The Mad Spearman of the Northern Front - Chapter 282

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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 (282)
The air in the Conference Room hung heavy and oppressive.
Deep within the Royal Palace, encircled by thick stone walls.
Even the sunlight filtering through the windows seemed dim, so darkly had the expressions of those assembled settled into grim silence.
Arbelion Ermatir.
The King of the Ermatir Kingdom sat upon his throne, yet his grip upon the armrest was white-knuckled with tension.
“What in blazes has happened!”
His thunderous roar echoed through the Conference Room.
Ministers and Generals flinched, their heads bowing in unison.
Arbelion’s eyes burned with a tempestuous blend of fury and confusion.
The plan had been flawless.
While the Imperial Army and Kaerbaldt’s forces clashed, both bleeding and grinding each other down in a war of attrition, that was when they would strike.
Even the Imperial Army could not easily repel a flanking assault amid such chaos.
One might call it cowardly, but was it not always the victor who wrote history?
And yet….
“You mean to tell me they did not even manage to attack!”
An Officer stepped forward in response to the King’s demand.
Though clad in Armor, the tension beneath was so palpable that his rigid expression betrayed it entirely.
“The military forces of Kaerbaldt Kingdom… were utterly overwhelmed. There was no opening for us to exploit… none whatsoever.”
The report was brief, yet its meaning was unmistakable.
It had not been a battle.
No collision had even occurred.
The Battlefield had descended into something akin to a one-sided massacre—so thoroughly that it had begun to erode the morale of those who waited to strike.
The Conference Room grew even more suffocating in the wake of that report.
Arbelion clenched his teeth.
“Kaerbaldt is no weak nation. The military strength of their border garrison ranks among the finest on the Continent. Yet they crumbled so pathetically?”
His words carried not mere questioning, but a visceral rejection of a reality he refused to accept.
Silence descended upon the Conference Room once more. But soon, another Officer cautiously broke it.
“The Warrior leading the Imperial Army’s vanguard… is not ordinary.”
Arbelion’s gaze sharpened.
“Not ordinary? I was told there were no Warriors of 7-Star rank or higher.”
“According to our intelligence network, that was correct. However… based on the report from the Messenger who directly observed the Battlefield….”
The Officer’s voice grew progressively quieter.
His head lowered further.
The King’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Speak.”
The Officer drew a breath before continuing.
“At minimum, 7-Star rank. Among that tier, appearing to be high-level… and according to the Messenger’s personal assessment, estimated to be 8-Star rank.”
“…!”
The Conference Room froze.
Someone swallowed hard, while another unconsciously gripped the armrest of their chair.
Arbelion Ermatir himself fell silent for a moment.
The sheer absurdity of the report had struck him speechless.
But soon his expression twisted with fury.
“An 8th Star? Who in their right mind would spout such madness!”
The King’s rage erupted.
Reaching the 8th Star was considered a realm so distant that even a Heaven-blessed genius would struggle to ascend it despite a lifetime of effort.
Throughout history, 8th Star Warriors could be counted on one hand, and currently, only Duke Carbain of the Empire stood at that pinnacle.
A presence whose very name froze battlefields and determined the fate of wars.
But a new 8th Star?
It made no sense.
Yet the Officer answered calmly, his head still bowed.
“The soldier who submitted this report has served for over ten years and witnessed countless battlefields. The likelihood of misjudgment is… minimal.”
His words were neither excuse nor speculation.
They were a judgment grounded in fact.
And so the Conference Room sank deeper into oppressive silence.
They wanted to deny it, but the current situation would not permit even that.
A crushing weight pressed down upon their chests like a stone.
Where in the world had such a monster emerged from?
Even if the Messenger’s report were mistaken, this warrior possessed at least mid-tier 7th Star ability.
‘Then… how many 7th Star Warriors does the Empire actually possess…?’
In the worst case, even without Carbain’s intervention, three or four of them could move independently.
No kingdom on the Continent possessed four or more 7th Star Warriors.
The most any had was three, and only two kingdoms across the entire Continent could claim even that.
But….
“…if that’s not the case, then the current situation cannot be explained.”
At someone’s words, all responded with silence of agreement.
Everyone in this room knew that Kaerbaldt was not a weak nation.
If they had crumbled so thoroughly… there was only one explanation.
An overwhelming Warrior had intervened.
But then it happened.
Crash!
The Conference Room door burst open violently.
A Messenger who had come running breathlessly stopped at the doorway.
“This is a disaster!”
The expressions of those present twisted in unison.
They had already heard the worst report.
Though they thought no worse news could possibly exist, dread crept up their spines.
At this, Arbelion Ermatir leaned forward in his seat.
“What is the meaning of this commotion!”
The Messenger’s lips trembled.
He had to steady his breathing several times before the words could come.
And then….
“That, that is….”
The Messenger, his throat parched, continued speaking.
“The Kaerbaldt Kingdom… has declared its surrender.”
In that instant, time seemed to freeze within the Conference Room.
Some widened their eyes in shock, while others shook their heads in disbelief.
Arbelion Ermatir’s pupils quivered.
“…What did you say.”
A voice barely above a whisper.
The Messenger spoke again, his voice trembling.
“The Kaerbaldt Kingdom… has declared its surrender to the Empire.”
As those words concluded, all those gathered in the Conference Room understood.
This was no mere border dispute.
The balance of power across the Continent… was shifting entirely.
* * *
Kmortan, the Capital of the Kaerbaldt Kingdom.
A city where towering Castle Walls and spires rose densely skyward, yet now the air flowing above them felt oppressively heavy.
The eyes of the Soldiers standing upon the City Gate mingled tension and exhaustion, and the people in the streets spoke only in hushed tones.
No battle had occurred.
Yet defeat already weighed upon the entire city.
And beyond Kmortan, in the Outer Plains.
The Imperial Army was stationed in orderly Formation.
Spears and Shields gleamed as they caught the sunlight, and between the military tents came the rhythmic movement of Soldiers in perfect order.
Though prepared to engage in Battle at any moment, a profound silence had descended upon the Formation without the slightest disturbance.
And within the Command Tent at its center.
Supreme Commander Belkain sat together with his Adjutant Claw and Arteon.
“Do you happen to know who was dispatched as the envoy?”
At Arteon’s question, Belkain nodded.
“They say it is Diorman.”
It was a brief answer, yet the weight that name carried was far from light.
“He possesses considerable diplomatic ability. He has the relentless persistence of a viper, yet he carries a bold heart that does not yield in Aura even within the Royal Palaces of other Kingdoms.”
“But because of that persistence… opinions about him are divided.”
As Claw added his words, Arteon slowly nodded.
“I see.”
A relentless diplomat.
That such a figure had come as an envoy meant far more than a simple acceptance of surrender.
Belkain gazed out the window and spoke.
“It may well be the intention of Prince Sedrian to demonstrate his resolve to the Kaerbaldt Kingdom through this war.”
Arteon shared the same assessment.
“I concur, sir. It appears they intend to apply considerable pressure—deliberately and with force.”
What Kaerbaldt Kingdom and Ermatir Kingdom had done was no mere border dispute.
Innocent citizens of the Empire had shed their blood, and simultaneously, the Empire’s dignity had been trampled underfoot.
This was not something that could be resolved with a few words of apology.
They would likely demand compensation not only for the dead and destroyed cities but also for the insult the Empire had suffered—doubled, perhaps tripled.
And if one were to estimate the sum that would result from such demands…
“This incident could severely strain Kaerbaldt Kingdom’s treasury,” Claw observed.
At Claw’s words, Belkain lit a cigarette with indifference and placed it between his lips.
“We need not concern ourselves with such calculations. Matters between nations are the domain of politicians.”
Belkain leaned back in his chair, exhaled deeply, and released a plume of smoke.
White smoke dispersed throughout the Conference Room, and through the haze, Belkain regarded the two men as he spoke.
“We need only focus on faithfully executing the duties entrusted to us.”
Then came a brief silence.
But soon Belkain’s gaze turned toward Arteon.
“Once this matter concludes, there will likely be a comprehensive Merit Evaluation and Rewards ceremony. Beginning with your achievements in the Northern Region and extending through all that has transpired here—you shall receive recognition for everything at once.”
Belkakrode’s unexpected betrayal.
In its aftermath, countless merits had remained unrecognized, buried and forgotten.
But now things were different.
The tide of war had shifted entirely in the Empire’s favor, and breathing room was beginning to emerge.
A subtle smile played at the corners of Belkain’s mouth.
“If my judgment is sound, after that Merit Evaluation concludes, I suspect it will become impossible even to address you by your current name.”
The words were tinged with jest, yet sincerity lay beneath them.
And yet, despite this, a faint smile remained etched upon Belkain’s lips.
From the day Arteon had slain his superior officer—the one who had served as a spy in the Northern Region—until now.
Arteon had never once ceased his efforts.
He had relentlessly tormented himself, driven himself forward, and transcended the limits of extreme circumstances to reach this position.
Perhaps that was why.
To Belkain, Arteon was no mere ordinary soldier.
He was once a promising prospect whom Belkain had been willing to nurture despite the risks, and at some point, he had become a comrade standing shoulder to shoulder with him on the Battlefield.
Yet at Belkain’s words, Arteon shook his head.
“Regardless of what merit I may receive, you remain my Commander.”
Belkain laughed softly.
“Hah… I appreciate hearing that. For now, there should be no major incidents until the Reaper’s schedule concludes. Rest with your Squad Members.”
“Yes, understood.”
Leaving the Command Tent, Arteon made his way toward where his Squad Members had gathered.
As he approached.
Gazes naturally converged upon him.
Yet something was different from usual.
Those who had been chattering, those who had been lounging about—none of them were present.
Everyone moved quietly, maintaining their equipment.
Arteon furrowed his brow as he watched Isaac.
“What’s gotten into these bastards?”
Isaac chuckled softly.
“Well, after witnessing the Captain’s impossible performance in this battle, they’re absolutely fired up.”
“…Is that so?”
Arteon slowly swept his gaze across his squad members.
Sharpening swords, polishing armor, methodically repeating training movements.
Normally there would be a few grumbling, but their eyes burned with unmistakable intensity.
The corners of Arteon’s mouth lifted ever so slightly.
“So they all want to become like me…?”
His eyes gleamed with fierce light.
“When we return, I’ll give you all proper training… those of you who can keep up, follow me.”
In that instant.
Several heads lifted simultaneously.
“Is that true?”
“Will the Captain personally train us?”
Arteon nodded curtly.
“You’ll wish death would take you instead. Steel yourselves.”
Arteon continued immediately.
“But before that… we must survive this Battlefield and return alive.”
His voice dropped lower.
“Not a single soul dies. That is your first mission. Remember it well.”
“Yes, understood!”
The cry was brief, yet the resolve it carried burned white-hot.
Morale surged visibly before their eyes.
And at that same moment.
“This is the compensation proposal the Empire demands.”
Kaerbalt Royal Palace, Conference Room.
In heavy silence, Diorman, the Empire’s envoy, slowly set down the document.
His expression remained composed.
Yet his gaze was cold as ice, merciless in its intensity.
In the heart of the Kaerbaldt Kingdom, a suffocating negotiation between Empire and Kingdom had begun.

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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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