The Regression Of A Grand Mercenary

A lot had happened since the boys graduated from their training, but that didn’t mean their trials were over. In truth, their real training had only just begun.

Graduation was never the end—it was a declaration of duty. The duty to the village.

I named them the Village Defense Company for a reason. Their strength was not their own; it was meant to shield the people who raised them, to stand against the dangers that lurked beyond the gates. And so, their obligations began with simple, yet vital tasks.

In rotation, I stationed them across the village. Some guarded the gateways, keeping sharp eyes on the road and its travelers. Others roamed the streets, breaking up quarrels before they turned violent. A few were tasked with labor—hauling supplies, reinforcing homes, helping the elders. It was not glorious work, but it taught them that strength must serve more than pride.

And even with these duties, I did not loosen their discipline. If anything, I pressed them harder.

The drills they once thought unbearable were only the foundation. Now, I put them through the Death-Set training method:

10,000 perfect swings.

1,000 squats.

1,000 push-ups.

1,000 sit-ups.

And to finish, a twenty-kilometer run.

Grueling, merciless, and unrelenting. Many of them collapsed, drenched in sweat, their bodies trembling. Some cursed under their breath, others clenched their teeth until their gums bled. But every day, they stood back up. Every day, they grew stronger.

To help them endure, I gave them the Revitalization Slug Potion, a forgotten concoction that soothed the ache of shredded muscles and burning lungs. Without it, their bodies might have broken beyond repair. With it, they adapted faster, their cores stirring restlessly as though eager to awaken.

And when their bodies had grown accustomed to suffering, I gave them something greater.

I began to teach them the forgotten swordsmanship—a style not seen for generations, one that once carried the weight of the world in every strike. Unlike other flashy styles, this one was built on inevitability: a blade that pressed forward like the pull of gravity, patient yet crushing, unshakable in its flow. It was not easy, nor was it forgiving. But once mastered, it was a style that turned its wielder into an immovable truth on the battlefield.

The boys did not yet realize it, but every drop of sweat, every aching muscle, every scar of discipline was building them into more than soldiers. It was forging them into defenders worthy of the name they carried.

This forgotten swordsmanship was known as the Swordway of the Flowing Leaf—a path that looked deceptively simple yet demanded the highest discipline. Its movements mirrored the leaf that drifts in the wind: light, unassuming, without resistance. To the untrained eye, it seemed plain, even crude, as though the swordsman had no unique skill at all. Yet in truth, it was the embodiment of freedom and efficiency.

Every step, every cut, every shift of weight was stripped of excess, pared down to the purest form. A master of the Flowing Leaf wasted nothing—neither motion, nor breath, nor thought. The blade moved with inevitability, not force; the stance bent with pressure, never breaking. It was a sword that sought no glory, only truth.

And it was this very humility, this refusal to reveal itself, that made it terrifying. For when the moment came, the strike was already there, as natural and unstoppable as a leaf carried on the wind.

The true origins of this sword was unknown, even to me…all I know was that I met this sword back when I was casually travelling the east part of the country…and there, I encountered the sight of a war between to factions of bandits fighting against one another.

In their conflict, one man died against another and in the end, the other side won…but seeing as how they were bandits, I killed the remaining survivors and pillage their base.

Inside that base was all sorts of treasures…and among those was a book that originated from the east, outside of the kingdom. The Swordway of the Flowing Leaf was one of the rare elements that complimented the wind…and seeing how grand this book was, I incorporated the teachings of that book into the Tempest Blades of Gale…

And soon, my martial arts only became stronger then.

The Swordway of the Flowing Leaf itself was already a grand martial art…if taught to the boys, it can surely help them grow.

Truly, I found this sword to be the purest representation of efficiency.

On their first week beneath the Swordway of the Flowing Leaf, the boys approached the field with confidence. Their bodies had been hardened by weeks of relentless training—the endless swings, the punishing squats, the miles of running that left their lungs burning and their legs trembling. They had endured the weight of discipline, and so they believed themselves prepared.

And in truth, their bodies were prepared. Their arms no longer faltered after a thousand cuts, their backs no longer buckled beneath the burden of repetition. They had learned to endure pain as though it were a companion, not an enemy. When they lifted their blades and mimicked the drifting motions of the Flowing Leaf, their muscles obeyed without hesitation.

But mastery was not in the muscle.

Though their swings were sharp, they carried stiffness where there should have been ease. Their footwork, though steady, pressed too hard into the ground, breaking the rhythm that should have flowed like water. They struck with strength when they should have struck with nothing at all, turning the simplicity of the Leaf into something forced, something hollow.

The Swordway did not bend to willpower alone. It demanded that strength yield to freedom, that instinct bow to control, that the sword move without ego. The boys had built the bodies of warriors, yes—but their understanding of the blade was still trapped in its infancy.

Their sweat fell heavy upon the earth, not from the labor of their flesh, but from the frustration of their minds. The Flowing Leaf looked effortless, but effort was all they knew. They could not yet grasp how to move without resistance, how to strike without striking, how to let the blade become as unbound as the leaf in the wind.

Still, it was a beginning. The first cracks had formed in their pride, and from those cracks, understanding would one day take root.

To master the sword will take years…and thankfully, I was not so much in a rush to train these boys into learning this sword-style. After all, they are now strong enough to defend the village from threats of bandits and monsters.

In time, they will come to understand the way of this sword…and through it, they will survive.

And other than training, I had to focus on how to earn some coin to provide for the guards, we had to undertake a business that was similar to how adventurers tend to work.

And that was taking in work that needed the talents of skilled fighters.

From escort warriors, security guards, to even hunters and strong arms, I had the villagers spread our influence towards the other villages that were our close neighbors.

As long as we could spread our influence, it wouldn’t be hard to earn coin.

But knowing my experience as a mercenary, this is only a start if I wanted to provide for a way to continue funding the company and more.

One of the things that I yearn for was Influence and popularity. These were one of the things that puts value in a person.

In my personal experience, countries paid me thousands of gold just to be involved in a war. My influence as the king of mercenaries, the wind-crazed orc slayer, these names brought upon certain wants from kings and politicians.

Truly, I was known throughout the world…but it took time for my name to spread.

So for now, since I was still yet to make a name for myself…my company will barely be able to get by.

One other issue I thought of to provide for the company was to monopolize a certain item that had yet to be made in the current time. Items that brought upon change for the world…items that could easily rake in money.

But this was a troubling issue.

After all, some of those items lead to the extension and evolution of war. Most of the items I was knowledgeable about were items involved in war. One example was the blueprint to make explosive javelin spears capable of taking down monsters of grand powers. Another was a potion that was involved in temporarily extending the strength of a warrior, but it had some drawbacks…it wasn’t a perfect potion.

Other than that, I also didn’t have the manpower and connections to even start a business.

My skill alone in creating masterful works in the smith, can barely provide for the company.

As for my resources, it was limited.

I was simply one man who had control over fifty boys who were capable in fighting.

I needed a way out…

And the only way out was with the help of a certain partner of mine.

***

Winter had finally ended and spring had come…

It was at that time that Evelyn could finally begin her agriculture project here in the village. The frost had melted away, leaving the soil dark and fertile, and every morning carried the scent of new beginnings. During this time, I did my best to help her out as much as I could in the labor, though much of it was work beyond the reach of one man. Still, I knew the value of a strong wind, and so I bent the air to lighten the toil—drying the furrows, carrying seeds across the rows, and easing the burden of those who labored under her.

At this moment, the boys in the company were training, while others were scattered about the village tending to their duties. Yet here, the air was filled not with the clash of steel but with the rhythm of earth and hand, of hoes striking soil and workers’ voices calling out in unison.

“It’s finally spring…and this means that we need to keep working day in and day out,” Evelyn said firmly, standing before the expanse of her land. fifty hectares stretched before her, a wide field of opportunity that had once been barren. Now, under her direction, it was the heart of a new venture.

Seeing such a large plot of land, I was a bit surprised to find that the Amber family had decided to plant only three contents of seeds.

And those crops were wheat, cotton, and grapes.

It seemed simple at first, almost too narrow a choice given the richness of the soil, but I quickly came to understand. Wheat for flour, cotton for clothing, and grapes for wine—each carried weight beyond their harvest. Each was a pillar of livelihood.

The reasoning was clear. The village already thrived on vegetables, supplying markets with cabbages, carrots, and roots that were cheap and abundant. If the Amber family were to press their influence there, it would not only strangle the local farmers but also damage the family’s name among the common folk. Instead, Evelyn had chosen wisely: crops that complemented the village’s trade without eclipsing it.

Wheat, the staple of bread—no village could stand without it.

Cotton, the lifeblood of textiles—always in demand for clothing, sails, and banners.

And grapes, destined for wine—an indulgence beloved by nobles and merchants alike, yet also a trade good that could turn a modest village into a destination.

The Amber family was not aiming to crush the market, but to build upon it, weaving their presence into the fabric of the village’s future. And under Evelyn’s hand, I could see the land answering. Workers followed her commands with practiced respect, as if they already knew she was not just a merchant’s daughter, but a leader who could turn soil into fortune.

Watching her stride along the furrows, giving orders with clarity while the wind carried her voice across the field, I realized something. This project was not merely about crops—it was about influence, permanence, and the shaping of the village itself.

After we made our first strike on the day, and the sun was slowly starting to set back down, I saw that Evelyn was still working. In her typical character, she always finds it hard to sit down and relax until she was satisfied with the work she did for the day.

I had to remind her that…we were already back in her home. Despite what I said, she continues to write whatever it was on her notes.

While on her desk, I noticed something.

“Hmm, maybe next time, why not bring a parasole? A sunhat isn’t going to be enough to protect your skin.” I said as I could see some parts of her skin red as an apple from the sun all day.

“I’m fine…” she said as she continues to toil in her work with the records of the data for the day.

“Desmond was really angry with how red you look. He made me take the blame.” I said.

As I talked, all of a sudden, we heard a knock on her door…and from it, Desmond came.

“Miss Evelyn, I brought you a lotion for your skin. This should help with the redness.” quickly, Desmond arrived and brought with him some sort of lotion for the skin.

But Evelyn still ignored us.

“It’s okay Desmond, give it to me. I’ll have her put it on later.” I said.

“Thank you sir.”

“Also, have her dinner brought her later. It looks like she won’t be moving anytime soon.” I said to Desmond.

“O-okay…” said Desmond.

As she continued to work, I simply waited by her side…and soon, the sun finally sets and the moon rises above the sky. And still, I waited… in my time, I simply talked with her about what was going on with my life.

“You know, Tilly has been doing really good with her school lately. Although the village still doesn’t have a replacement for a nun to teach the children, it was a good idea to have one of the maids to actually volunteer.”

“…That’s good. I’m sorry I couldn’t spend as much time with her as I normally would. Things got busier when spring was finally coming over.” she said while moving her hands in calculating the numbers on her notes.

“Its fine. Thanks to you, she’s getting smarter and smarter each day. I’m sure that out of all the kids in her class, she’s the smartest because of what you did with her.”

“Hmm…”

“Also, have you notice something weird about Thalia lately?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“In the half end of winter, I barely got to see her most of the time. And at those times, for some reason…she’s mostly in the market now with some other girls her age. And they’ve been hanging out with some boys their age as well. Should I be worried?” I asked.

“…she’s 12…she’s learning to make friends. I’m sure if you try to get involved in her life, she might hate you for it.” she said as she looked at me with a discerning look.

“I don’t know about hating me…I mean come on. I’m pretty cool right?” I asked seriously.

“…” but in turn, she only looked at me and smiled.

“…Ever since the boys moved to the city, its been getting harder and harder to look after the girls. And out of all of them, Theresa is the one who brings me with the most worry!”

“Hmm? What do you mean?” she asked.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice the way some of the boys stare at her!” I clenched my fists, recalling their shameless eyes. “Oogling at her like she’s a treat—disgusting brats!”

Evelyn paused from her notes, finally giving me a small, amused smile. “Theresa is cute. You can’t expect boys not to notice. Especially when she tends to their wounds every day. Kindness has its charm.”

“She’s too kind,” I muttered.

“If I did for you what she does for them, I’m sure we’d have gotten ourselves into unspeakable trouble in that clinic.” she teased, her tone dry but playful.

I groaned. “But still—”

“No buts. If you smother her, she’ll only resent you. Trust her to make the right choice. And if she’s lucky, she’ll pick a boy who’s not as helpless as you fear.”

Her eyes flicked back to her ledger, but her smile lingered.

As we talked, it was then that Desmond came back with a cart filled with food.

“Here you are young miss. I brought you your dinner.” he said.

“T-thank you Desmond.” said Evelyn.

“You’re welcome. Please enjoy.” he said as he left the room.

“Will, since your dinner is finally here, I better go back home. Theresa might have already finished with cooking and I don’t want to go back with her yelling at me for being late.” I said.

“…Wait, before you go.” she reached her hand out to me and she pulled me in close.

*Kiss*

A kiss on the lips and we parted.

“Thanks for helping me.” she said.

“Of course…I’ll come back tomorrow and help out if I’m not busy.” I said as I carassed her soft red cheeks.

We gave our goodbyes and I left home.

Today was a great day for our everyday lives.

For spring has finally arrived and now, I feel ever so excited for the next day to come again.