crowned with jagged horns like a fortress of bone. From its neck sprouted three serpent-like heads, writhing and snapping, each dripping venomous mist. Its wings, ridged and brutal, unfurled like shields made for war, blotting out the clearing’s light. Along its back, spines glistened with poison, and its tail ended in a mace of spikes, swinging with lethal promise. Its scales gleamed dark, fortress-like, every edge a jagged hook. The air seethed with its molten breath, glowing between its fanged maws.

Its aura hit like a hammer—corruption, fury, warlike madness, the hatred of a beast denied its life.

Thill stepped back, eyes narrowed. Knowing the nature of living armor, he expected the soul to manifest this vividly.

Oxy’s grin widened into something feral. His eyes burned, not with fear—but with hunger.

“Move!” he barked.

Thill obeyed, retreating to the tree line.

Oxy faced the beast with only his bare hands. His laughter cracked through the clearing.

“Hah! Now this is more like it!”

The Hydragon roared. The ground split. Oxy lunged.

They clashed with the force of titans. The clearing shook as Oxy’s body collided with the spectral Hydragon, his palms slamming against its fangs, his shoulders straining against its crushing force. The sound was deafening, a storm of bone and sinew against unyielding will.

Thill shielded his eyes from the storm of energy.

Oxy roared back, veins bulging, his teeth bared in savage delight. “COME ON! IS THIS ALL YOU’VE GOT?!”

The Hydragon snarled, pressing harder, trying to crush him into the earth. Its molten breath scorched the air around his face, searing his skin. The serpentine heads coiled and struck, snapping at his arms, his throat.

But Oxy laughed. Even as blood trickled from his mouth, even as his body screamed under the weight, he laughed.

“Don’t you recognize me?!” His voice cracked with wild fury. “I’m the bastard who took your life!!”

The Hydragon froze. Its eyes flared wide. Recognition cut through the rage.

“!”

Oxy’s expression twisted into a hungry snarl. “That’s right! You know my voice! You know who your master is!!”

His aura exploded outward, a violent storm of essence colliding with the Hydragon’s will.

The forest trembled. Trees splintered. The ground cracked open.

Thill’s heart raced—this was no longer a battle of strength, but of dominance, of souls tearing at one another.

The Hydragon howled, but its fury faltered. Oxy’s madness surged, swallowing it whole. His presence was like a vortex, dragging the beast into himself.

And then—

The Hydragon’s roar cut short. Its body fractured, shards of shadow shattering into the armor. Piece by piece, the raging soul was devoured.

Oxy’s laughter echoed as the last fragment vanished.

At last, silence fell.

The armor gleamed black across his body, alive, pulsing with a crimson glow between the seams. The jagged hooks along the plates flexed like teeth, his gauntlets clawed and molten, his helmet shaped with a crown of horns echoing the Hydragon’s heads. From his back, ridged spines arched outward like wings meant not to fly, but to crush.

It wasn’t armor anymore. It was a beast—worn by a man who had claimed it through sheer will.

Oxy stood tall, his chest heaving, eyes burning like embers. His grin was wide, savage, triumphant.

“Ha…haHAHAHA!” He threw back his head and roared, his voice carrying like thunder. “Now THIS… THIS IS MINE!”

The armor pulsed in agreement, bound at last.

Thill exhaled slowly. He had seen many men wear blades, wield shields, don crowns. But rarely had he seen a man wear a monster—and conquer it.

Oxy turned, eyes glowing from within the helm.

“Thill…” His voice rumbled, distorted, half-man, half-dragon. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“I only did what we agreed upon,” Thill said, his tone steady, though his eyes carried a glint of caution. “Remember, the name of this armor is Darkened Fury. If you wish to remove it, relax your body and call out the order… Disarm.”

“Hm… very well.” Oxy exhaled, loosening his stance. “Disarm.”

At his command, the armor quivered. In an instant, it dissolved into liquid shadow, slithering off his body in a wave of black smoke. The darkness coiled and poured itself back into the chest, molding into its dormant form once more. The forest seemed to sigh in relief, the oppressive aura fading with it.

“Good,” Thill nodded. “It listens to you. That means the soul of the Hydragon now acknowledges you as its master. You have full control.”

Oxy’s grin widened, sharp and dangerous. “Hah… magnificent.” He flexed his fingers as though expecting the claws to still be there. “But what of summoning it again? Surely I don’t need to wear it piece by piece each time.”

“Of course not.” Thill raised his hand in demonstration. “Simply call to it with the invocation. Come forth and bear me protection, Darkened Fury.”

“…Is that all?”

“Yes. The armor itself is bound to your core now. The words serve as the key.”

Oxy smirked. “Then let’s see.” His voice lowered, rumbling with authority.

“Come forth and bear me protection, Darkened Fury.”

The chest rattled violently. Shadows erupted from its seams, rushing like a living tide. They surged across Oxy’s body, wrapping him in blackened scales and jagged hooks, locking plate after plate into place. The horns of the helm crowned his head, the ridged spines arched from his back, and in under a heartbeat, he stood fully armored once more.

Oxy clenched his fists, feeling the weight—or rather, the lack of it. The armor moved with him like flesh and blood, the soul within no longer resisting but amplifying his every motion. He inhaled, and the breath echoed like fire through the helm.

“Hmm… incredible,” Oxy muttered, admiring his reflection in the faint sheen of his gauntlet. His grin carried the wild glint of a man reborn.

“I’m glad you’re satisfied,” Thill said, though there was no ease in his expression.

“Satisfied?” Oxy chuckled darkly. “No, Thill… I’m thrilled. I can feel it—the surge of power. My very blood sings louder. Just by donning this armor, I know I’ve grown strong enough to challenge Liondel again… and this time, crush him.”

Thill crossed his arms. “Now, knowing this dragon has abilities far beyond those of man, I was able to place it inside the armor. It’s a crucial necessity to the design that I made.”

“The Hydragon’s abilities… are they also mine to wield now?”

“Yes,” Thill confirmed. “Two, in particular—poison and regeneration.”

Oxy’s eyes widened behind the helm. “!?”

“The poison cannot be released directly from the armor,” Thill explained. “It requires a vessel—the weapon forged alongside it.”

From the shadows of the forest, a gust of wind stirred. Thill extended his hand, manipulating the current with precision. Something large and heavy dragged across the ground, wrapped in thick cloth.

As the bundle came to rest before them, Thill pulled the fabric free. Beneath it lay not one, but two massive blades.

Their black steel shimmered faintly with a green undertone, as though venom itself pulsed in their veins. The hilts were wrapped in scaled leather, their guards shaped like snarling hydra-heads. The blades themselves bore jagged ridges like the spines of the Hydragon, each edge cruel and serrated, promising wounds that would never heal clean.

Oxy’s breath caught. “Ah… there are two of them?!” His voice trembled with surprise and greed.

“Yes,” Thill said gravely. “But be warned… they are monstrously heavy. Not even the strongest warrior can wield them without the armor’s bond.”

“Show me,” Oxy demanded.

Thill sighed and reached down. His muscles coiled, veins bulging across his arms and neck. He gritted his teeth, straining as he lifted one of the blades with both hands. His face contorted in pain, a guttural growl escaping him.

“Khk—! Aghhh!!” He forced the blade upright, trembling under its weight. The ground beneath him cracked from the strain.

“E-even at the fourth stage of my Pure Core,” Thill gasped, “I can barely lift one. That is the truth of their burden.”

He dropped the blade back to the ground with a thunderous crash, sweat dripping down his brow. His chest rose and fell heavily.

“But with the armor,” Thill continued, “they will not resist you. The blades are extensions of Darkened Fury itself—and of its master.”

Oxy’s grin spread like wildfire. He reached down without hesitation, gauntleted fingers curling around the hilt. He pulled, and the massive sword rose as easily as if it were nothing more than a practice stick.

His laugh thundered through the clearing. “Hah! So light…! As though it were part of me already.” He swung it experimentally, the air howling in its wake. “This weight is familiar. Natural. Like my own arm.”

“Yes,” Thill said, his tone quiet, thoughtful. “That is because it is. The swords and the armor are one body, and you… are its heart. Together, you are whole.”

Oxy lifted the second blade, spinning both in a whirlwind of steel before slamming them into the earth. Poisonous mist hissed from the edges, curling like vipers into the air. The ground blackened where it touched.

Oxy’s eyes gleamed behind the helm. “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful!”

Thill said nothing. He only watched—the pride of the smith clashing with the unease of a man who knew he had armed a storm.

“As for the abilities of regeneration, try cutting your skin,” Thill instructed calmly.

Oxy raised a brow, but without hesitation drew the massive greatsword across his forearm. The blade parted his flesh with terrifying ease—blood welled instantly. He flexed his fingers, watching the crimson drip, a crooked grin forming on his face.

“Now… by your will. Focus your intent and command your body to mend and heal.”

Oxy inhaled slowly. His aura surged, threading into the armor and back into his veins. And then—before his very eyes—the gash sealed. Muscles knitted, skin smoothed, not a scar left behind.

His lips parted in shock, followed by a short laugh that grew into something far louder, almost feral. “Hah… Hahaha!”

Thill did not share in his laughter. He merely studied him, weighing Oxy’s exhilaration against the hunger shining in his eyes.

“But what of the armor?” Oxy pressed after his excitement dimmed into a focused gleam. “Does it heal on its own as well?”

“Of course, but in the matter of fixing the armor…it will take more effort and concentration. Like the properties of the flesh of the hydragon, it can heal…but I suggest that you do not do so in moments of battle.”

“Does this mean that the armor is easily breakable? You made it seem so.” he asked.

“Of course not. The armor itself is five times more durable than that of the scales of the hydragon.   Even Liondel himself will struggle to cut through them. So with that said, you won’t need my help in repairing the damage.”

“Incredible…Your work is as grand as I imagined.” he said truthfully.

“Oh, we are not done yet. As I said before, I promised you two sets of the armor.”

At those words, Thill stepped toward the second chest. Its lock clicked, and as he raised the heavy lid, another storm of energy erupted. The field quivered as though the forest itself recoiled from what was revealed.

Inside lay another set of armor—similar in structure to Darkened Fury, but brighter, more violent in aura. Its blackened scales were laced with veins of glowing ember, fiery cracks that pulsed like the veins of a living creature. The helm’s crown of horns curled like blades of magma, and faint tongues of flame leaked from the joints, as though the armor itself exhaled with each breath of the earth.

“This,” Thill said, his eyes reflecting the glow, “is its counterpart. Where Darkened Fury carries the poison and corrosive malice of the hydragon, this one bears explosive fire. It is named the Blazing Fury.”

Oxy’s throat worked as he swallowed, unable to look away. His heart hammered—not with fear, but with exhilaration so sharp it bordered on madness. Two armors born from a beast of nightmare, reforged for his flesh alone.

“Both armors are grand in their own right,” he whispered, almost reverent.

The forest was silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Oxy clenched his fist, the greatsword humming in response, and whispered as though to himself—yet his voice trembled with wild, untamed joy.

“With this… no wall will stop me. With this armor, I can fully reach my peak. I will carve through them all…and be renowned as one of the strongest to ever exist!!”

His laughter returned—raw, booming, echoing through the forest. It wasn’t just satisfaction; it was possession, mania, the sound of a man who had finally found the chains to bind power to his will.

Thill watched him quietly, his gaze steady, yet deep inside, unease stirred.

For in Oxy’s eyes, the reflection of fire and shadow wasn’t just ambition. It was hunger.

“I hope you are satisfied with my work.” said Thill.

“Truly…I am.” he said proudly.

“…Good, with that said…how were my brothers in the first few weeks away from home? Did they encounter any trouble at all?” he asked.

“Do not worry about them. Seeing as how you have granted me with such a gift, I promise you that your brothers will live their lives in the city in peace. I guarantee this with my honor on the line.”

“If that’s the case…then I’m glad.”

”Hmm, and to truly celebrate this day, here…have this as a sign of our friendship.”

What Oxy pulled out from his pocket was the sight of something that Thill did not expect.

It was a symbol of respect only given to the strongest of men.

“…Do you recognize what this is?” he asked.

“I do,” Thill whispered, his voice unsteady. “It’s the Star of Strength. A badge granted only by the king himself… to those recognized by the entire kingdom for their unmatched might. There are fewer than a dozen in existence. It’s… it’s priceless. Why… why give me this?”

Oxy pressed it into his hand without hesitation. “Because you’ve made it possible for me to reach my dreams. Without you, these armors, this strength, my future… none of it would exist. You’ve forged more than armor, Thill. You’ve forged my path. For that… I call you not just my ally, not just my friend—”

His grin widened into something almost feral, but oddly sincere.

“—I call you my brother.”

For a long moment, Thill said nothing. His hand trembled as it closed around the badge. The firelight of the forest reflected in his eyes, mingling with shadow, and he understood the truth: this gift was not simply honor. It was weight. Responsibility. Bond.

“…Brother,” Thill repeated quietly, the word tasting foreign on his tongue, yet real.

Oxy’s laughter boomed through the trees, half-mad, half-triumphant.

“Good! Then from this day forth, no matter where we stand—shadow or flame—you’ll carry my name, and I’ll carry yours!”

The forest seemed to shudder at the declaration, as if even the earth recognized the pact that had just been sealed.