The Mad Spearman of the Northern Front - Chapter 300

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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 (300)
The Scribe’s cry shook the Plaza in that singular moment.
“The Empire’s second 8th Star Warrior, Arteon! Come forward to the Platform!”
As that name echoed across the expanse, the Plaza trembled as though a colossal wave were crashing through it.
“Uaaaaaaaaaah!”
Tens of thousands of citizens roared in unison.
“Arteon!”
“The God of War from the North!”
“Hero of the Empire!”
The cheers showed no sign of subsiding.
People pressed shoulder to shoulder, their eyes fixed upon the Platform ahead.
Even those perched atop buildings leaned forward, desperate not to miss a single moment.
And from the center of it all, a man began to move forward with deliberate steps.
Arteon.
The moment he stirred, it was as though the very air of the Plaza parted before him.
Thud. Thud.
His footfalls were quiet, yet somehow carried a peculiar clarity.
A Cloak bearing the scars of the Battlefield draped his shoulders, and a familiar Spear hung at his waist.
There was no ornate decoration, no exaggerated grandeur.
Yet as he advanced toward the Platform, countless gazes naturally converged upon him.
Some held their breath; others regarded him with eyes alight with reverence.
Soldiers instinctively opened a path as he passed between them.
And then….
Thud.
Arteon came to a halt at the base of the Platform.
Moments later, he ascended the stairs.
The Plaza had fallen into complete silence.
Arteon stood upon the Platform, facing Sedrian.
In that instant, the Scribe’s voice rang out.
“Arteon!”
His words resonated throughout the entire Plaza.
“You have expanded the Empire’s territory by occupying the Preldior region in the North, and with your own hands severed the seeds of rebellion that sprouted in the Capital…!”
The people’s attention intensified further.
“On the Southern Battlefield, you achieved decisive military victories that steered the course of war toward the Empire’s triumph!”
The air of the Plaza grew taut with tension.
The Scribe paused for a moment.
Then he proclaimed with force:
“Such Merit is truly a great Achievement worthy of being inscribed in the annals of the Empire.”
Thereafter, a brief silence blanketed the Plaza.
Within that hush, Sedrian gazed upon Arteon.
His eyes held genuine recognition, and beneath it lay a deep current of gratitude.
Sedrian opened his mouth.
“Arteon.”
His voice was calm yet resolute.
“You have become the sword of the Empire, and on countless battlefields, your achievements have far exceeded all expectations.”
After a brief pause, he continued slowly.
“Therefore, in recognition of your merit, I….”
The air in the plaza seemed to hold its breath.
“bestow upon Arteon the title of Marquis.”
“…!”
In that instant, the plaza froze.
“…Marquis?”
“…Did he just say Marquis?”
Eyes widened throughout the crowd.
Never before had a commoner-born individual, upon receiving recognition for their merit and becoming a Noble, been granted a title of Count or higher.
Of course, considering Arteon’s ability and achievements, even higher ranks might have been possible.
“Skipping Count entirely… and going straight to Marquis?”
“Good heavens….”
“…Won’t this provoke an absolutely fierce backlash…?”
Several among them could not hide their worried expressions.
Even if Arteon, the honored Knight, were to receive the title of Count, there would surely be tremendous opposition from the ministers.
But not Count—Marquis, a rank above it.
Already the aftershocks of this decision began to weigh on their minds. Yet Sedrian’s words did not end there.
“Furthermore….”
He continued.
“I consolidate the three fiefdoms located in the Northern Region—Noscar, Graywintley, and Aiodpol—into one and bestow them upon you.”
The plaza stirred once more.
Sedrian made his declaration.
“From this day forward, those three fiefdoms shall be known by a single name—Wolfheim…!”
His gaze turned toward Arteon.
“And that name shall become your own.”
This meant that the name of the fiefdom would become Arteon’s family name.
Sedrian spoke his final words.
“From this day onward, you are… Arteon Wolfheim, Marquis of the Caldrian Empire.
A profound silence descended upon the moment.
It seemed this was precisely the kind of moment the saying “shock renders one speechless” was meant to describe.
Yet within that breathless, hushed silence.
Thud.
Arteon stepped forward.
He clenched his right fist and struck his left chest with force.
Boom.
The dull sound shattered the silence, and Arteon’s powerful voice rang out immediately after.
“Heart of Steel!”
A soldier salutes as a soldier should.
The Imperial salute of the Northern Front reverberated across the entire Plaza with a resounding echo.
As if witnessing a sacred ceremony, the crowd watched Arteon in reverent silence.
And Sedrian, who stood before him.
Thump.
He clenched his right fist in unison with Arteon and raised it lightly over his left chest.
“Heart of Steel.”
Sedrian and Arteon.
The moment the two exchanged the same salute, the Plaza fell into a hushed silence as if holding its breath.
But the stillness did not last long.
As Sedrian lowered his fist, Arteon followed suit.
“I feel sincere gratitude toward you. For being the Empire’s Sword… I am truly grateful.”
Sedrian spoke to Arteon.
To which Arteon replied, as always, with calm composure.
“I merely did what was necessary, Your Highness.”
“These Medals I bestow upon you. Remember that they are your right to use whenever needed, regardless of time or circumstance.”
“I am grateful for the Prince’s consideration.”
With those words, Arteon slowly turned his body.
And as he began to descend from the Platform.
“Uaaaaaaaaaaa!”
A roar erupted across the entire Plaza, incomparably louder than the cheers that had come before.
“Marquis Arteon!”
“Marquis Arteon Wolfheim!”
“The Empire’s Hero!”
“The North’s… No, now the Empire’s God of War!”
Tens of thousands of citizens cried out in unison.
Some scattered flower petals wildly into the air, while others wept with overwhelming emotion.
Soldiers raised their Spears and cheered with fervent voices.
Arteon walked slowly down through the roar of acclamation.
And finally, the Scribe stepped forward.
He slowly rolled up and folded the Scroll, completing his final duty.
“With this!”
The cheers in the Plaza gradually subsided, and those present turned their gaze toward the Scribe.
The Scribe then spoke.
“The Merit Evaluation and Rewards for the Northern Front, the rebellion in the Capital, and the war that took place on the Southern Front are hereby concluded!”
In that instant, it seemed as though brilliant light burst forth across the entire Plaza.
People gazed at one another and smiled, while soldiers patted each other’s shoulders and applauded.
Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap!
The Plaza erupted in thunderous applause.
Shouts and laughter and cheers.
That day.
Beneath the Empire’s sky.
The end of war and a new era were opening together.
* * *
It was late night after the Merit Evaluation and Rewards had concluded.
The vast corridors of the Imperial Palace were already mostly dark, with only the occasional footsteps of attendants lingering late into the evening echoing through the halls.
The Plaza that had teemed with thousands of people during the day had fallen into an eerie silence.
Yet deep within the Imperial Palace, the Prince’s Office still had its lights burning.
“Mmm….”
Documents were stacked like mountains upon the desk, and several Candles burned quietly above them.
Each time the Candles’ flames flickered subtly, the shadows cast upon the wall swayed in long, undulating waves.
Sedrian, holding his Pen and reviewing the Documents, tilted his head back and pressed his fingers firmly between his brows.
Though he believed he had been working quite efficiently, there was still a considerable amount of work remaining.
The restoration of Southern Cities, financial adjustments following tax reductions, reorganization of Noble factions after the rebellion, and the redeployment of the Northern Front.
The work was endless.
Scratch.
The sound of the Pen’s tip scraping across Paper echoed softly.
But that was the moment.
“…?”
Sedrian paused his Pen, sensing a faint human Presence from beyond the Office door.
It was far too late in the evening for any Presence to be felt.
There should be almost no one visiting this place at this hour….
Sedrian lifted his head and looked toward the door.
Moments later, a voice came from beyond the door.
“Forgive the late hour, Your Highness.”
It was a familiar voice.
Sedrian’s eyes widened slightly.
And without thinking, he rose from his seat.
The figure beyond the door spoke again.
“I wish to use the Medals bearing the Imperial Family’s Pattern… Would you grant me permission to do so now?”
A brief Silence fell.
Then a faint smile appeared at the corners of Sedrian’s lips.
“I did say you could use them regardless of the hour….”
He spoke, gazing toward the door.
“But I never expected you to use them this soon.”
Creak.
The Office door slowly opened.
The figure standing outside the door was none other than Arteon.
Only a few hours had passed since the Merit Evaluation and Rewards ceremony concluded, yet he had already donned his Cloak once more.
His demeanor was utterly composed—a stark contrast to the cheers and festive atmosphere of the day.
Sedrian regarded him for a moment.
Then he gestured toward a seat.
“Sit.”
Arteon nodded quietly.
Sedrian continued.
“I’m not sure whether to call this late or rather too early.”
He adjusted a Candle as he spoke.
“But the fact that you’ve come at this hour suggests something of considerable importance.”
Sedrian sensed it.
Perhaps quite a lengthy conversation was about to unfold.
Arteon settled quietly into the chair.
A moment of silence descended.
The Candle flickered once, casting long shadows across the Room.
Sedrian spoke first.
“So.”
His gaze fixed upon Arteon.
“What reason compels you to wear the Imperial Medals so swiftly?”
For a moment, Arteon’s eyes drifted toward the Candle.
Then he looked directly at Sedrian.
He had deliberated extensively on this matter before arriving here.
‘How should I broach this….’
It was a concern that had weighed upon him, yet seeing Sedrian’s face now seemed to ease the burden considerably.
Arteon spoke to Sedrian.
“Once matters here are settled… I wish to depart for the Northern Region.”
“The Northern Region?”
The Candle flickered slightly.
Sedrian’s eyes moved quietly.
A brief silence hung between them.
He had heard to some extent that Arteon harbored an unusual affection for the Northern Region.
“The Northern Region….”
Yet he had not anticipated such a proposal coming so swiftly.
Sedrian leaned back in his chair, regarding Arteon.
A subtle smile played at the corners of his mouth.
“For someone who received a Marquis title mere hours ago, that’s quite a bold declaration.”
Sedrian lifted the Teacup before him and took a slight sip.
It would be preferable if he remained in the Capital a while longer.
‘But his fiefdom was granted in the north anyway….’
I thought it would be best to follow his opinion as much as possible.
Sedrian nodded.
“I grant it. However, I would appreciate it if you remained here until the restoration of this place is complete.”
“I shall obey your command.”
As Arteon nodded, Sedrian spoke with a faint smile.
“But I am curious. Most avoid the Northern Region, yet you speak of going there first. What drives such a decision?”
To Sedrian’s words, Arteon answered only with silence.
His own thoughts regarding the Northern Region were difficult to articulate clearly.
Yet it seemed as though he must go.
‘Do I believe there is still work to be done?’
If I return to the Northern Region, perhaps I could find the answer to this question.
As Arteon remained silent in contemplation, Sedrian, having set down his teacup, spoke softly.
“And… I too have one condition.”
“…Yes?”
At Arteon’s inquiry, Sedrian opened his mouth with a grave expression.

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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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