The Mad Spearman of the Northern Front - Chapter 280

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

Mad Spearman of the Northern Front (280)
At the heart of the Kaerbalt Royal Palace.
The Great Hall where the King conducted his affairs was meant to be a space brimming with splendor and majesty.
Golden chandeliers hung from the lofty ceiling, and a red carpet stretched along the central corridor, leading all the way to the throne.
Yet the atmosphere permeating this place now stood in stark contrast to the ornate decorations.
“….”
A suffocating silence pressed down upon the Great Hall, so heavy that even breathing felt labored.
Between the columns lining the walls stood fully armored guards, their rigid expressions betraying barely concealed tension as they stared fixedly ahead.
Under normal circumstances, one might hear the soft murmurs of ministers or the rustling of documents being exchanged somewhere in the hall, but now even such trivial sounds were forbidden.
At the center of it all.
A single man seated upon the throne.
King of the Kaerbaldt Kingdom, Zerperon Kaerbalt.
A freshly arrived letter was clutched in his hand, and as he read through it, the veins on the back of his hand gradually became more pronounced.
The seal stamped upon the paper unmistakably bore the mark of the Ermatir Kingdom.
Yet its contents were so ruthlessly cold that calling it an alliance would be an embarrassment.
Crash!
The letter was hurled violently onto the table.
“Damn those bastards! They’re abandoning us completely!”
The entire Great Hall seemed to tremble faintly beneath his fury.
The ministers standing below the throne simultaneously bowed their heads deeply. Not a single one dared to raise their gaze.
Though the King was known for his rough temperament, such explosive anger was rare.
The ministers swallowed hard, watching him with apprehension.
Unable to contain his rage, he rose abruptly from his seat and seized the letter once more.
His eyes burned with undisguised fury, yet beneath that inferno lurked an unmistakable dread that could not be erased.
‘The Empire….’
It was advancing toward this very place.
And Ermatir, with whom he had coordinated his efforts, had refused support.
No, it was not merely a rejection of the support request.
They were preserving their forces to the maximum while simultaneously refusing to send aid to the Seranello Kingdom and the Kalpol Kingdom, which shared borders with them.
“Do they truly believe they’ll remain unscathed once we fall!”
His voice, thick with rage, struck the stone walls of the Great Hall and echoed back.
But when that reverberation faded, only the bitter reality remained.
This advance had to be stopped.
No matter what price had to be paid.
Zerperon’s gaze gradually hardened.
The identity of the Imperial Army’s commander had not yet been determined.
But there was one name that surfaced in his mind.
A name he dreaded even to contemplate.
Carbain Eisenhardt.
‘If by some chance… that man has taken the field.’
This is not a matter that can be overlooked.
Duke Carbain’s very existence is a natural disaster unto itself.
He is a man capable of slaying hundreds of soldiers with a single sword strike.
With but a few sword strikes, he can kill over a thousand soldiers—a warrior who has ascended to the realm of a ‘god’ in all matters of war.
Should Duke Carbain move even once, the Ermatir Kingdom would not be the problem.
It would be a situation requiring all the kingdoms on the Continent to unite.
And so….
“Quickly, ascertain the Imperial Army’s situation. Most importantly, discover who their commander is… that knowledge is paramount.”
“Yes, understood!”
The armored Officer bowed hastily and turned to leave.
His footsteps were urgent, and the moment the door closed, the Great Hall fell silent once more.
Zerperon Kaerbalt, left alone, slowly reclined against the throne.
The Letter in his hand crumpled with a rustling sound.
His anger had subsided, but another emotion took its place.
Unease.
A foreboding sense of dread.
An emotion that could not be concealed, written plainly across his face.
“…Sigh.”
A deep breath echoed through the silent Great Hall.
* * *
Deep within the Ermatir Royal Palace.
The Conference Room, hastily arranged to suit the wartime situation, had stripped away all its usual grandeur, leaving only cold practicality in its wake.
Military maps covered the thick stone walls, and a large Map depicting the entire Southern Region lay spread across the long table in the center.
Red pins, black Flags, and golden Marks tangled together upon it—a clear testament that war had already begun.
The door opened.
Click.
With the heavy metallic sound, an elderly man entered the Conference Room.
Arbelion Ermatir, King of the Ermatir Kingdom.
Unlike usual, he wore Armor rather than royal robes—a silver breastplate bearing the royal Family’s Pattern.
“You have arrived.”
Kaluroil, General of the Ermatir Kingdom, greeted Arbelion from across the table.
Arbelion nodded and spoke.
“Have you confirmed who commands the Imperial Army?”
More precisely, he was asking who was the central warrior among the commanders.
Kaluroil answered Arbelion’s question.
“Contrary to our concerns, it has been confirmed that it is not Duke Carbain.”
This was information from a Spy in the Imperial Capital.
Duke Carbain had not left the Capital and continued to remain at his Mansion.
At those words, Arbelion’s expression brightened considerably.
“Then….”
Considering the Empire’s Warriors meant accounting for far too many variables.
Starting with Duke Carbain, an 8-Star Warrior, there were at least three more known 7-Star Warriors.
Among them, Baolent’s death—he who had followed Belkakrode—could be considered quite fortunate news for them.
Losing a single 7-Star Warrior was equivalent to losing the military strength of at least several Divisions.
Kaluroil opened his mouth carefully.
“Svein will not stray from Prince Sedrian’s side. That leaves Jaife Bouldin, but….”
He paused for a moment.
“Since Belkakrode’s betrayal, there have been no reports of sightings. It is highly likely he sustained injuries in some incident and is currently convalescing.”
In that instant, Arbelion’s eyes gleamed.
“So Carbain is confirmed to be in the Capital, and it is neither Svein nor Jaife?”
“Based on current intelligence, that is correct. Had Jaife Bouldin led the army, word would have reached us immediately.”
Surveillance of the Empire’s 7-Star Warriors was conducted with meticulous thoroughness.
While it was regrettable that they had yet to locate his whereabouts after his sudden disappearance, confirming his absence from the Battlefield was sufficient.
Arbelion struck the table with a resounding thud and cried out.
“Then Divine Luck smiles upon us all the more!”
The Imperial Army currently mobilized by the Empire numbered twenty thousand.
It was hardly a small force.
Yet if that army lacked Warriors of 7-Star rank or higher, the situation changed entirely.
“There is certainly… room enough to attempt this.”
His words carried the weight of conviction.
Should this intelligence reach Seranello and Kalpol, they too would have no choice but to act. No—there existed an even greater possibility.
If they could achieve the Extermination of twenty thousand Imperial troops in this battle.
Arbelion’s finger traced slowly along the Map, following the Empire’s anticipated advance route.
‘I could completely shatter the Empire’s Momentum.’
Twenty thousand was merely what the Empire, preoccupied with suppressing internal strife, had managed to scrape together.
The moment they lost this force, not only would their Advance into the South falter, but their will to wage war would be grievously broken.
His gaze drifted across the Map to the territories of another Kingdom.
Kaerbaldt.
His lips pressed together firmly for a moment.
‘Forgive me….’
That the Empire had chosen Kaerbaldt Kingdom as their first target was both tremendous fortune and opportunity for them.
When the Empire and Kaerbaldt Kingdom began their war, striking the Imperial Army’s flank would vastly improve their chances of victory.
War, after all, hinged upon timing.
Arbelion raised his head.
“Dispatch delegations to Seranello Kingdom and Kalpol Kingdom. This matter cannot be conveyed by Letter.”
They must meet in person and convince them.
No—it was not persuasion but understanding that mattered.
That this war was a struggle upon which the very survival of the entire South depended.
“Yes, understood!”
As the Soldier hurried away, silence descended once more upon the Conference Room.
Arbelion Ermatir leaned slowly over the table, his gaze fixed upon the map.
Then he picked up a single red pin.
And placed it upon a point in the Southern Region.
Did they not say that crisis becomes opportunity?
The corner of his mouth rose ever so slightly.
‘Perhaps….’
The entire Southern Region appeared before him as a single canvas.
‘Perhaps this Southern Region… might become mine to claim entirely.’
The light from the Chandelier reflected coldly off his Armor, glimmering with icy brilliance.
That light, like a signal announcing the beginning of war, quietly filled the Conference Room.
* * *
The Empire’s southernmost reaches.
At the edge of the vast Plains, a colossal Castle Wall dividing the border revealed itself.
The wind carried the dryness peculiar to the South, and mingled with dust came the scent of the Battlefield, thinly woven into the air.
Though collision had not yet begun, everything here already leaned toward war.
Arteon lifted his gaze from atop his horse.
Beyond the border.
The forces of the Kaerbaldt Kingdom.
They were already prepared.
Along the uphill slope, the sharpened ends of trees were sparsely driven into the ground to prevent the enemy’s Cavalry from advancing swiftly, and heated oil had been readied as well.
And at the summit of the slope, Spearmen and heavy Infantry stood at the front, supported by Archers and Cavalry behind them.
The Battle Line, with Shields interlocked, was seamless, and the Flags swayed in the wind at regular intervals.
It was a Formation perfected as though they had awaited this very moment since ancient times.
Belkain, the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army observing that sight, gently pulled back on his horse’s reins.
If they clashed head-on with them, the Imperial Army would suffer considerable losses as well.
The forces of Kaerbaldt were no easy opponent, neither in numbers nor in training.
Yet Belkain’s eyes narrowed to slits.
‘…It seems no information about Arteon has leaked out.’
The Formation was solid, but it was ultimately a deployment assuming “army against army.”
Had they known how abnormal an existence the title of the Northern Region’s Warrior truly meant, they would never have chosen to concentrate their forces so densely.
Belkain rode forward to the Vanguard and came to a halt beside Arteon.
“Arteon, might I impose upon you?”
It was a brief request, yet it carried the weight of determining the Battlefield’s direction.
At that, Arteon turned his head.
Eyes tinged with golden light regarded Belkain for a moment.
“Of course.”
A faint smile crossed Belkain’s lips.
“As spectacularly as possible, if you would. Now we must imprint your existence upon this entire Continent.”
This war was no mere border skirmish.
A declaration to the Continent.
It was a signal announcing that the Empire had birthed its second 8-Star Warrior, and that the God of War from the North had descended upon the South.
Arteon dismounted from his horse with deliberate slowness.
A resonant hum.
Iglis, hanging at his waist, sang with a low vibration as it accepted Mana and revealed its true form.
Golden patterns ascended slowly along the Spear Shaft, and simultaneously, an Aura flowed gently from Arteon’s body.
It was not an explosive surge of momentum.
Yet precisely because of that quietude, a sharper, flesh-cutting energy consumed the surrounding air.
A measured footfall.
Arteon’s eyes, as he stepped forward, transformed entirely into molten gold.
And so he walked toward their defensive position established at the border.
His pace was neither hurried nor leisurely—yet with each step, each footfall upon the ground, the surrounding air trembled with subtle disturbance.
The Imperial Army’s soldiers held their breath, their eyes fixed upon his retreating figure, while the soldiers of Kaerbaldt Kingdom found themselves captivated by the singular figure drawing ever closer.
A gentle slope, yet a hill of considerable height.
Atop it, Flags fluttered in the wind, and soldiers gripped their Spears with tense, watchful gazes fixed downward upon him.
But in this moment.
To Belkain’s eyes, their defensive position appeared utterly defenseless.
Merely a sandcastle built from sand.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Belkain watched Arteon’s solitary figure walking toward the Battlefield and murmured softly.
“Show us, then.”
That a new era had arrived.
And with that.
A deafening roar shattered across the Continent.
A new legend began to be written upon the world.

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