The Mad Spearman of the Northern Front - Chapter 267

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Mad Spearman of the Northern Front (267)
Inside the Capital’s City Gate, silence had settled like the aftermath of battle.
Upon the fractured stone ground lay hoof prints and blood congealed together, while the acrid smell of blood drifted through the collapsed Barricades.
There had been resistance.
But it had not lasted long.
The Troops remaining within the Capital, severed from their command structure, were crushed piecemeal, and those who survived had either laid down their Weapons or already been bound.
It was possible because they had overwhelmed the enemy with devastating force from the outset, pressing forward with unstoppable Momentum.
Thanks to this, those who had lost their will to fight and harbored doubts about this rebellion chose to Surrender in great numbers.
Most of them were those who would never have joined this rebellion in the first place had they been able to ensure the safety of themselves and their families.
And at the center of this advance came Sedrian.
Drenched in exhaustion, he did not even remove his helmet as he never slowed his pace.
Behind him, Belkain and his Officers entered the Capital alongside orderly Troops.
“You have arrived, Your Highness.”
“You have labored well. Thanks to you, we have spared Imperial Soldiers from shedding the blood of their own countrymen.”
Sedrian, having entered the Capital, spoke while looking at Lucael.
And then, immediately.
His gaze shifted.
Toward the Imperial Palace.
Beyond the distant, towering Castle Wall, intermittent tremors and flashes of light could still be felt.
Perhaps within that place….
‘A fierce battle entirely different from this one must be unfolding.’
And only one person had gone there—Arteon.
No matter how strong he was, the situation could not help but be perilous.
Sedrian spoke to Belkain.
“The battle at the Imperial Palace does not seem to have ended yet… Should we not go to assist?”
It was less a command than a swift judgment.
Within the Imperial Palace lay Aura-suppressing Magic Circles, and the elite Warriors cultivated by Belkakrode would be concentrated there.
Even for Arteon, those conditions were far from favorable.
But at that moment, Belkain, who had been silently observing the Imperial Palace beside him, tilted his head slightly.
His gaze held no wavering.
Like someone watching a battle whose outcome had already been decided.
“Perhaps… Major Arteon will manage just fine.”
His words were far too composed.
Sedrian halted his steps and looked at Belkain.
Surprise and doubt struck him simultaneously.
“What reason do you have for saying such a thing?”
One cannot deny that Arteon is strong.
But this was not a simple one-on-one confrontation.
The space of the Imperial Palace, the suppressing Magic Circles, and Belkakrode’s most elite Warriors.
Judged coldly, sending Reinforcements was the sensible decision.
However, at Sedrian’s question, Belkain took a moment to steady his breath before answering in a low voice.
“It is not a statement grounded in evidence, but….”
He continued speaking without removing his gaze from the Imperial Palace, as though murmuring to himself.
“It is simply that I cannot fathom to whom he could have lost.”
A brief silence fell.
Sedrian’s expression hardened, then twisted subtly into something akin to bewilderment.
“…What?”
It was a statement that defied rational understanding.
Yet strangely, an inexplicable trust rose within his chest.
Sedrian turned his gaze back toward the Imperial Palace. The presence of a battle still ongoing.
And standing at its center, a single figure.
He muttered as though gritting his teeth.
“While your words lack concrete foundation….”
Sedrian slowly nodded his head.
“For some reason, I find myself inclined to agree with that assessment.”
And then, the two of them.
“Still, we must verify it ourselves.”
Turned and began advancing toward the Imperial Palace.
* * *
Whoooooosh!
A blue Signal Flare shot skyward, tearing through the heavens, trailing ashen smoke in a long plume across the air.
The moment Svein saw that light spreading beyond the Castle Wall, his gaze naturally rose upward, then slowly descended once more.
Svein gradually lowered the Sword he had been pointing at Carbain.
The tension that had been drawn taut released, and only then did the dust and ash swirling in the wind come into focus.
“It appears to be finished.”
His voice was low, yet carried absolute certainty.
Carbain, still gripping his Sword with unrelenting force, cast a glance toward the collapsed South Gate.
The City Gate had transformed into rubble hardly worthy of the name, and the Castle Wall bore tears and gouges as though savaged by some colossal beast.
It was a natural consequence.
A Warrior standing at the threshold of the 7th Star and the Empire’s mightiest 8th Star Warrior had exchanged their full strength.
The very fact that the destruction ended at this extent proved how much they had restrained their power during their clash.
Yet Carbain, hearing Svein’s words, gazed toward where the Signal Flare had risen and murmured.
“…It is already finished?”
His words carried astonishment.
He had not anticipated matters concluding with such swiftness.
He could not gauge the true capabilities of those who had returned from the Northern Region with Sedrian.
Yet Svein, observing Carbain thus, slowly drew in a breath, then exhaled at length and spoke.
“During this journey to the Northern Region…I have come to understand many things.”
“Understand, you say.”
Carbain turned his gaze to regard Svein directly.
Between the two who had lowered their swords, the Killing Intent that had filled the air moments before vanished as if it had never existed.
Svein fell silent for a moment, as if carefully choosing his words, before nodding.
“Surprisingly enough… the Empire has been far too dismissive of the Barbarians of the Northern Region.”
Merely ‘Barbarians.’
They defined them with these three words alone, viewing them as primitive creatures that could be crushed underfoot whenever desired.
But the Northern Region that Svein had witnessed firsthand was different.
Bodies honed through survival in a barren environment.
Senses sharpened through blizzards, starvation, and endless battles.
And true masters of strength—ones I myself felt I could not easily overcome.
“The Northern Region is a place where the entire Empire must unite its strength merely to contend with. And those who have survived there…”
Svein’s gaze drifted toward a distant point for a moment.
“I came to believe they are stronger than any army the Central Command possesses.”
Carbain exhaled slowly before speaking.
“Is it not possible you are offering an upward assessment due to sympathy, having been in the Northern Region yourself?”
At those words, Svein let out a faint laugh and shook his head.
“Absolutely not.”
His tone was resolute.
His voice carried no wavering.
“…I see.”
Carbain murmured briefly and nodded.
He himself had always regarded the Northern Region as the Empire’s periphery—a trash heap of sorts.
But…
‘If even that steadfast Svein speaks with such conviction…’
The thought flickered through his mind that he might need to reassess his evaluation of the Northern Region.
However, there was something more pressing to attend to first.
“There are still those remaining within the Imperial Palace.”
Carbain’s gaze turned toward the Imperial Palace.
“I must rescue them safely… and bring this to an end.”
His voice grew quieter.
“If I do not step forward, it cannot be finished.”
While the Emperor lay in slumber, the Empire’s descent to this state bore much of my responsibility.
The choice to step back.
That caution had instead opened a gap for the Second Prince.
“It seems that very caution gave Belkakrode his opportunity.”
Carbain laughed bitterly.
“I should have held my position firmly as I once did.”
The Empire’s mightiest 8th Star Warrior.
Had I shown no opening, the Imperial Palace would never have fallen in the first place.
That sense of responsibility, transformed into rage, churned deep within my chest.
It was then.
“Perhaps… it will be over soon.”
At Svein’s words, Carbain’s brow furrowed deeply.
“Did you misunderstand what I said?”
Carbain spoke slowly.
“Even I cannot dislodge the Second Prince who now controls the Imperial Palace without reinforcements. And that’s only if you help me…”
“He has gone to the Imperial Palace.”
Svein’s words cut him off.
“Perhaps… it will be over soon.”
“Hm…”
A short sound escaped Carbain’s lips.
Curiosity bloomed within him.
Svein, renowned for his coldness.
For him to display such trust in another person was remarkable.
But soon, Carbain shook his head.
“You seem to be forgetting… Baolent is in the Imperial Palace.”
At that name, Svein fell silent without a word.
He knew.
What manner of warrior Baolent was.
Moreover, Magic Circles that suppress Aura are laid throughout the Imperial Palace.
Viewed rationally, the conditions were far from optimistic.
And yet.
“I trust him.”
A brief and resolute statement.
Carbain regarded him for a moment before speaking.
“We shall see. Whether your trust is genuine… or whether Baolent, the Sword that once protected the Empire, is the true force.”
Shing.
Carbain sheathed his Sword.
The metallic sound of the blade settling into its scabbard rang out clearly over the ruins.
Svein likewise withdrew his Sword.
Thus the two walked in silence, side by side, toward the Imperial Palace.
Though the outcome seemed already decided.
‘Which of them will prove stronger in their faith… I shall see.’
Carbain advanced toward the Imperial Palace with peculiar interest, passing through the collapsed capital.
* * *
Baolent stood before Arteon.
The Palace Corridor was already half-destroyed.
Stone pillars stood cracked and tilted, while between the fractured Patterns on the floor, the faint residual light of the Aura-suppressing Magic Circle pulsed weakly.
The air hung heavy and dense, and with each breath, the mingled scents of metal, stone, and blood seeped into the lungs.
Arteon regarded Baolent directly.
Though he displayed no Aura and exerted no oppressive force, his mere presence seemed to solidify the entire space around him as its center.
Arteon opened his mouth.
“Why do you not stop, knowing full well that this is treason?”
His voice was measured.
A question devoid of accusation or anger.
“Surely you understand that this path is wrong….”
“Enough.”
Baolent spoke curtly. Then he slowly drew his Sword.
Shing.
The metallic ring of the Blade sliding from its sheath echoed crisply through the Palace Corridor.
With it, a faint luminescence flowed softly from the Armor he wore.
A Magic Circle was inscribed upon his Armor, ensuring he remained unaffected by the suppression Magic Circle.
“Let us spare each other needless words.”
Baolent spoke, his gaze cold as it fixed upon Arteon.
Those words were neither a slight nor an expression of rage.
Simply.
A recognition that each stood in their own position, bound to their own role.
Then Baolent spoke again.
“Let us focus on what we must do.”
At those words, Arteon regarded Baolent for a moment, then raised Iglis.
Golden light flashed as the Spear Blade pointed forward.
I already knew.
That in this place, persuasion and justice held no meaning.
I had asked this final question only because we were Warriors who had walked the same path.
Arteon’s gaze gradually settled into stillness.
The ambient noise faded away, leaving only the opponent’s breathing and presence distinctly perceptible.
Baolent opened his mouth once more.
“Come.”
In that very instant.
Arteon’s form tore forward like rending fabric.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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