The Mad Spearman of the Northern Front - Chapter 312

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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 (312)
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
With each metallic ring, the air in the narrow mine shaft trembled in unison.
With every breath drawn deep into the lungs came not fresh air, but stone dust and grit.
The throat burned raw and parched, making even a proper cough impossible.
Light scarcely penetrated the interior of the Mine.
Torches hung sporadically, flickering with a feeble glow, yet even they were obscured by smoke and dust, rendering the vision murky and indistinct.
Clang!
The sound of a pickaxe striking rock echoed once more.
But that sound was gradually losing its force.
“Hah… gasp…”
The man holding the pickaxe staggered.
And with that.
Clatter!
The pickaxe slipped from his grasp.
Thud.
He collapsed sideways to the ground.
His face struck the floor, scattering stone dust in all directions.
The man lay motionless.
A comrade beside him cried out in alarm.
“…B, Baroman!”
A hoarse, ragged voice filled the mine shaft, and he frantically shook the collapsed man’s body.
“Come to your senses! Hey, Baroman! Get up! Just hold on a little longer…”
But before those words could even finish.
Thud, thud.
Heavy footsteps approached.
Each time thick leather boots struck the ground, the mine shaft resonated with a low rumble.
It was a Kar Tribe Warrior, his entire body covered in dark tattoos.
He gazed down at the collapsed man.
His eyes held no emotion whatsoever.
Only the gaze of one observing something that had become worthless.
He clicked his tongue sharply.
“Tsk…!”
And he nudged the collapsed man’s body with the tip of his boot.
“Get up. Continue working at once.”
Speaking in the Kar Tribe language that the others could not comprehend, his comrade beside him quickly bowed his head and spoke.
“P, please spare him! If we take him out right now and let him rest just a little, he can work again! I beg you! Please spare him!”
His forehead pressed so deeply to the ground it nearly touched the floor.
But the Kar Tribe Warrior did not even look at him.
Once more, he kicked the collapsed man.
Thud.
No response came.
The Kar Tribe Warrior’s eyes grew cold and sharp.
“Useless.”
The word fell like ice from his lips.
“Take him to the Cliff behind the Mine and dump him there. If we leave a corpse lying around, it’ll only stink up the place.”
The moment his words ended, two Kar Tribe Warriors standing behind him moved.
Without hesitation, they seized the fallen man’s limbs and hoisted him up.
Watching his comrade being dragged away, the Blacksmith cried out desperately.
“Wait, wait! Just a moment!”
He shouted at the Kar Tribe Warrior who had been overseeing them.
“Just one more chance! Please, just one more…!”
But in that instant.
Crack!
A violent impact crashed against his neck.
The Kar Tribe Warrior had seized his throat with his bare hand.
His breath caught in his chest.
“Ugh, gahhh…!”
His feet thrashed helplessly in the air.
The grip tightened relentlessly.
Pressure as if his neck bones would snap.
All the Blacksmith could do was claw at the Kar Tribe Warrior’s wrist, struggling futilely.
The Kar Tribe Warrior spoke.
“Return to your post. If you don’t, you’re next.”
Though he couldn’t understand the words, their meaning was unmistakably clear.
Tears welled in the Blacksmith’s eyes, and his body trembled.
Without thinking, he nodded desperately.
Thump!
“Gasp…! Gasp…!”
Breathing harshly, he lifted his head.
Meeting the Kar Tribe Warrior’s frigid gaze, all he could do was seize the pickaxe that had fallen to the ground and return to his post.
And….
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The Blacksmith swung the pickaxe with every ounce of strength he possessed.
His arms—no, his entire body trembled like aspen leaves.
In this hellish situation where death could come at any moment, there was nothing he could do.
Only….
‘Please… anyone… help me escape this Hell….’
All he could do was pray.
And in the flickering torchlight.
Screams echoed relentlessly across the Training Ground.
* * *
“Faster!”
A sharp cry pierced through the Training Ground.
“Uuuaaaaaaagh!”
In the frigid Northern air, breath scattered white and formless.
Yet none of them seemed to feel the cold.
Their shirts had been discarded long ago.
Though frost threatened to settle upon sweat-drenched skin in such bitter temperatures, what burned hotter still was the crushing force and willpower they exerted against one another.
Two soldiers locked together, their hands gripping each other’s shoulders and waists as they held their ground.
Their feet had already dug deep into the earth, their teeth clenched so hard their lips pulled back.
“Hold! Don’t give ground!”
“Don’t let go!”
“Uuuaaaaaaaaaagh!”
A roar erupted like that of a beast.
The muscles of their colliding bodies trembled violently, and even in the bone-chilling Northern cold, their breath came hot and heavy.
But then, in that instant.
Crash!
Balance shattered, and one of the Squad Members flew backward, slamming hard into the ground.
“Ugh!”
A dull impact echoed as dust erupted from the earth.
“Argh! Move to the side, next!”
With a cry of victory, Bartell’s voice immediately followed.
The fallen Squad Member grimaced and pushed himself to his feet.
“His strength is really… ow.”
The soldier who had been thrown clenched his teeth and stepped aside, and another soldier immediately took his place.
“Thank you for this, Bartell.”
“Come at me with everything you have!”
The relentless test of strength continued without pause.
It was a savage display, as though beasts were testing one another.
The knights who had come with Belkain watched this spectacle unfold.
Training conducted without Mana, relying solely on pure muscle strength and technique.
At first, it had been interesting enough.
There was something distasteful about knights mixing it up with common soldiers rather than their peers, but still—this was the training of a renowned unit, was it not?
They had intended to humble them and depart with their pride intact.
But as the training continued, their expressions grew increasingly rigid.
“Ugh…!”
One of the knights was hurled to the ground.
Dust erupted from his back.
“Next!”
A cold voice.
In that instant, the Knight’s face twisted.
He shot to his feet, clenching his teeth.
“…This kind of thing… what kind of training is this?”
The fallen Knight muttered in a low voice.
“Without weapons, what meaning does this kind of strength contest have?”
“What a Knight needs is Sword Technique… isn’t this the sort of thing farmers do?”
The other Knights chimed in with the words of the Knight who had just been thrown.
Gradually, their tone became increasingly blatant.
Finally, one of them spoke without bothering to hide his displeasure.
“Rather than waste time on this pointless nonsense, it would be better to just practice the Mana Cultivation Method on my own.”
“Right, how is this beast-like training supposed to help? Let’s go train separately among ourselves.”
The moment those words fell, the air of the Training Ground settled into something peculiar.
The gazes of the Silent Spear Battalion members shifted, ever so subtly.
And at that sight.
“…Those bastards.”
Belkain furrowed his brow and moved to step forward.
But….
“Leave it to them.”
Arteon quietly raised his hand to stop him.
When Belkain looked at him, Arteon gazed toward the Knights and Squad Members on the Training Ground and spoke.
“Those guys… aren’t the type to go easy either.”
“Hmm… my apologies.”
Belkain offered a quiet apology.
He had made the request hoping it might help those with twisted thoughts….
‘Surely they wouldn’t reveal their discontent so openly.’
Even Belkain had not anticipated this situation.
But Arteon watched the unfolding scene with an unhurried expression.
And the moment the Knights turned their bodies, picking up their fallen clothes from the ground.
“Ha, this is ridiculous.”
Bartell let out a scoff.
And slowly tilting his head, he looked down upon the Knights.
“Seems like you’ve come back from playing knight in some backwater village….”
A sneer hung at the corner of his mouth.
“With that kind of ability, quibbling over whether you have weapons or not… isn’t that a bit shameless?”
“…What did you say?”
“What?”
The Knights turning their bodies froze, their heads snapping toward where Bartell stood.
Their eyes, already hardened and cold, fixed upon Bartell.
But….
“That’s right.”
One of Bartell’s squad members tossed out the words casually.
“On the battlefield, if you start worrying about whether you have a sword or not… you’ll be dead in an instant.”
Those words were not mockery.
They came from experience.
But as always, the truth had a way of being more irritating than anything else.
“What did you just say?”
One of the Knights bared his teeth.
“How dare these lowly commoner bastards… do you even know who we are before spouting such nonsense?”
“Are you even aware of what you’re saying right now!”
Another Knight stepped forward.
The atmosphere turned ominous in an instant.
Then the man standing in the center of the Knights looked at the Silent Spear Battalion members with eyes brimming with killing intent and spoke.
“Forget this useless training. If we fought you with real swords, we could wipe out every last one of you.”
The air froze in an instant.
A point of no return.
Killing intent flickered in their eyes, and it seemed as though they would charge at each other at any moment.
But then.
“Then.”
A quiet voice cut through.
“Would you be willing to teach me, Knights?”
All eyes turned toward the speaker.
And within that gaze, a man of ordinary build stepped forward.
Measured steps.
An unwavering gaze.
He walked to the center holding two real swords in both hands and spoke to the Knights.
“I am Renfir, Deputy Commander of the 3rd Company.”
Clang.
Renfir threw one of his swords in front of the Knights.
As the blade struck the ground, a cold metallic ring echoed through the air.
“Until three years ago, before I joined this unit… I was a Rookie who couldn’t even properly face a single Kar Tribe warrior, let alone wield Mana.”
A candid confession.
Yet those words somehow carried more weight.
Renfir gripped his remaining sword.
And as he lifted it lightly, the eyes of those around him fixed upon him.
Renfir looked at the Knights and spoke.
“I humbly request the teachings of such esteemed Knights.”
It was polite, yet an unmistakable provocation.
At his words, the blue-haired Knight in the center stepped forward.
He picked up the sword from the ground and spoke.
“Don’t regret this.”
His gaze turned glacial and sharp.
“I won’t take responsibility if you get hurt.”
The look in his eyes was as if he could cleave Renfir’s body in half at any moment.
“If you want to live… beg for mercy. I don’t particularly want to cripple you.”
He leveled his Sword directly at Renfir.
Renfir spoke in response.
“State your name and affiliation.”
“What? My name and affiliation?”
The blue-haired man’s expression twisted viciously.
Soon after, he drew forth his Mana and spoke.
“I am Parterak of the Bouroan Count Family. Consider it an honor to fall by my Sword.”
Boom!
With a powerful push off the ground, he lunged toward Renfir.
And….
Clang!
The moment their Swords clashed against each other.
“…!”
Parterak’s pupils began to tremble violently.

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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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